Mainstreaming Korea
By Jason Lim
Today, the bustling streets of Manhattan are filled with a ubiquitous Korean presence, whether they be young and fresh exchange students on their way to Columbia, NYU, or Parsons, well-heeled Deli owners ordering around their employees, or call taxi drivers along Broadway and 32nd gesturing at random pedestrians to hop in.
And it’s not just New York City. Drive a few hours south and you’ll find Washington, D.C.’s streets also filled with a lively Korean cultural presence. Step into a local California Pizza Kitchen and you will find a special menu item featuring a Bulgogi Taco. Step out into K-street during business lunch hours and you might have to stand in line for a bibimbap cart or a rice bar cart featuring the spiciest Korean food this side of DuPont Circle.
This is especially noteworthy because it tells me that Korean culture is no longer defined by its ``Koreanness” as much as by its appeal to the main stream American consumers. Korean food is no longer an exotic something that you have to go to a special place to try out. Korean food is becoming something that you casually pick up as you step out into a hot, sweltering D.C. street with only 15 minutes to spare. It’s just one choice among many, competing for your attention along with burritos, burgers, sandwiches, and pizzas.
In fact, the gradual, albeit bastardized, spread of Korean food to Main Street America could be much more important than the widely publicized popularity of Hallyu dramas in Asia because the latter is necessarily a trend and even the most celebrated trend is bound to wane, even if you are The Beatles. But Korean food and culture that can appeal to the mainstream can be more than a trend; it can be an opportunity to meld into the ``deep culture” of the U.S.
David Dotlich, a renowned leadership guru, uses the image of an iceberg to explain deep culture. If popular music, fine arts, and literature make up the visible one–tenth of the overall cultural iceberg, then things like the conception of past and future, patterns of handling emotions, notions about logic and validity, and ideas about the self are part of the deep culture that make up the invisible nine–tenth of who we are. It is this deep culture that primarily drives our collective identity as a nation. And this is where the real exciting possibility of Korean food lies ― in changing how Koreans are perceived by others and how we perceive ourselves by influencing the deep culture of the U.S. After all, nothing is more essential to who we are than the types of food we find acceptable and nutritious to eat.
But what’s almost as important to what we eat is how we look. More accurately, how widely receptive we are to the way we care for our looks. That’s why I noted with surprise and interest when I recently came across a display counter filled with the bottles of Sulwhasoo, the well-known Korean line of cosmetics products made by Amore Pacific. Their familiarity was what drew my eyes at first, since I have seen the same bottles in my mother’s bedroom ever since I could recall. But I had always thought of them as uniquely Korean and not translatable to the mainstream American audience because they were ostensibly ``Eastern” cosmetics, made from Chinese herbal ingredients and based on ancient health wisdoms.
But the fact that those same exact bottles were displayed in Bergdorf Goodman, the most chic boutique department store in New York City, told me that the ``Korean” way of looking is crossing over and seeping into the ``American” way of looking as well. In fact, Sulwhasoo was touting its Korean roots, describing its products like this: ``According to traditional Korean wisdom, the body's energies change every seven years, weakening and falling out of balance at 35 ― the crucial moment for anti-aging intervention.”
Ok. Admittedly, Amore’s product blurbs leave something to be desired. I am not sure about the wisdom of telling your possible customers over 35 that you can’t help them any longer. Regardless, that something so ``Korean” could take its place among something so ``French” (L’oreal), ``Japanese” (Shiseido), or ``American” (Estee Lauder) speaks loudly to how much it’s becoming a part of the American deep culture.
This is not lost on other Korean cosmetics companies. In fact, Kim Jiyeon, Manager of Marketing for LG’s Household and Healthcare America, was recently brought on as an expert cosmetics marketer to jumpstart the introduction of LG’s premier herbal-based ``The History of Whoo” line to mainstream America. ``Before, Asian cosmetics companies were satisfied to just mimic Western cosmetics,” explains Kim, “but now, we have become more confident that something ``Korean” could also be something ``American” and beyond. My job is to translate that universal effectiveness of our products to the American consumers.”
In a way, it really shouldn’t be a surprise that this is happening in a plural society like America. And ultimately my interest does not lay on whether the ``History of Whoo” also gets counter space in Bergdorf or even Barneys. My hope is that the lesson here ― that Koreanness could seep into the deep culture of American and become an essential part of Americanness ― encourages the 2nd generation Korean American young people to become more self-confident about their cultural identity and engage across the board in co-shaping the future of their country.
Jason Lim is a non-resident fellow at The Peace Foundation, a non-partisan think-tank researching policy options for peace on the Korean Peninsula. He can be reached at jasonlim@msn.com. You can also follow him on Facebook.