Merry Consumer-mas
“What are you doing for Christmas?”
The question lurks in the shadows of every conversation I have had since the start of November, always asked and impossible to avoid.
While this seems like a harmless and innocent question, its underlying thorns stab and burrow deep into my loneliness. At risk of sounding like the Grinch, my response goes something like, “I will probably stay at home and watch a movie.”
A well-anticipated pitiful expression grows on my friend’s face, followed by murmurs of mock sympathy.
Korea’s Christmas scene is very distinctive to that in Western societies. Large shopping malls compete for the largest and most extravagant Christmas decorations, while stores concoct promotional events catered towards lovebirds. It is almost customary for young couples to meet up on Christmas Eve, visit one of the Christmas photo spots scattered in large malls, have a fancy — and expensive —dinner and exchange gifts. Jesus’ birthday has transformed into a consumeristic frenzy capitalizing off romantic relationships.
Of course, Christmas is not alone in its quest to promote consumerism. Many imported and recently devised holidays in Korea follow its steps: Jjajangmyeon Day, Halloween and Peppero Day — just to name a few.
However, the commercialistic nature of Christmas is all the more displeasing as it has no regard for us less-fortunate singles. To understand why Christmas season marketing has taken a strategy geared towards couples, we must first take a journey with Korea’s Ghost of Christmas Past.
Christmas was first brought to Korea in the 1890s by Christian missionaries. Until Korea’s liberation in the mid-1940s, Korea’s Christmas scene, albeit smaller, was akin to that of Western societies; Christian families got together to break bread, and stores sold Christmas trees and gifts. Nonetheless, things took a dark turn when post-Korean War leaders established an authoritarian regime and implemented a curfew to limit assembly. But Christmas was the only day when that curfew was lifted, prompting lovers to spend longer together. This was naturally exploited as a marketing opportunity for retailers. This curfew continued into the early 1980s.
The marketing strategy rooted in the institutions of Korea’s authoritarian past have since been strengthened and wedged in Korean culture. Popular culture, internet memes and mass media act as fuels, reinforcing the idea that it is lonesome to spend Christmas with anyone other than your significant other. A derogatory slang term, Sol-Keu, made up of the first syllables of solo (being single) and Christmas, is used almost synonymously to the word loner. In 2012, angry singles gathered in Gwanghwamun Square, demanding Christmas culture to change.
This Christmas culture is hazardous as it promotes not only consumerism, but glamorizes romance, creating a social ambience in which being single is frowned upon. It renders people to devour themselves by becoming morbidly obsessed with escaping solitude. It weaves a hyperbolized narrative about love, while rendering people to perceive the abyss of loneliness as being deeper than it really is.
Alas rest assured, this criticism does not come from the fact that I will probably be spending this Christmas alone. Ungrounded pettiness and spite, I have none.
Lee Seung-ku is a senior at Seoul National University.