Korea's fabulous, atomized society

By Jason Lim

I recently stayed in a hotel near Dongdaemun, which brought into better focus the contradiction that is modern Korea than if I had stayed in Gangnam surrounded by the new and modern. The super modern hotel with the best facilities and services lay smack in the middle of a neighborhood spotted by old, crumbling buildings that had housed the sweatshops of the past and markets of old, not to mention remnants of the ancient walls and gated fort that survived the turbulence of the times.

The gleaming metal spaceship that is the Dongdaemum Design Plaza (DDP) looks both perfectly proper and out of place at the same time, an artifact from the future Korea that is now, seemingly warding off the shadows of her ancient and immediate past with its translucent shine. Waking up early in the morning, one sees furtive movements of the poor elderly collecting recyclables to sell for their daily allowances, soon to be displaced by the throngs of modern workers and tourists who flock the streets with self-importance and amazement.

The contradiction isn't only in what's visible. According to a 2022 OECD report, the relative poverty rate among people aged over 65 in Korea came to 43.2 percent, the highest among its member countries; it's a position the nation has maintained for several years. Compare this to the next highest in the U.S. at 23 percent. With the percentage of those 65 and older set to increase to more than 30 percent by 2035, Korea is facing an ever-encroaching yet still invisible epidemic of despair and hopelessness among the very population that powered her Miracle on the Han River days.

Add to that the prevalence of loneliness in Korea. In 2021, 33.4 percent of Korean households were single-person households. In other words, fully one-third of Koreans were living by themselves, with this percentage higher in the young and elderly. It's predicted that this percentage will increase to 40 percent by 2050. This is a natural result of the breakdown of the traditional, multigenerational household society among industrialized nations. However, when combined with Korea's super low birthrate, it's easy to predict the further evolution of Korea's society into a collection of aging individuals interacting but not connecting, haunted by a sense of constant isolation and the specter of poverty. It's truly an atomized society that refuses to bond with one another to form bigger molecules.

But these worrisome but invisible trends can't compete today with the sheer brilliance of the visible. Staying near DDP, I actually had the opportunity to witness my first ever fashion show. It was a Lie Sang-bong show, the world-famous Korean fashion designer, held at DDP's Art Hall 2, and attended by celebrities and hundreds of lucky invitees. The show was fabulous, a treat for both the eyes and ears. You can tell that it was a top-notch production with proven models, showcasing Lie's iconic designs that combined the Korean traditional with other modern influences from all over the world.

The fashion show was emblematic of the brilliance of the consumer culture in Korea. I am constantly amazed at how Korea managed to turn consumption into an art form. The opportunities to buy stuff across all types are ever-present and legion for everyone. Discretionary consumption isn't just reserved for the higher end of the socioeconomic status. Consumption as culture is the in-your-face fact of life for anyone living in Korea, no matter how much you earn or don't earn. Being poor in this type of society must be soul-crushing as the relative sense of deprivation is greater than absolute poverty. You won't starve to death in modern Korea, but you are bound to feel disadvantaged even as you are privileged.

The sad truth is that everyone is relatively poor, compared to the next guy who's richer and flashier. Keeping up with the Joneses is a losing cause because there are Joneses who are always wealthier. Consumption as a path to happiness and well-being is a well-known trap, leading to ever more spending for fleeting moments of happiness followed by lingering pangs of dissatisfaction that can only be assuaged by more consumption. It's a pathological addiction of the modern times. And Korea is a society supremely optimized to feed this addiction.

Perhaps this is an inevitable outcome of an atomized society whereby the lack of meaningful connectivity amongst one another has left gaping emotional holes that consumption seeks to fill. Superficial engagements forged at work or in businesses can't be a substitute for the familial or communal ties that form the emotional infrastructure that act as cocoons of one's well-being. Korea is a fabulous society of world-class individual brilliance where everyone is seemingly highlighted in one spotlight or another for uber achievement. However, atomization may be brilliant but largely empty. Meaning and well-being come only through connections and relationships. We are happy only when we live in between each other, messily, exhaustingly, but connected.

Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.