Seoul is tomorrowland, teeming with models, actors, activists, and musicians who are breaking molds and leaning into what’s now and what’s next. Monica Kim takes stock of a brave new world.
What is it about Seoul that has the world in its thrall? I have fielded this question so often of late, tossed it back and forth, particularly with Koreans, as puzzled as I am by the sudden fervor. The Seoul of the ’90s that I knew as a child—as an American girl growing up in the Midwest, my mother taking me twice a year to the country of her birth—was rooted in smallness. Seoul was the pack of yogurt drink left swinging on my grandmother’s front door, the windowless market where we’d buy sticky rice cakes, the underground hall where fake Chanel wallets tumbled from black garbage bags like stone fruit from trees. It felt like a stunted city yearning for sophistication. My American classmates could not place it on a map. “Is it like Beijing? Tokyo?” they would ask. “North or South Korea?”
As I entered my teens, I began to dread the prospect of flying 14 hours for dull department store lunches and walks along an ever-gray river. I craved the worldliness of New York, or Paris, or Tokyo, and wanted to own a real Chanel wallet instead of a convincing fake. Immature, I thought that Seoul lacked savoir vivre, and said so to my mother, who acquiesced and we ceased our yearly visits. The city faded from my view.
When I returned in the 2010s, I didn’t recognize what I saw. Young men and women roved along picturesque avenues, sharply dressed in Vetements, eyes fixed on smartphones. I revisited old haunts, relishing the visual feast—and when I started working as an editor for US Vogue, I covered Seoul’s emerging designers and cultural figures. I noticed my fellow editors following Korean fashion labels, my friends streaming my mother’s favorite Korean soap operas. One winter, in the West Village, a blond woman in yoga pants tapped my shoulder in the checkout line at a posh butcher’s shop on Hudson Street, pointing at the jar of kimchi in my hand. “You know that’s spicy, right?” Seoul had officially become cool.
The stunning flash of photographs that spills across this portfolio speaks to Vogue’s fascination with the pace of Seoul’s transformation: in fashion, beauty, music, film, art, and technology. I can attest to all of it. Three years ago, I moved to Seoul full-time for work, and though I was accustomed to Manhattan’s long hours, the city quickly consumed me. My colleagues feverishly clocked 20-hour shifts, accomplishing impossible tasks five times a day, and there was barely time to sleep. Seoul was an engine running at unfathomable speed, exhausting and exhilarating. Yet that momentum has given birth to a new school of iconoclasm: artists and actors, models and singers, who were shaped and driven by the pressure, but have also broken with it—finding ways to stand out, express who they are, and cut against the sheen of glossy perfectionism that has defined Korean pop culture in the past.
The personalities in these images represent a new stage of evolution. Take Balming Tiger: an alternative and fully independent K-pop collective that is set apart by its diverse roster of 11 multifaceted young artists; or Jungle, an activist who last summer launched Transparent, a party series to celebrate and uplift transgender people. Beloved actress Doona Bae, who has staunchly pursued her craft for more than two decades, has become a role model for young actors who eschew the overt trappings of superstardom; so has producer Code Kunst, whose lack of pretension and quiet passion for composition have made him an unlikely heartthrob.
Even NewJeans, the chart-burning idol girl group that debuted last summer, are singular in that they emerge from a label with a female CEO, Min Hee Jin, a rarity in the industry. With NewJeans, there are no corsets or ball gowns, no overbleached extensions or stiletto nails. Just five high school–aged girls playing themselves, with black, hip-length hair, singing and dancing to ’90s-style teen pop with exuberant smiles. As NewJeans’s Hanni tells me, the label’s goal was authenticity. “Because at the end of the day, we’re the ones standing onstage.” “It’s such an honor to be able to express ourselves,” adds her co-idol Danielle. Small steps toward progress can feel the most profound.
In this story: hair, Gabe Sin; makeup, Seongseok Oh.