By Jason Lim
I spent these past few days on a business trip to Seoul. It was interesting timing in that it feels to me that Korea is just starting to come out of many of its COVID-19 restrictions and renormalize.
On the surface, it was the same Seoul that I have always known: very crowded. The sheer number of people in the subways, streets and shops comes at you with an almost physical force. You have to walk sideways and pick your way through the crowd to get to places.
You have to think of pre-positioning your location while waiting for the subway or crossing a street so as to facilitate the next movement as efficiently as possible. With the crowd comes the urgency and almost aggressive intent of physical movement that's very focused with little mental space to look around. You can't be lost. You can't waver. You have to know where you want to go all the time. Seoul doesn't allow for mental, physical or emotional idleness. You have to be constantly on the move, with specific intent.
Seoul aspires to be very rich. The ostentatiousness of wealth is difficult to ignore. I have seen more Beamers and Mercedes within a 5-block radius in Gangnam District than I have seen along the poshest addresses along Central Park in New York City. I have seen more luxury watches on strangers' wrists than at Tourneau Corner in Time Square.
Seoul is like a magnifying glass through which everything is abbreviated and amplified for all to see and be seen. There is a hierarchy of looks, luxuries, jobs, schools and everything else that all are trying their best to climb while ensuring that everyone else knows that they are at a specific rung on the ladder. It's also unidirectional. Climbing down isn't allowed, and you can't change your mind once you step on that first rung.
Seoul is strangely bifurcated in its presentation of physical beauty. This duality applies to both the city and citizens alike. On the surface, it's a global city worthy of its name. The streets are wide, straight, filled with cars, lined with modern high rises, adorned with famous shops, and filled with all the other trappings of a top city.
Just beyond the modern thoroughfares, however, there are seedy, twisted and old streets that seem preserved in time, seeming like more almost snapshots than actually live, and dark even during daylight because of the high rises that block out the sun. The city is thus often visually dizzying, but filled with quaint, living history filled with a charm that can seep into you. But probably not for a while. Not to mention the hidden gems of incredible food that you might luck into.
You can see a similar bifurcation in the people. Even with their faces covered, you will find world beauties ― both male and female ― walking along the streets as if they are modeling on catwalks in Milan with confident, modern stares. Strangely enough, such young, vibrant beauty is so common that it's ignored by their fellow citizens.
Then again, you will come across a wizened, raisin of a grandma who stepped out of a Christian missionary's B/W photo from the late 1800s: dark, suntanned skin, deep furrows, and wrinkles about the face, hunched over, staring out suspiciously with indigenous skepticism but wearing the latest fashion. These people will coexist on the same cross walk, running to beat the merciless green arrows that measure how long you have to wade through the crowd to get to the other side.
If I had to pick one thing about Seoul to describe its essence, however, I would have to say that Seoul doesn't allow you to hide. It's probably one of the most hyper-social places in the world. Maybe packing 25 million people into one greater metropolitan area wasn't the best way to facilitate invisibility. At times, it feels like seeing and being seen is an end unto itself, even if you are by yourself. It's exhausting to think you are constantly being watched. It's even more exhausting to have to watch everyone else also for the fear of missing out on the next thing.
Then, how did Seoulites' omnipresent tendency constantly to watch each other impact lives during COVID-19? That is the one question that I am intensely curious about. Watching each other also means judging each other. Judging each other, even silently, is the best way to enforce a certain norm of behavior. Is that what drove Korea's vaunted compliance with masks and contact tracing tactics? Is that the secret to its collectivist culture ― everyone silently approving or disapproving that does not seem to brook any outlier behavior?
Also, how did wearing masks affect socialization? We communicate extensively using facial expressions and body language. How did that work when everyone wears masks all the time? When stares are the only means of "seeing" one another, without the benefit of mitigating or amplifying facial expressions that enrich exchanges, how did people communicate? How did children learn without those cues? These seem all fascinating question, all unknown for me for now.
Anyways, welcome back Seoul. You have been missed.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
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On the surface, it was the same Seoul that I have always known: very crowded. The sheer number of people in the subways, streets and shops comes at you with an almost physical force. You have to walk sideways and pick your way through the crowd to get to places.
You have to think of pre-positioning your location while waiting for the subway or crossing a street so as to facilitate the next movement as efficiently as possible. With the crowd comes the urgency and almost aggressive intent of physical movement that's very focused with little mental space to look around. You can't be lost. You can't waver. You have to know where you want to go all the time. Seoul doesn't allow for mental, physical or emotional idleness. You have to be constantly on the move, with specific intent.
Seoul aspires to be very rich. The ostentatiousness of wealth is difficult to ignore. I have seen more Beamers and Mercedes within a 5-block radius in Gangnam District than I have seen along the poshest addresses along Central Park in New York City. I have seen more luxury watches on strangers' wrists than at Tourneau Corner in Time Square.
Seoul is like a magnifying glass through which everything is abbreviated and amplified for all to see and be seen. There is a hierarchy of looks, luxuries, jobs, schools and everything else that all are trying their best to climb while ensuring that everyone else knows that they are at a specific rung on the ladder. It's also unidirectional. Climbing down isn't allowed, and you can't change your mind once you step on that first rung.
Seoul is strangely bifurcated in its presentation of physical beauty. This duality applies to both the city and citizens alike. On the surface, it's a global city worthy of its name. The streets are wide, straight, filled with cars, lined with modern high rises, adorned with famous shops, and filled with all the other trappings of a top city.
Just beyond the modern thoroughfares, however, there are seedy, twisted and old streets that seem preserved in time, seeming like more almost snapshots than actually live, and dark even during daylight because of the high rises that block out the sun. The city is thus often visually dizzying, but filled with quaint, living history filled with a charm that can seep into you. But probably not for a while. Not to mention the hidden gems of incredible food that you might luck into.
You can see a similar bifurcation in the people. Even with their faces covered, you will find world beauties ― both male and female ― walking along the streets as if they are modeling on catwalks in Milan with confident, modern stares. Strangely enough, such young, vibrant beauty is so common that it's ignored by their fellow citizens.
Then again, you will come across a wizened, raisin of a grandma who stepped out of a Christian missionary's B/W photo from the late 1800s: dark, suntanned skin, deep furrows, and wrinkles about the face, hunched over, staring out suspiciously with indigenous skepticism but wearing the latest fashion. These people will coexist on the same cross walk, running to beat the merciless green arrows that measure how long you have to wade through the crowd to get to the other side.
If I had to pick one thing about Seoul to describe its essence, however, I would have to say that Seoul doesn't allow you to hide. It's probably one of the most hyper-social places in the world. Maybe packing 25 million people into one greater metropolitan area wasn't the best way to facilitate invisibility. At times, it feels like seeing and being seen is an end unto itself, even if you are by yourself. It's exhausting to think you are constantly being watched. It's even more exhausting to have to watch everyone else also for the fear of missing out on the next thing.
Then, how did Seoulites' omnipresent tendency constantly to watch each other impact lives during COVID-19? That is the one question that I am intensely curious about. Watching each other also means judging each other. Judging each other, even silently, is the best way to enforce a certain norm of behavior. Is that what drove Korea's vaunted compliance with masks and contact tracing tactics? Is that the secret to its collectivist culture ― everyone silently approving or disapproving that does not seem to brook any outlier behavior?
Also, how did wearing masks affect socialization? We communicate extensively using facial expressions and body language. How did that work when everyone wears masks all the time? When stares are the only means of "seeing" one another, without the benefit of mitigating or amplifying facial expressions that enrich exchanges, how did people communicate? How did children learn without those cues? These seem all fascinating question, all unknown for me for now.
Anyways, welcome back Seoul. You have been missed.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
