If one asks where to go to check out the latest trends in Korea, the answer would definitely include Seongsu-dong, located in southeast Seoul. In this district — often dubbed the "Brooklyn of Seoul" — the air is thick with industrial history and hypermodern trends. Here, amid the red-brick warehouses, is a man who is reshaping Korean beauty standards with a single stroke of a brush. Liu, the founder of Liu Makeup by Seongsu (7F, 7, Seongsuil-ro 4ga-gil, Seongdong-gu, Seoul), is a male makeup artist who works around the clock to uncover true beauty.
The classic tropes of Korean beauty — pale skin, a small face and doll-like eyes — are becoming relics of the past. Today’s standards are no longer a monolith; they have fractured into hundreds of specialized branches, defined by individual "pursuit" rather than social conformity.
Young Koreans are now divided by diverse aesthetic desires. Some chase the vitality of a healthy, athletic physique, while others find beauty in a certain "melancholic sentiment." Tastes diverge between the vibrant and fruitful versus the calm and translucent. While some might still view Korean trends as monotonous, the reality has shifted: Young Koreans now use traditional standards merely as a palette to mix and match their own unique identities.
Korean men’s beauty, in particular, is navigating a fascinating transition. While globally renowned for its high level of grooming, the internal reality is more nuanced. When it comes to actual makeup, many Korean men still exist in a space of tension — caught between the aspiration to look their best and a lingering social resistance. In fact, in the documentary, a male client visiting Liu's studio to get his makeup done for a performance expressed concern that he might "turn out too much like women."
The documentary follows Liu as he works from morning to night to make others glow. His work-life balance teeters on the edge of a steep cliff, yet he insists that his highest state of joy is found within that very grind. By following Liu through a grueling 13-hour workday, the documentary offers a rare glimpse into a world of Korean beauty that remains invisible to the casual observer.