What women want: K-Dramas and equality

…. or a defense of unrealistic cinema.

In Crash Landing on You, a South Korean businesswoman goes paragliding on a sunny day, but is caught in a sudden tornado. After flying next to bathtubs and bicycles, she lands in the arms of a dreamy military man in North Korea.

They fall in love, he gets her home safely, and a year later they find each other in Switzerland. Also border security is a joke.

It’s an utterly ridiculous plot. It’s also one of the most watched shows on Netflix. In a time when audiences want ugly truths — dark comedies, drug lord sagas, and billionaire tragedies, K-dramas claim their own victory.

To be clear, I love K-Dramas. I’m part of the many who contribute to the hallyu (korean wave), by watching them obsessively into the night.

It all started during the pandemic, when my family Netflix was suddenly flooded with impossibly good looking asians. My sister and dad were watching exclusively Korean shows. My mum and I were puzzled and troubled, and extremely judgmental. A few months in, I finally decided to investigate by watching What’s wrong with Secretary Kim?

Embarrassingly, I was hooked. The visuals had tickled something in me. So even as I ridiculed and cringed, I finished all 16 episodes in a day. Followed by 3 more K-dramas within 2 weeks. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening . Why do I like these cheesy narratives? I’m CULTURED.

At the time, I had spent the past year on terrible dates in Bangalore. I had met people online, via common circles, and work, but nothing clicked. I remember a valentine’s day that had felt particularly lonely. When the lockdown was announced, I was relieved to go off the apps. I had an excuse for being single, to refuse to mingle. And K-dramas came to me as an unusual source of comfort.

I once mentioned my K-drama obsession in a feminist reading group, and immediately regretted it. A former roommate shot a look of disgust when I said I was a fan. Most K-dramas enforce stereotypical gender roles, homophobia, and insane beauty standards. They’re often built on a formula of problematic tropes, like a poor secretary falling in love with her CEO boss.

My enthusiasm for K-dramas then, feels contradictory to my progressive identity and supposed intellect as a grad student. It seems like neither I nor my fellow intelligent fangirls should like this stuff. But this made sense when I read the amazing Shrayana Bhattacharya’s “Desperately Seeking Shah Rukh”. If you haven’t read this book, I can’t recommend it enough. The book describes private lives of Indian women as they navigate a deeply patriarchal society, and adore Shah Rukh Khan. Shrayana writes, “Shah Rukh may not be a feminist icon, but he is a female one.”

The women in the book long for a love like SRK’s films. He is intentional and devotional towards his female leads. All anybody wants is to be seen. And SRK and K-dramas provide exactly that. While Hollywood is self-admittedly, ruled by men and horses, the K-drama industry is heavily female, with 90% of screenwriters being women. The majority of K-dramas cater to the female gaze and perspective.

The hero constantly prioritizes his heroine, spoils her silly, and often defends her against injustice in family and workplace. In one K-drama, the guy overcomes his severe germophobia to be with his love. In another, he’s a caregiver in a mental hospital, who falls for a successful but antisocial, short-tempered writer. For most viewers, these are unattainable fantasies. Viewership is highest in conservative cultures like India, and the middle east. It’s a cinderella story, and at the end of the day everybody wants to feel like a princess.

My friends describe K-Dramas as a stress buster, and a pick-me-up. I myself, felt less alone while watching these admittedly maudlin shows. This became especially true after moving countries and being in a hyper-competitive academic environment where I never seemed to belong. I would feel small during meetings and presentations, isolated in upstate New York, and immerse myself into K-drama dream world.

As women around me navigate their independence, they’re at odds with it. Their expectations from the mating market and the work force, are met with harsh fundamental inequalities. This emotional discontent has nurtured a place for K-dramas despite their faults.

One of my close friends opines “Can K-dramas end all toxic masculinity in the world?”. Perhaps not, but they at least provide us with a dreamland. Where your childhood crush will come back as a handsome billionaire, or fight the North Korean government for you. Because, as Shrayana says, “only the deepest dissatisfaction with reality drives us to dwell in fantasy”.