Back to the classroom

At 8:30 a.m., I walked into a classroom where I was the only man.

This was not a social experiment. It was my Korean language class.

Seven years ago, as a university student, I sat in a similar room at Korea University, struggling to introduce myself in broken sentences. Today, I have returned as a former corporate lawyer, having stepped away from a career defined by transactions, deadlines and long nights to study Korean full-time in Seoul.

The contrast is immediate. In my previous life, I advised on cross-border deals. Now, my most pressing daily challenge is whether I can correctly use Korean grammar. It is a humbling shift, one that has forced me to relearn what it means to be a beginner.

But what stood out to me was not the language.

As my classmates arrived, a pattern became clear. Out of 14 students, I was the only male. Last semester, there had been one other. This time, there was none.

Over time, I realized this was not unusual. The higher the level of the class, the fewer male students there seem to be. My teacher confirmed it without hesitation. Korean language classrooms, particularly at the advanced level, are overwhelmingly female.

At first glance, this may seem trivial. In reality, it reflects something deeper about how Korea is being engaged with globally.

Over the past decade, Korea’s cultural influence has expanded. Music, television, film and beauty have created a powerful entry point into Korean society. For many, particularly young women, this exposure develops into something more sustained. What begins with a drama or a song often becomes a commitment to learning the language itself.

At the same time, motivations in the classroom have shifted. When I first studied here, classes felt like a cross section of the world. There were students of all ages and backgrounds, from teenagers to retirees, learning purely out of curiosity. Today, the range feels narrower, but the intent is clearer. Many students are here with defined goals such as graduate study, career opportunities or long-term relocation.

Korean is no longer just a hobby. It is an investment, which makes the imbalance harder to ignore. If language learning in Korea is increasingly tied to opportunity, why are more men not making the same investment?

Part of the answer may lie in perception. Many men are still drawn toward skills that appear directly practical, such as finance, engineering or law. Language learning, especially when linked to culture, can be seen as secondary. Something interesting, but not essential.

That assumption may no longer hold.

As Korea’s economic and strategic importance grows, language becomes a form of access. It is not only about communication, but about understanding how decisions are made, how trust is built and how relationships develop in a business environment where nuance matters.

There is also a more personal dimension that is easy to overlook. Learning a language in a foreign country requires patience, consistency and the willingness to be uncomfortable. Progress is slow and often invisible. These are not soft skills. They are transferable capabilities that shape how people operate in any high-pressure environment.

From this perspective, the classroom is not a detour from a career path. It can be part of it. Outside the classroom, I run through the streets of Seoul, learning the city one kilometer at a time. Inside, I work through conversations one sentence at a time. Both processes are slow. Both require endurance. Neither offers immediate results.

But both accumulate.

Returning to the classroom has reminded me that stepping back into the role of a beginner is not a regression. It is a decision to invest in something that compounds over time. More people are learning Korean than ever before. The question is who they are, and who is not.

That gap may be worth paying attention to.

Geoffrey Chen (gywchen@gmail.com) is a former corporate lawyer from Australia currently studying Korean at Korea University in Seoul.