If anyone had told me five years ago that I would be a K-pop stan, I would have snorted with derision and cited my decades of indie-rock cred.
I grew up on the Boston music scene of the early ‘80s, where I used my fake ID to see Gang of Four, Echo & The Bunnymen and many others. Later I moved to New York, where I worked my way up through the indie music scene and two different alternative music magazines, ending up as the editor-in-chief of CMJ New Music Report, a since-shuttered college music weekly that helped launch the careers of R.E.M., Nirvana, Soundgarden and countless others.
So what could have led me to become obsessed with a genre based on some of the most shamelessly undistilled pop music in history, one that many people — including most of my onetime peers — dismiss as fluffy, formulaic and style-over-substance?
Stray Kids, that’s what.
Back in 2022, when “KPop Demon Hunters” was just a gleam in its creators’ eyes, a friend sent me a link to the “God’s Menu” video, telling me to let her know when I hit “that one part.” I had no idea what she meant, but I clicked the link — and my life, or at least my lifestyle, was forever changed.
The song’s cacophony hit me first, an almost overwhelming barrage of noise. Then came Changbin’s muscular rap. But the payoff comes at the 1:20 mark, when an angelic-faced Felix raps his iconic line in that deep growl: “Cookin’ like a chef/ I’m a five-star Michelin.” That’s what my friend wanted me to see. The incongruity between Felix’s looks — freckles! — and his bass-deep voice has enraptured people much more strong-willed than me.
Felix is what’s called a stan attractor or gateway member, meaning he’s the first one a fan recognizes and latches onto. Sometimes fans stay with their first bias (favorite), but other times, as they get to know the group, other members become their favorites (truth be told, Lee Know is now my bias in Stray Kids).
Then I was off to the races, chasing down my own K-pop cladogram. Because of Stray Kids competing on “Kingdom: Legendary War” reality show with other K-pop groups, I discovered Ateez, which is now one of my absolute favorite groups (Seonghwa is my bias). Then there was the EXO rabbit hole, which also led me to the solo work of D.O. (basically a Korean Hozier), Baekhyun (slow jams for days), and Kai, with his incredible dancing skills. From there I found SHINee, who are now my absolute favorites — my ultimate.
Why did this happen? What I love about K-pop is that it is a whole package; it’s got music, dancing, flashy costumes, extremely good-looking people, and tons and tons of fan content beyond music videos. One of the first things that appealed to me, however, is that the lyrics are in a language I don’t understand, so I don’t have to roll my eyes at the cheesy lyrics — and really, the groove and emotion of the music and the few English phrases are usually more than enough to tell you what a song is about.
Over the past four years I’ve seen many of these groups live, even flying to other cities to see them. A K-pop concert is different from any I’ve ever seen: There are lightsticks, fan handouts, chants, amazing outfits — and those are just the fans! Every time I go to a show (usually alone), I meet people and talk about our ultimate groups, our ultimate biases, who else we’ve seen. Most shows offer the opportunity ($$$) to watch the soundcheck, do a meet-and-greet with the artist, and basically fangirl/boy out about your faves. Seeing Ateez do their soundcheck with Seonghwa just ten feet in front of me was as thrilling as seeing the Pixies at CBGB (and a lot more sanitary).
And once you’re in, there’s an entire K-pop universe to discover. It’s divided into literal generations: Stray Kids are fourth-gen, which refers to the era in which they debuted, in this case 2018-23; first-gen reaches all the way back to the early ‘90s. There are also complex and often-confusing family trees around the groups, like the many NCT offshoots (see: NCT 127/NCT U/NCT Dream/NCT Wish/WayV).
But a key to the appeal may be this: Even though K-pop is massive and mass-market in almost every way, it still feels intimate. Learning which group’s members love or hate mint chocolate ice cream, weighing in on the best hairstyle for your bias, maybe dancing along to the choreography of your current favorite track feels like a joyful hobby, something to distract from ordinary life — the same joy and curiosity I felt when I was discovering punk and new wave.
I’ve made good friends through K-pop, people I might not have ordinarily met without the help of Taemin, Moon Sujin, Lee Know et al (my group chat is titled “It’s not meth,” because while we all admit to a perhaps excessive love for K-pop, “at least it’s not meth”). One friend is a professor who uses K-pop to teach literature.
Indeed, I’m not even the oldest person at a lot of these shows. K-pop isn’t just for young people, even though it’s delightful to see them scream and grow wide-eyed with excitement as the groups hit the stage. Can it be cringe? Of course! Does that matter? No! It’s all part of getting lost in this glittering world of gorgeous people, dancing and (sometimes) singing. As long as you avoid the toxic “antis,” the K-pop community is welcoming, inclusive, and just as vibrant and, yes, rebellious as my dyed-purple flattop, back in the days when I was young and cool.
Megan Frampton writes romantasy and historical romance under her own name and romantic women’s fiction as Megan Caldwell, and is the former editor in chief of CMJ New Music Report. She loves reading danmei, listening to K-pop, and defending the Oxford comma.
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