Think that boy bands died in the ’90s? Well, think again. Korean pop, otherwise known as K-pop, is a billion dollar industry that’s been sweeping North American audiences with girl and boy groups that consistently offer charming personas, intricate choreography, and infectious songs. It’s undeniable that the Korean pop phenomenon has been making leaps and bounds in the mainstream market, breaking YouTube records and contributing billions to the South Korean economy. (One group, by the name of BTS, generates $4.65 billion gross domestic product alone.) Despite any existing language barriers, K-pop has been establishing itself as a force to be reckoned with in pop scenes all across the globe.
However, as upbeat and fun as the K-pop world might appear, it’s still plagued by a siege of shady business practices and incredible pressure on the pop stars that leave many fans disillusioned, myself included. Between 2012 and 2015 I religiously devoured albums of the most popular groups, trying to learn the choreography to all my favourite songs and playing them on repeat. But then I started to notice the cracks through my rose-tinted glasses. During talk shows the pop stars would advertise their extremely dangerous and restrictive diets, mention how little sleep they got, or talk about how they passed out on stage due to overworking themselves. Don’t get me wrong, I still love K-pop and all that makes it stand out from the North American music industry, but I began to realize that I was enamored by a façade while the reality was much more bleak.
When talking about issues in media, there’s a pervasive notion that if a piece of media is problematic, it shouldn’t be engaged with or promoted. Not everything is black and white though. The truth is, fans can and should continue to fervently love K-pop, but in doing so they need to become more aware of what they’re directly supporting, what they’re contributing to, and what goes on in the industry.
The genre’s roots are humble. Seo Taiji and Boys created a completely new genre in 1992 that combined critiques of Korean social issues with a Western flair. This was the definitive beginning of K-pop as it’s known today. Since it originated on TV, K-pop has remained closely paired to its visual aspects; emphasis is put on the stage performance and all that it entails, including aesthetics, choreography, camera angles, and stage outfits.
This pairing of K-pop and appearances has morphed since the ’90s, and today, beauty standards in South Korea are homogenous and dangerously pervasive. It’s routine for jobs to require photos of applicants, and plastic surgery is considered a normal enhancement, appropriate for young teens and older adults alike. This obsession with looks has infiltrated K-pop in insidious ways. Wendy, a member of the girl group Red Velvet, was relentlessly criticized by fans about her weight despite already being thin. On an episode of Non-Summit, a Korean talk show, Wendy disclosed she tried the Wheesung 13-day-long deadly diet consisting of only half a cup of rice for breakfast and half an apple for lunch, supplemented with excessive aerobic exercise. After losing weight and looking visibly emaciated during performances, K-pop media outlets toted her dieting tips, inadvertently encouraging fans to follow suite.
K-pop stars have come to embody the South Korean ideal for beauty, boasting double eyelids achieved through surgery, flawless skin, pale complexions, and slim figures. The best way for fans to avoid adding additional pressure is to not comment on looks at all, especially weight. By adding to an already saturated dialogue about the appearances of celebrities, fans unknowingly contribute to the same culture that suggests looks are paramount. K-pop fans can’t dismantle the beauty standards of an entire country, but they can directly control how much they reinforce them.
In many ways, performers are kept in check by feedback from fans, who might not realize they’re contributing to the pressure, but also by their management companies. The three music studios that have dominated the K-pop market since the ’90s are SM Entertainment, YG Entertainment, and JYP Entertainment. These companies recruit children as young as 12-13 and have them sign exploitative contracts, often called “slave contracts,” that have been known to stretch up to 13 years and have inspired numerous lawsuits. And to breach or terminate a contract means having to pay a penalty to recover the company’s direct investment.
These contracts give companies a shocking amount of control over trainees who are treated like investments and products. After signing a contract, budding stars — dubbed “trainees” — go through strict training and cut-throat competition with their peers for up to 10 years before possibly being selected to debut in a group for the masses. Trainees are taught how to sing, dance, and speak different languages; they’re weighed daily, told what to eat, if they can date, and potentially what plastic surgery they will undergo. The work days can commonly run 20 hours, meaning that burnout and exhaustion are almost guaranteed, and when injuries occur, K-pop artists can often be seen carrying on with the show, even if that means performing with a neck brace or passing out onstage.
In the world of trying to make it as a K-pop entertainer, it’s damned if they do, damned if they don’t. If trainees remain with a company they accrue debt with no guarantee they’ll make it big or be chosen to debut in a group, and if they break their contract they’ll still have a hefty fee to repay. The enormous pressure K-pop stars face has taken lives and is a topic that needs to be addressed. In 2017, fans of the boy band, SHINee, were shaken by the death by suicide of Kim Jong-hyun, who suffered from depression. Similarly, 2019 saw the death of Sulli, an actress and ex-member of the group f(x), where suicide was investigated as a possible cause, incited by cyberbullying.
Despite all the streams of income for K-pop groups through tours, merchandise, and TV appearances, these entertainers are also criminally underpaid. Larger companies don’t require paying off trainee debt, but those that are smaller employ a 90/10 rule. This means the companies reserve 90 per cent of any generated money for themselves, while the remaining 10 per cent is divided between all the members of the group. This would be bad if it ended there, but it gets worse. Each member needs to repay a debt to their management company for singing, dancing, and language lessons, food, accomodation, staff, and more, only making a profit after they break even. This often takes years for even the most successful groups, but for those that are middle-tier it’s next to impossible.
When fans promote groups, buy merchandise, or attend a show, there’s the impression that they’re directly supporting their favourite group members financially when that might be far from the case — and spending more on merchandise isn’t necessarily the solution. The onus of paying a reasonable and liveable wage to performers shouldn’t be on fans: it should be on the companies responsible for their wellbeing. Before sinking any funds into K-pop, fans should be fully aware that the majority of each dollar spent will be lining the pockets of behind-the-scene staff and not the faces of the industry that they’ve come to love.
While K-pop began with a hip-hop-infused sound established by Seo Taiji and Boys, it’s continued with its incorporation of R&B and hip-hop elements in ways that, at times, cross into cultural appropriation. Stephanie Choi, a PhD candidate and native Korean, describes cultural appropriation as taking elements of other cultures for your own advantage but not conveying the meaning and culture behind it. An example is Zico, a Korean rapper who released his music video for “Tough Cookie” in 2018 that showed off a jacket with a confederate flag on the sleeve, a controversial symbol of racism against African-Americans. This isn’t an isolated case, however. The rap segments of K-pop songs will regularly feature members in Indigenous headdresses, dreadlocks, cornrows, and gold chains, cherry picking an aesthetic from other cultures without giving them proper significance.
The K-pop celebrities can’t be entirely to blame, though. They often have very little creative input when it comes to their lyrics, stage outfits, or concepts, serving as the end product of an entire production team’s work. At the same time, they can’t be completely let off the hook either. In 2017, Jackson from the group GOT7 wore dreadlocks during a Pepsi China commercial and refused to apologize to outraged fans, citing he was only appreciating the culture — except he was using it to push and sell a product. While K-pop stars may have the intentions of appreciating the culture in question, what they end up doing is reducing those that are Indigenous or black to stereotypes used for an aesthetic that’s quickly discarded when no longer needed.
K-pop still heavily borrows elements from the American hip-hop scene, and it can produce a grey area where we need to ask when they go too far. Unfortunately, other than fans being upset on social media, there’s little to no real world consequences for these actions, and that shouldn’t be the case. More followers of K-pop need to be aware of what cultural appropriation is and voice their concerns over incidences of it happening. Or, alternatively, avoid promoting works that feature culture appropriation on social media and refuse to buy offensive merchandise. The international audience for K-pop is no longer a minority whose concerns can be brushed to the side, especially when their cultures might be the ones appropriated. Although it’s true that company management makes most of the decisions, K-pop celebrities also still have a personal responsibility to educate themselves and apologize once they’ve realized what’s happened.
Another sensitive topic plaguing the K-pop community has been how the LGBTQ+ community has been both revered and rejected. On a surface level, K-pop can seem to be promoting aspects of LGBTQ+ culture such as androgynous females (see Amber of f(x)), men wearing makeup, and Saturday Night Live Korea skits of homoeroticism involving celebrities. This has a name: queerbaiting. It’s a marketing strategy employed to appeal to fans who are LGBTQ+ without alienating their heterosexual audience, marked by same-sex romances that are never overt. In essence, it’s performative.
The reality is that South Korea is lagging behind in LGBTQ+ rights. Although the country has legalized homosexuality, same-sex marriages are not allowed and only married couples can adopt, thus making same-sex adoptions impossible. South Korea also lacks non-discrimination policies to protect LGBTQ+ citizens in the workplace and against hate crimes. Holland, who’s one of the few openly gay K-pop artists, debuted with his independently produced song “Neverland” in 2018. It depicted him kissing another man, forcing the video to have a 19+ rating which limited its publicity. Holland was refused to be signed on by several entertainment industries due to his sexuality and had to finance his single himself. It goes to show that despite the popularity of queerbaiting, actual gay artists are silenced.
Pushing an LGBTQ+ narrative as a means to promote a product isn’t representation. Fans need to stop settling for queerbaiting in K-pop and support artists that make it publicly clear they stand with the LGBTQ+ community. For example, Rosé from Blackpink and Sunmi, a K-pop soloist, both waved pride flags onstage during concerts, and Doyoung from NCT used LGBTQ+-inclusive language when answering a fan question about a crush. South Korea also needs more activists like Holland who, despite the odds and personal risks, make it to the public eye with a message of love and equality bundled with talent.
The questions that remain are what’s being done about the behind-the-scenes corruption of K-pop, and where can fans go from here? The truth is, the Korean entertainment industry as we know it needs a reformation. In 2017 the Korea Fair Trade Commission (KFTC) investigated eight companies and modified several unfair contract clauses, but they’ve only improved things marginally. There’s a petition currently for the KFTC and the Korea Entertainment Management Association to do better in response to recent suicides of K-pop artists. With all the profit coming in from international fans, K-pop enthusiasts should have a say in how stars are treated. Companies should be able to provide psychiatric services, reasonable contracts, time off for those that are injured, and the basic decency not to overwork young teens with a dream.
The passion that people have for K-pop is real and valid, but more can be done to promote better business practices that support the mental health and general well-being of entertainment agency employees. Rather than Korean celebrities having to represent an ideal and bearing all the pressure that comes with it, awareness needs to be raised along with open dialogue for mental health in the industry. Fans can play a direct role in fostering a progressive and constructive community by offering positivity and validation to those that are brave enough to open up.
It seems like common sense, but when Taeyeon of Girls’ Generation discussed her depression on an Instagram story, she received numerous unnecessary responses from followers, ranging from telling her to grow up to mockingly asking if she has bipolar disorder. Other artists have encountered cyberbullying when speaking out about activist issues, as was the case with the late Sulli. That’s why the fact that BTS, one of the hottest groups right now, who have acknowledged their platform and have been using it to advocate for self-love, holds so much significance. They’re helping pave the way for others to open up about their experiences.
K-pop has become an international phenomenon that doesn’t show any signs of dying down. While actively encouraging those with a love of the music genre to maintain their devotion, fans should also be implored to change their tactics. Although done with good intention, not every release by a favourite group needs to be supported if it’s going to endorse concepts like queerbaiting or cultural appropriation. It’s a matter of prioritizing values.
What’s crucial to keep in mind is that K-pop has the power to inspire revolution and change. During a university protest to remove President Park Geun-hye from office in 2017, “Into the New World” by Girls’ Generation became a protest song to unite students amidst police intervention. It’s also inspired fans to rally against the unfair termination of a member from the group Monsta X and start Twitter accounts meant to support fans with mental health issues. While K-pop might have an unethical underbelly that most fans aren’t aware of, we can’t forget it’s also a breeding ground for hope and positivity.
Chandy is a biology major/chemistry minor who's been a staff writer, Arts editor, and Managing Editor at The Cascade. She began writing in elementary school when she produced Tamagotchi fanfiction to show her peers at school -- she now lives in fear that this may have been her creative peak.
