My Problem with K-Pop: A Korean-American Perspective

By Audrey Bang

Whenever I tell people that I’m Korean, their initial response is inevitable. Even white Americans— who, throughout elementary school, ridiculed my “yucky”, “ethnic” lunches— will enthusiastically ask if I love BTS, if I listen to BlackPink, or if I’ve ever tried that “spicy chicken ramen” they see on Youtube. However, America’s capricious decision to embrace specific aspects of Asian culture leaves me feeling indignant and dismayed instead of overjoyed.

I don’t decry American culture, nor do I denounce all Americans as racists. I’m an American citizen; my parents have lived in the United States ever since they were children. We speak English, not Korean, at home (ironically, my mother chose to teach me American Sign Language and French instead of Korean— and my father has completely forgotten how to speak anything but English). Even after moving to Canada, my parents drape American flags across the walls of our home and keep random copies of the Declaration of Independence in the basement. My family members are Baptist, not Buddhist or Presbyterian; my dad watches football religiously and prefers beer over soju. Despite our obviously Korean names and faces, we’ve had no trouble embracing American culture wholeheartedly. So why don’t I see the same degree of receptivity in American and Western individuals?

Although many Koreans claim that our music has broken cultural barriers across the globe, I urge both Asians and Caucasians alike to reconsider K-pop’s apparent value. Yes, many white Americans now eat Korean food, attempt to wear Korean traditional clothing, and most notably, declare their fervent love for Korean pop music. However, this does not equate true acceptance for Asian communities.

If you google “Kpop girl,” the search results yield a sea of individuals with pale skin, large eyes, and raised nose bridges. These features, undeniably Western in nature, are anything but natural for Koreans like myself. The “Kpop men” search produces similar features idolized by various cultures, consisting of six-packs and razor-sharp jawlines. Evidently, Americans happily embrace the celebrities’ Eurocentric aesthetics. But what of the Asian individuals who fail to meet these physical requirements? What about my lovely Chinese friend, who readily confesses that her eyes are “too small” or that her nose is “too flat”? What about the Filipino boy who complains that he’s “fat and short” compared to his favorite Korean idol? And what about the Korean girl who can’t seem to lose the weight, or who doesn’t want to undergo the ritual of plastic surgery?

Four years ago, a white boy told me he was “shocked” that I’m Korean. “After all,” he explained, “they’re all so pale and tall, and you’re skinny… but you’re not that skinny.” As I walked home later that evening, I overheard two white girls complain that there were “too many Chinese kids” at our high school. They said that they wished there were more “hot Asians,” like the Korean and Japanese boys they saw in music videos and anime. I was disgusted, albeit unsurprised, by these comments. I wish I’d had the nerve to respectfully tell them: my culture does not exist for your eye candy. My people do not exist for your viewing pleasure. Your comments aren’t funny; they’re ignorant, hurtful, and xenophobic.

Obviously, I’m not saying that American people aren’t allowed to listen to K-pop or enjoy various aspects of Asian cultures. I am simply stating that K-pop is not representative of Asian communities, nor is it representative of Korean individuals. Much like Hollywood in the United States or Bollywood in India, those picture-perfect faces account for a mere fraction of the population. Rather than encourage inclusivity for Asians of all countries and appearances, K-pop prompts both Americans and Asians to place price tags on different Asian cultures. Thanks to the phenomena of K-pop and anime, Korean and Japanese cultures are now perceived as “best” or “most valuable”; on the other hand, the remaining Asian countries are relegated to inferiority. When was the last time you heard a white person praise Cambodian, Sri Lankan, or Filipino cultures? Unsurprisingly, this capricious, pick-and-choose American mentality does not apply to non-Asian nations. It’s unlikely that the typical American would suggest that French people are better than the Portuguese, or that the philosophical achievements in 18th century Germany surpass those of Italian Baroque artists. The borders and distinctions between white cultures exist because of their individual values, whereas the distinction between Korea versus Cambodia serves to promote one and devalue the other.

Nevertheless, the vast majority of Americans are not the only ones to blame. Why do Koreans pressure young girls to “fix” their monolids, raise their nose bridges, or use skin whitener? Why does Korean society demand blatantly Westernized beauty standards? Don’t tell me that it’s “just a cultural thing,” because it isn’t. Koreans have catered to white beauty standards for years. I’ve witnessed plenty of Koreans who dismiss Southeast Asians as “ugly” or inferior because of their darker skin or specific facial features. As always, activism is a two-way street; it entails mutual streams of reflection, correction, and change. Korean and other Asian individuals cannot point the finger at Americans without addressing our internalized racism as well.