Puzzle of Korean insecurity
By Alden Ng
“Our university is very reputable,” a Korean student informs me as I grill the galbi. “The prof wanted me to tell you that.” Everything clicked in my head with that statement. It was strange that I had been invited to dinner out of the blue, but her statement brought refreshing clarity. It turns out our professor was worried about the school's reputation after hearing that some students from my university in the same exchange program had declined their slots here in the university in favor of extending their stay elsewhere.
What surprised me was that the professor's anxiety over his already prestigious university's reputation led him to take such extreme and expensive steps. Recounting this situation to other Korean friends, I was told that Koreans place a strong emphasis on “chemyeon” or keeping face, and tend to react very strongly to the fear that they may lose it. As an ethnic Chinese Singaporean, this notion is not foreign to me, but I have never seen such an extreme response to its possible loss. Studying this issue, one suggestion for his strong reaction is that it appears to come from a deep-rooted insecurity. Apparently, it's such a well-known phenomenon that there is even a word for it in Korean, “yeolpok,” which refers to the explosion of one's inferiority complex.
If true, this phenomenon explains something I, as a food lover, noticed: In contemporary Korean fine dining, there is a tendency to use caviar and truffles despite both being non-native ingredients. At Mingles, I was surprised to see caviar atop a gochujang-marinated clam. While it was domestic caviar, I wondered if the dish would have been better without it, given that the gochujang's pungency cloaked the roe's delicate salinity. Similarly, at Jungsik, I begin to wonder if their tuna kimbap was truly a reflection of new Korean cuisine using traditional ingredients when the waitress abruptly placed a ramekin of truffle mayo beside it. I think I am not alone with such an opinion, as Chef Joseph Lidgerwood of Evett remarks in a recent interview, uncannily mirroring my observations: “When you add [...] truffle, or caviar or foie gras, [one] just degrad[es] the [local] ingredient.” While he declined to address the tendency's source, I would like to propose that this too is a product of yeolpok, one's inferiority complex.
This realization is not new. In a 2019 article, Seoul National University professor emeritus and former Literary Translation Institute of Korea President Kim Seong-kon urges Koreans to overcome this complex and build confidence to better embrace criticism. He also suggests that the lack of self-confidence may be the reason that “breakup violence” happens frequently in Korea. Indeed, when passing through Yongsan District, I had the misfortune of encountering shouting from across the street ― where a well-dressed man hurled insults at his equally well-dressed date. Surely, breaking up with someone does not merit such yeolpok.
Personally, it is puzzling that Koreans have an inferiority complex that creates these reactions. As an Asian Tiger and the leading exporter of smartphones and pop culture today, Koreans have nothing to be ashamed of. Indeed, after a wondrous four months in Seoul, I am acutely aware of Korea's innovative know-how that is bolstered by its rich historical traditions. But, in the spirit of urging Koreans to cast away this complex and yeolpok once and for all, I beg to level one criticism: perhaps all the fuss over hanwoo (Korean beef) should be revisited.
Alden Ng undertook an undergraduate exchange in Seoul this year, where he accompanied foodie friends between bleak days subsisting on cup ramyeon.