Why K-Drama Is More Than a Leisure Activity

Frequent exposure to a subject may eventually become mundane. I have never felt anything similar when consuming K-dramas. In the early days of watching them, however, I often wondered why these stories lured me deeper into the genre. “How come I can’t stop watching K-dramas?” I can see why now. K-dramas have affected my outlook on life and attitude in profound ways that go beyond mere entertainment. They give me a sense of connection and happiness in my personal qualities. I can thus readily relate my fondness for K-dramas to something extremely personal. Though I’m confident that every other fan would concur with me that K-dramas make life better by having a positive influence on how we live.

Let me share a recent takeaway from the most recent rom-com, Love to Hate You (2023). The plot revolves around attorney Yeo Mi-ran (Kim Ok-vin), who loathes losing to men. In a misogynistic society, she fights for fairness, using her martial arts training to inflict punishment. We also see a superstar actor, Nam Kang-ho (Teo Yoo), with a critical perspective on women. At least until they’re obligated to date each other. What does seem to be a “haters-to-lovers” story evolves into a brilliant masterpiece of introspection. The fundamental truth of Korean glamour culture, about artists who remain smiling while suffering internally, comes through. I love how the drama explores the notion that being badass and giving a damn about what people think about you as a woman is perfectly acceptable. The key is to be true to yourself; our quirks and flaws make us special and we must invariably trust our instincts.

Hence, partaking in leisure pursuits that also have a beneficial impact is the same as obtaining a value-added service. What a K-drama can do is accomplish that. I recall stumbling into Start-Up (2020) on Netflix and randomly beginning to watch the drama. I had no inkling of what it would likely offer me. Start-Up provides an insight into these young professionals vying for love and success in Korea’s cutthroat high-tech industry, while also skilfully underscoring the fact that no matter how wrecked a household is, the bonds remain. I found it to be the most motivating thing.

The female lead, Seo Dal-mi (Bae Suzy), admirably connected with me on a cognitive level in addition to portraying an inspiring character who starts life from scratch, hits the road, chases her ambition, and inevitably succeeds. In a particularly beautiful exchange, Dal-mi says that aimless wandering can lead to unexpected bliss. Sometimes acting irrationally or simply doing anything, like getting wet in the rain even when you have an umbrella, can help you cool off on a hot day. I’ve gone through comparable things in life. Strangely, even though I occasionally take action without a clear aim in mind, most of these decisions turn out to be more significant in the long run. It made me feel so happy to encounter similarities and assertions from something I adore dearly: K-dramas.

In my eyes, these dramas are magnificent stories that manage to touch the universal language of hopes and dreams while maintaining the distinctiveness of individuals without diluting their experiences. For example, Pachinko (2022). It is one of the most emotionally charged true stories, full of impressive elements and a masterful depiction of a timeless saga. Although it is primarily an American drama, it chronicles the story of a Korean immigrant family through four generations as they leave their own country in an unwavering struggle to live and flourish. Pachinko hit me hard. I saw the lives of the characters as an understated parallel, illustrating that even when you are conscious of the odds against you, you must constantly play the game of life. You may alternate between success and failure. Yet, the way you respond to life’s challenges—whether with courage or fear—determines the kind of player you are in the end.

Many K-dramas have healing themes, including Good Doctor (2013), Healer (2014), Reply 1988 (2015), My ID Is Gangnam Beauty (2018), 18 Again (2020), Hospital Playlist (2020), It’s Okay to Not Be Okay (2020), Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha (2021), Navillera (2021), Move to Heaven (2021), My Liberation Notes (2022), Tomorrow (2022), Thirty-Nine (2022), Extraordinary Attorney Woo (2022), and the list can go on. Through these accounts, I have gained knowledge on a broad spectrum of subjects—friendship and unwavering love; bravery and fearlessness; struggles and triumphs; anxieties and concerns; emotions of loneliness and depression; social behaviors; and a lot more. Time and time again, I’ve been emotionally engaged by these stories. They have allowed me to mature with their development because I was able to relate to the characters and empathize with them.

K-dramas to me are fascinating informational libraries. Being a Korean language student, these dramas have been a valuable tool in my education as well as a source of delight. Seeing references to what I’ve learned on-screen brings me a great deal of joy. I believe it enables me to take in more knowledge while still enjoying the shows. These are representations of Korean culture, society, and history as well as imagery of daily life. For instance, King Sejong’s greatest achievement was the invention of the Korean script, known as Hangul. The Great King, Sejong (2008), a historical television series that chronicles the reign of Joseon’s fourth king, portrays that.

A plethora of K-dramas reflect the Joseon era’s emphasis on family values, class stratification, keeping order and authority, and the unequal social standing of women. Consider the blockbuster Sungkyunkwan Scandal (2010), adapted from the best-selling book The Lives of Sungkyunkwan Confucian Scholars by Jung Eun-gwol or Rookie Historian Goo Hae-ryung (2019), the sageuk rom-com drama, that shows the unjust class difference, ranking system, and extreme repression of anybody who dared to speak out during the Joseon period. A drama like Mr. Sunshine (2018) highlights ironies and idealism in the late Joseon era through people who were frequently disadvantaged in society, including women and the lower classes.

Between 2005 and the beginning of 2010, the inclusion of homosexual implications in K-dramas like Coffee Prince (2007) and Personal Taste (2010) became prevalent. The most well-known homosexual-themed Korean film at the time was The King and the Clown (2005). The movie is credited with popularizing the phrase “pretty boy or flower boy” and raising awareness of issues like commercialization and the marketing of the LGBTQ+ community. The massively successful movie was selected as South Korea’s official entry for the 2006 Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.

So, in summary, K-dramas are akin to engaging knowledge-givers that equip you with the understanding you need to make the best choice for yourself. As a result, my love for them is founded in knowledge and discovery: the past and present, endearing characters, society, and most importantly, life, which is a cycle of struggles and rewards, successes and failures, smiles and tears. I’m assuming that’s how you also feel. Maybe this is what makes K-dramas so beautiful. They give us a sense of solidarity and attachment because of our mutual passion for K-dramas.