What brings us back to old Seoul

A scarf seller in Namdaemun Market became an online celebrity this autumn by asking customers why they were buying scarves they would never wear. He jokes that they are wasting their money. It is an unusual sales pitch. Much of its charm lies in the conversation.

Then success got in the way. The proprietor explained that the crowds were making conversation difficult and inconveniencing neighboring merchants. He asked people to drop in when visiting the market, rather than rush over just to see him. The attention was crowding out the encounters that had drawn it.

His predicament raises a question for Seoul’s rediscovered neighborhoods: What turns a first visit into a lasting relationship? Drawing a crowd and becoming part of someone’s life are not the same thing.

When I was a child, my parents and grandparents sometimes took me to Jongno and Euljiro. I remember wandering through Pimatgol’s narrow alleys behind Jongno’s main road and browsing the electronics shops of Sewoon Sangga with them. A bowl of "naengmyeon," or Korean cold noodles, in Euljiro is part of those memories, too. Years later, I went back to Jongno on my own to attend a language academy.

In Namdaemun, my mother and I browsed crockery, accessories, flowers and imported goods. I bought glasses and swimwear there. We enjoyed looking around, but the market was useful, too. Somewhere inside was a shop that had what we needed.

During my language academy days, Jongno’s cinemas and classrooms drew young people, and the streets felt busy. On return visits, the area seemed quieter, with fewer young faces than I remembered. I missed that bustle and wondered what would bring a new generation back.

Environmental psychologists call the bond between people and meaningful places “place attachment.” It grows through memories, relationships and familiar surroundings. A neighborhood’s revival may depend as much on those connections as on the number of visitors it attracts.

For the MZ generation, Korea’s shorthand for Millennials and Generation Z, those connections may begin differently. My memories began with family outings; someone else’s might begin with a date or a night out with friends.

"Yajang," eating and drinking at outdoor tables, offers one such occasion. In Euljiro and Jongno, the brief spell between summer’s heat and winter’s cold gives friends a chance to gather outside. I like seeing streets familiar to me become the setting for someone else’s memories. But as temperatures fall, the cold starts winning the argument. The plastic chair that looked so charming in September loses some of its appeal. What brings people back when it is too cold to sit outside?

Part of the answer is everyday usefulness. Euljiro’s printers, workshops and suppliers give its streets a purpose beyond entertaining visitors. Their customers come to get something made or find a part they need. Those businesses are as much a part of the neighborhood as its signs and narrow streets.

A crowded alley looks different depending on where you stand. For a visitor, a queue may signal somewhere worth trying. For a neighboring merchant, it may block an entrance. A successful afternoon for one shop should leave room for others to do business.

Some of the work is unglamorous. According to Jongno District, an agreement signed on Oct. 1, 2025, established joint management of Donhwamun-ro 11-gil and nearby Galmaegi Alley in Ikseon-dong. The district outlined measures including keeping pedestrian routes open, cleaning public toilets and opening additional shop toilets.

The toilets caught my attention. A photograph of an atmospheric alley rarely shows the search for one. Yet such details help decide whether an enjoyable evening stays enjoyable, and how much inconvenience residents have to bear.

Making a street more comfortable does not necessarily make it easier for established merchants to stay. If popularity pushes rents beyond what they can afford, the neighborhood may lose the businesses that gave it character. A full alley tells us little about whether a shopkeeper can manage the next lease renewal.

For Namdaemun, the questions are ordinary ones. Does someone who arrives for scarves notice a crockery shop and return when a bowl needs replacing? Can a visitor find a useful shop again after the video has vanished from the feed? Such small decisions give a market a place in someone’s routine. No special occasion is needed.

My family gave me reasons to return long before anyone recommended these places online. Today’s newcomers can find their own reasons, and eventually memories to share.

The scarf seller’s invitation was to drop by without rushing, when people were already exploring the market. Perhaps the best outcome of his sudden fame would be a few more familiar faces and enough time to ask them, once again, why they were spending money on scarves they would never wear.

Shin Go-eun is an associate professor at the University of Social Sciences and Humanities, Vietnam National University Ho Chi Minh City.