There's a show out that you may have heard about. It's called Ultra Hard Working and Not Rich Asians of Vancouver.

Seen it? Not many people have. It's been online for years and only reached about 3,000 views on YouTube.

Garnering a lot more hits is another similar show. Ultra Rich Asian Girls, now having aired its second episode online this week, has reached 200,000 views on YouTube.

Kevin Li, a Vancouver producer and cameraman created both shows and turned the lens on immigrants from both scales -- the obnoxious and vulgar rich and the uncomplaining and meek poor.

Praised for his documentary about the struggles faced by Vancouver's early Chinese immigrants in the first part of the 20th century, Li has been vilified for creating a show that is apparently the polar opposite.

"This is horrifying, embarrassing, and trashy as hell," wrote one viewer about the Ultra Rich Asian Girls show, which is only available for viewing on YouTube. "Send them back to China!" read another comment.

The show's ostentatious flaunting of wealth by a generation who clearly didn't earn it themselves has hit a deep-seated nerve of resentment in Vancouver about the way some young Asians brandish their money.

Joy Li, Chelsea Jiang, Florence Zhao (FloZ) and CocoParis Wang, aged between 19 and 27, are the daughters of affluent, Chinese immigrants. And they're on a mission to become Canada's Asian answer to the Kardashians.

"If I'm beef, I'm Wagyu," Jiang tells the camera, referring to the premium beef, often imported from Japan.

Jiang later reveals that gluten gives her the runs. A serious discussion among the women ensues.

"I'm allergic to carbs."

"You mean gluten."

"Yeah, gluten."

The girls all claim to be making the show to jumpstart their fashion, modeling or singing careers. But for now, their parents are bankrolling their luxury lifestyles, even though CocoParis admits she doesn't know what her parents actually do and depends on two assistants -- one in Vancouver, the other in Taipei -- to help her.

In the first episode, which the producer insists is unscripted, the four women throw a private party in a presidential suite at the River Rock Casino in Richmond and accuse each other of rocking fake designer bags and getting their clothes from cheap Taiwanese night markets.

The second episode had them take a helicopter ride to Victoria to take tea at the Empress and then tour Chinatown.

Producer Li, who grew up and still lives in East Vancouver, says he is surprised at the rampant racism that has openly been aimed at the show and the distress expressed by Chinese viewers themselves. One commenter complained the show set back by 20 years the gains made by Chinese Canadians.

"If you look at other reality shows, the actions of the people aren't recognized as a race," Li says, pointing out Here Comes Honey Boo Boo as the example. "When you have Asian girls spending daddy's money, all of a sudden, they represent an entire race. I absolutely did not expect that in this day and age."

Documenting a 'new demographic'

Li says he took on the project to document a new demographic; when he was growing up 25 years ago, Chinese immigrants in Canada had a different stereotype.

"If you were Chinese back then, people thought you must be poor and working in kitchens. Then in the 1990s, things changed with Hong Kong immigrants and now with the Mainland Chinese."

Li previously wrote and produced a 48-minute documentary called Secret Societies of Vancouver's Chinatown, a passion project he thought was vital to get out to the viewing public about the struggles of early Chinese immigrants.

It was seen and praised, but didn't go viral.

With the rise of his new show, a friend suggested that Li should rename Secret Societies of Vancouver's Chinatown to Ultra Hard Working and Not Rich Asians of Vancouver. It didn't generate any more hits.

The story Li told in that documentary builds slowly, encompassing decades from the time Chinese settlers arrived to build railways and pan for gold to the now forgotten history of the early clans that once controlled Chinatown.

In the end, the Greek chorus unveiling the desire for roots, the hope for prosperity, comes from a genuine choir in Li's documentary, one made up of Chinese seniors.

"I'd like to wish everybody prosperity and wealth," they sing. "Hope, wealth and luck will be on your side, making big money wherever you go."

Another old-timer expresses his expectations more bluntly. The earlier generations spent hard-earned money and time to build a community, and he hopes the generations after him will continue to thrive.

It's a hope that Jiang, one of the ultra rich, probably doesn't need to worry about. Nor does she seem to care about the show's criticism.

"People talk behind the computer about things they have no knowledge of. They may have had a bad day and they're taking it out on TV stars," she says.

While 13 minutes on YouTube doesn't quite make Jiang a star, if Li's negotiations to sell the broadcast rights in China pay off (this is why the show is in Mandarin with English subtitles), she could end up one.

For now, the ultra rich girls are paid a rumoured $25 an hour for participating in the show. It's not enough to cover their gas money to travel to the filming locations.

But Jiang says it's not about the money.

"What we get paid doesn't even cover the tip for us at a restaurant," Jiang pouts, then adds in another thought that may give immigrants of an earlier generation pause: "We're paying for this experience."