‘I Had to Act Like a Doll’: Why Some K-Pop Stars Are Rebeling Against the Industry’s ‘Impossible’ Standards

In this story there is a reference to suicide.
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Heesoo Chung has an unlikely goal in mind: to become a K-pop star.
“My dream is to become an idol star… that’s my only dream,” the 16-year-old said.
The South Korean teenager is one of thousands of people who dedicate their lives to the hope of being idolized by millions of people.

“I go to an academy every day after I finish school and I practice there from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. But I think I have to work harder,” she said.

A group of Korean K-pop dancers, dressed in baggy, dark clothing, stand in a line, holding their hands together, learning a new dance move.

K-pop wannabes undergo intensive training sessions and find their lives curtailed to meet the demands of the industry.

“I have to work harder and take more classes.”

Chung is studying at the Hanlim School of Arts in Seoul, where students learn 14 different dance genres and take singing lessons.
Despite her dedication, she knows that becoming a K-pop star will be incredibly difficult, as less than 1 percent of K-pop wannabes actually become stars.

She also knows that she will have to give up many things along the way, including her freedom.

The K-pop machine

Since its rise in the 1990s, Korean pop music has, or K-pop, has grown into a global phenomenon with an estimated revenue of $8 billion (US$11.8 billion) and attracts hundreds of millions of fans around the world.
It is a choreographed genre based on foreign music styles such as pop, hip hop, R&B and electronic dance, as well as traditional Korean roots.

Individual groups are known for their distinctive aesthetics and style, with the most popular singers being called “idols.”

Thousands of teens audition every week in hopes of catching the attention of talent scouts and music labels, and every year the industry launches hundreds of new idols.
Sarah Keith, senior lecturer in Music and Media at Macquarie University, said the rate of new artists debuting was accelerating.

“This means that agencies and artists have to work harder to stand out and excel in a market that is very crowded. The pace and intensity of K-pop shows no signs of slowing down any time soon,” she said.

‘I had to act like a doll’

K-pop stars are dependent on record labels and managers and therefore lose their personal freedoms.
They are designed to embody perfectionism and are therefore not allowed to smoke, drink or even have relationships, making them seem romantically available to fans.
Earlier this year, K-pop idol Karina from the popular girl group aespa was forced to apologize to fans after it was revealed that she was secretly in a relationship, sparking anger among fans who threatened to boycott the group’s music.
“Music is a place of exploitation globally, where young creative workers are vulnerable. We have also seen a lot of allegations of exploitation, sexual harassment and abuse coming out of the US,” Keith said.
“The Korean government is interested in preventing exploitation, but that doesn’t mean they want to stop people from training very, very intensively. So there’s a lot of very, very hard work that can happen, even within a legal context.

“As Australian viewers, it can be confronting to see how much work it takes to be a K-pop idol.”

Min Su wears a thick gray sweater and a black baseball cap and paints with a brush in his right arm.

Min Su believes the K-pop fan base creates a powerful culture of impossible expectations.

For Bang Min Su, formerly of the K-pop band Teen Top, the scene became too much.

He has now left the industry, lives above his mother’s café and is pursuing a new career in art.
“I thought I would get to do cool things on stage, but in reality… I just had to act like a doll,” he said.
“’Do this, do that.’ Everything was controlled,” he said.
Min Su believes that the fan base is powerful and creates a culture of impossible expectations.
“The fans are responsible for this culture, but it’s also the fault of the record label for not stopping it and the artists for not being honest about the impact it has on them,” he said.

“All of this contributes to the rotten culture. I think I can safely say that most people feel this way.

“Nobody likes to be controlled.”
Life after K-pop can also be a difficult transition, as many stars have dedicated their entire lives to being an idol.
Min Su said he became an alcoholic, while some of his friends paid an even higher price.
“Two of my friends committed suicide,” he said.
“They both called me the day before, but I must have been asleep because I didn’t pick up the phone. And I can’t stop thinking that things might have turned out differently if I had just picked up the phone.
“This is the dark side of the industry.”

South Korea has the highest suicide rate of any wealthy country in the 38-member Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), with 25.2 deaths per 100,000 people in 2022. There is an unusually high number of deaths among K-pop idols.

Persevering despite the risks

Cho Su and Choi Sarang were recently launched as K-pop stars as part of the new girl group Candy Shop.

The demands do not seem to have dampened their ambition.

Four female K-pop stars with dark hair stand in a line and make hearts with their hands.

K-pop stars Cho Su and Choi Sarang are part of a new girl group called Candy Shop.

Su has dreamed of becoming a K-pop idol since she was 15.

“I want to be on stage and make people happy,” she said.
Her bandmate Sarang is not concerned about the limitations on her freedom.
“This job is not forced. This is what we want… so we have to do it, I think, so it’s okay.”
Chung remains focused on her dream despite numerous rejections at her auditions and advice from her teachers to focus on her diet so she can lose ten pounds.

“I always fail so many auditions, it makes me nervous,” she said.

According to Jinny Kim, Hanlim’s PR director, the school is equipped to provide mental health services to students.
“If the kids have personal problems when they join a record label or if the kids have psychological problems, all the teachers in our school can provide them with guidance because they have all had that training.”
Chung says that while art school prepared her for the demanding process, the school does not provide adequate mental health care.
“[It’s] not really [talked about]. So I think I’m learning myself.”
Readers seeking crisis support can contact Lifeline on 13 11 14, the Suicide Call Back Service on 1300 659 467 and Kids Helpline on 1800 55 1800 (for young people under 25). Further information and support relating to mental health is available at and on 1300 22 4636.
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