"She had her own reservations. Niggling fears of not getting a job; disappointing her family. But when her hairdresser tried to talk her out of it, she knew she'd made up her mind. She wanted short hair. And it wasn't just a matter of taste — it was a statement.
Sohee is part of the growing 'escape the corset' movement taking hold in South Korea, with women taking a stand against rigid beauty ideals and unlacing the metaphorical corset. "I realised that the makeup and outfits were not my decision and I do not actually like it," says Sohee, 26. "So I choose to take off the corset."
Here, K-pop musicians aren't just stars; they're 'idols'. They attract millions of dedicated fans who have fallen for more than just their shiny, catchy lyrics. "They are just beautiful, they are just handsome," Yaejin, 20, tells me later at a tree-lined university campus in the capital's north-west. "They have so many surgeries, they lose weight, they put on so much makeup, they wear so many expensive shirts and clothes. They make teenagers want to be like them."
Lauren Lee, the founder of a company importing K-beauty products to Australia, says many K-pop stars are emblematic of unrealistic beauty expectations. "They've been chosen for their looks … and they're the people that you see represented over and over again in advertisements," she says. "And they're impossibly skinny. One thing that really, really shocks me is when these girls publish their diets, and they're basically starving themselves. They're eating an apple and a couple of pieces of fruit a day and coffee, and that's their diet." In the space of three months, three different K-pop stars have taken their own lives — prompting concerns about mental health in the industry, and mental health taboos in the country.
In May 2016, a 23-year-old woman was murdered in a public toilet; picked at random by a man who later claimed to have been "ignored" by women throughout his life. Korean women turned to social media to air their frustration and share their experiences of sexual violence. They covered the dome walls of Gangnam Station with multi-coloured post-it notes bearing sobering messages. "It was misogyny that killed her." "If we are in solidarity we can be strong." They marched. And in the past few years, women have increasingly been rallying around a mounting list of concerns. In October, a woman reportedly suicided after finding out she was secretly filmed in a hospital change room, the latest in a string of spy-camera victims.
It comes after over 12,000 women protested in Seoul's Hyehwa Station in 2018 against illegal spy-camera filming — many of the videos end up on pornography websites. Korean women have also taken to the streets as part of #MeToo rallies; 70,000 turned up to this year's International Women's Day demonstration.
Aside from forgoing makeup, Sohee is also shying away from relationships. "Getting married is probably quite common in Korean culture," she tells me. "So when you get to your mid-20s, people are talking about 'when are you getting married?' or that kind of thing. (...) I don't need someone else to fulfil myself." She's not alone. Growing numbers of South Korean women are turning their backs on marriage and children; the country's fertility rate fell to world-wide record low in 2019 (at one child per woman). "There are four movements promoted by women in their 20s in Korea," Professor NaYoung Lee explains. "No sex, no sexual romantic relationship, no marriage, no birth." MinYoung says having children is also a distant blip on her future horizon. "Many of my friends are doing no relationship … I don't like getting into relationships with men sometimes," she says. "When I become a mother, in Korean society, I have to give up one thing: career or baby." Sohee isn't ready to give up her career just yet, with ambitions to one day become a lawyer. With a job interview coming up, she's considering growing her hair out. She doesn't want to harm her prospects. Change comes slowly, MinYoung says with bitter conviction, recounting a recent example of a woman who was fired from a part-time café job for cutting her hair short.
"Aren't you lonely?" This is a question student Moensan is used to being asked. The 26-year-old, who lives in a provincial city in South Korea, is unmarried and childless — and plans to keep it that way. "There are many things I want to do in life that you can't do if you get married," she said. "I saw with my own eyes how married women are treated and discriminated against, so I decided marriage does not help women at all." agrees Jung Se-Young. Moensan told the ABC she was spurred to action after hearing "the voice of many women" in youtubers' Jung and Baeck's calls to fight back against societal pressures and patriarchal expectations. It was, she said, "what married women go through, what has happened vividly around me, even what I went through that made me want to join in the #nomarriage movement. My father assaulted my mother, which is more common than I thought in Korea — I'm glad my mum and I didn't die," she said. The student said she never wanted to get married or have children because pregnancy and childbirth were "big risks for women in Korea", while marrying "narrows a woman's position".
Sohee says that while many of her university friends are joining the #escapethecorset movement, many outside campus are reluctant. "I know it is quite a hard decision," she says. "But I want I just want some other women to see me and get confidence."
The country where a simple haircut can be a radical political statement
#NoMarriage movement sees South Korean women reject Government pressures to marry and have kids