Jason Lim is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
Cyberpunk at the Olympics
South Korean table tennis players Lim Jong-hoon, left, and Shin Yu-bin, second from right, take a selfie with Chinese and North Korean table tennis players during the medal ceremony for the mixed doubles table tennis event for the Paris Olympics at South Paris Arena 4, Tuesday. The South Korean duo won the bronze medal, the Chinese duo won the gold and the North Korean pair the silver. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul
As we finish the first week of the 2024 Paris Olympics, there have been the usual highlights, minor surprises, expected heroes and predictable storylines. However, what I've always found fascinating about these types of events are the unexpected athletes or moments that seem to grab the world's imagination and go wildly viral in totally unforeseen ways. So far, there have been two Korea-related moments that seem to have resonated universally and taken the world by storm.
First is the group selfie that South Korea's Lim Jong-hoon took after the medal ceremony, marking the winners of the mixed doubles table tennis in which China won the gold, North Korea won the silver and South Korea won the bronze. On the surface, it was a typical group selfie that pretty much all medalists take after a shared milestone moment of their lives. And that's exactly what it looked like: a bunch of really young Asians in athletic wear posing and smiling brightly with their medals and trophies as they stared at the bright screen of a smartphone.
On the other hand, it was also a group photo that included athletes from the two Koreas currently engaged in a tit-for-tat pissing contest laden with more than the usual vitriol that's threatening to spiral out of control. The latest burst of mutual hatred started last year when the North suspended a five-year military deal with the South aimed at lowering military tensions and withdrew all measures "taken to prevent military conflict in all spheres including ground, sea and air." Then, earlier this year, Kim Jong-un told the Supreme People's Assembly that the North should amend its constitution to designate the South as the principal enemy and that reunification efforts with the South are no longer possible. To show that he was serious, he went on to dismantle all organizations that were originally established to manage the North's relationship with the South, not to mention the occasional ballistic missile tests and, nowadays, trash-filled balloons.
So, it wasn't the photo that was special, per se. It was a contextual story in which the photo was located that made it special in a way that reminded us of the humanity in each other. Despite the politics of mutual animosity and the painful history of a fratricidal war, the kids looked just like any other kids. The sheer ordinariness of the photo was a ray of hope, a reminder of a shared future that will inevitably continue beyond shifting borders and boundaries.
Then came the cyberpunk Kim Ye-ji, the 31-year-old silver medalist in the women's 10-meter air pistol competition. Despite losing out to her fellow compatriot, Oh Ye-jin, Kim's cool demeanor, expressionless face, robotic shooting posture, protective glasses, steady hands and a sense of mysterious aura came together to create a futuristic-looking character straight out of a science fiction movie or anime. Even Tesla's Elon Musk got into the act, saying, "She should be cast in an action movie. No acting required!" on X, formerly Twitter.
What's unique about this viral sensation is that not much is known about Kim. Unlike the mixed table tennis photo, there is no overriding contextual narrative that tells a compelling story about Kim and her Olympics moment. It wasn't even about her performance. Kim went viral literally on the strength of her looks because she just looked so damn cool. The question begs, "why?" Why did we find her cool?
She didn't impose a narrative on the world. Coolness was a story that was imposed on her based on her looks and demeanor. She was inadvertently cast into a role that perfectly fit a ubiquitous story that the world projected onto her. It was the story of coolness.
That was the common impression that ran through all the social media posts and pundits' comments about Kim. Frankly, I don't even know what that means. I know cool when I see it, but I couldn't articulate it. And if I can't even deconstruct what cool consists of for me, then how does the world share an organic impression of someone based on a common definition of cool?
Frankly, I blame the Terminator. Arnold Schwarzenegger's portrayal of the cybernetic robot from the future was all about an expressionless, nonchalant, uncaring, relentless, and indefatigable construct that fulfills its mission no matter what. It was a human-looking organism that couldn't be any less human.
Perhaps that's what we see in Kim. An ordinary human is acting impossibly non-human in how she goes about her business. We crave that devil-may-care attitude, a disdainful dismissal of the others, and that singular focus on the here and now as she aims her pistol at the impossibly tiny target. In a world marked by constant distractions, perpetual attention deficits and a constant barrage of judgments from others, Kim represents the ultimate coolness. Unshakeable, uncaring and uncompromising. A middle finger to today's Instagram world is thirsting after fleeting likes from total strangers. Yeah, she's cool.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture. The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect The Korea Times’ editorial stance.