K-pop, a global phenomenon fueled by its dazzling choreography, stunning visuals, and polished performances, has cultivated one of the most intense and loyal fanbases in the world. Fans dedicate themselves to supporting their favorite idols and groups, following their every move, collecting their favorite members’ photocards, staying up late to stream their music, and attending fan events. However, beneath this admiration is a darker, more deceptive phenomenon: parasocial relationships. These one-sided relationships, where fans form deep emotional attachments to idols who do not know them personally, have increasingly been taking a severe toll on the mental, emotional, and even physical well-being of idols.Â
While parasocial relationships exist in other entertainment industries, the K-pop industry has amplified their intensity by marketing idols in ways that make them appear intimately available and relatable. This dynamic, combined with the relentless expectations and scrutiny placed on idols, is creating a toxic environment that no artist should have to endure. For many people around the world, making their mark in the music industry is a lifelong dream. While some aspire to become teachers or doctors, others envision themselves standing on stage, showcasing their talent to the world. In South Korea, achieving this goal requires navigating an intense training system where hopeful participants audition for companies and secure spots under their management. The trainee period is notoriously grueling, characterized by relentless hours of dance practice, vocal lessons, and harsh critiques from mentors. However, even securing a trainee position doesn’t guarantee stardom; many spend years in limbo, never debuting as idols. This rigorous process often robs them of the normal experiences that shape childhood and adolescence. Once they finally debut, the little freedom they once had vanishes entirely. Idols find themselves under constant surveillance, with every vulnerable moment scrutinized by the public eye. Imagine being thrust into this strange new environment, separated from your family for months or even years, while feeling trapped in a kind of “significant other simulation” in a career that means everything to you.
One of the most glaring examples of how these parasocial relationships can spiral out of control is the recent case involving Seunghan, a member of the rookie boy group RIIZE. For a deeper understanding of the group and matter, RIIZE is a K-pop group under the company SM ENTERTAINMENT, that debuted in September of 2023 that consists of seven members: Shotaro, Eunseok, Sungchan, Wonbin, Seunghan, Sohee, and Anton. They were an instant hit abroad for their dynamic and nostalgic essence to their group. Just a few months into his debut, 21-year-old Seunghan was embroiled in a dating scandal that created a divide in the fandom. With the intense spreading on the matter, SM ENTERTAINMENT placed him on a nine-month hiatus, leaving fans in the dark on any updates related to his well-being or knowing if he would be rejoining the group. For K-pop idols, being involved in romantic relationships often leads to fan outrage, as many fans feel betrayed or “cheated on” when their idols are perceived to be in love with someone other than them. Despite Seunghan being a young adult with every right to live his life privately, some fans responded with distasteful attacks online, accusing him of damaging the group’s image and disappointing the fans who had invested emotionally in him.Â
What makes this case particularly striking, however, is the lengths to which fans went to protest against Seunghan’s removal from the group. On Oct. 11, after nine months of his hiatus, SM ENTERTAINMENT posted a statement shocking fans with the announcement of his return to the group after the long intense wait. Within seconds of the announcement, he began to trend on various social media platforms in support of his return to the group and finally getting some sort of update on what he was up to. On the other side of the spectrum in a dramatic display, some fans bought and sent funeral wreaths to the company in protest. These wreaths, which are traditionally reserved for mourning, symbolized the fans’ distaste for his return to the group. Sending over 1,000 wreaths, the outside of the SM ENTERTAINMENT building was lined with these ill-mannered wreaths protesting Seunghan’s career or role in the group. It’s a chilling reminder of how deeply these fans can become entangled in the lives of idols, treating them not as real people but as characters in their own personal narratives. Following the placement of these wreaths on Oct. 13, an announcement was made stating that his return had been reversed and he would be stepping down from the group to quell fan disputes. The decision was framed as an effort to foster harmony within the fandom, suggesting that his return was hindering rather than helping the group’s unity. This was a stark contradiction to the sentiments expressed by many fans, who believed his return could actually strengthen the fandom. For some, Seunghan wasn’t just an artist they supported – he was a symbol of their emotional investment and expectations. They constructed a distorted narrative in their minds, believing that because he is an idol, he lacks the same “rights” and freedoms as everyone else and shouldn’t reveal his true self to the world. This perspective ignores the fundamental truth that every individual deserves love and happiness, regardless of their celebrity status. Fans may envision idols as belonging solely to them, leading to feelings of betrayal if those idols engage in relationships or express a side of themselves that is authentic to who they are behind the cameras. It’s disheartening to realize that some people genuinely view K-pop idols as their possessions, expecting them to adhere to their demands in exchange for support, completely overlooking the immense talent and hard work that goes into achieving their dreams.Â
The extreme nature of the fan responses highlights how K-pop companies contribute to and escalate the intensity of these parasocial relationships. Unlike other industries where celebrities maintain a clear boundary between their professional and personal lives, K-pop companies actively market idols as emotionally available and attainable. Idols are often presented in fan meetings, reality shows, and social media content in ways that make them seem like they are “part of fans’ personal lives.” Fans are encouraged to buy multiple albums to secure a chance to interact with idols during fan sign events or receive a personalized video message from them. This marketing strategy deepens the illusion that idols are not just entertainers but also potential friends, companions, or even romantic interests.
While parasocial relationships exist in other entertainment forms, such as the intense followings of actors, sports figures, or even Wattpad characters (major throwback), K-pop’s approach is uniquely designed to make these relationships more personal and obsessive. In Wattpad or fanfiction communities, fans may become attached to fictional characters or storylines, but the individuals they are fixated on remain fictional (in some cases). In K-pop, the lines between fantasy and reality blur, as fans are drawn into the belief that their emotional investment in idols is reciprocated, or at the very least, appreciated on a deeply personal level. This leads to a sense of ownership over idols, which is unhealthy for both the fans and the idols themselves. Fans, by fixating on fabricated scenarios, place enormous pressure on idols, who are forced to address rumors while maintaining a carefully curated public persona.
Another damaging consequence of these parasocial relationships is the rise of Saesangs – extreme fans who invade idols’ privacy to an unsettling degree. Saesangs go to great lengths to follow idols wherever they go, whether it’s stalking their residencies, chasing them in cars, or waiting at airports after long international flights to mob them with flashing cameras. These incidents are not just disruptive – they’re dangerous. The constant harassment creates an environment where idols cannot escape scrutiny or public attention. Recently, Seoul’s Incheon Airport implemented a new, private exit route specifically for idols due to the alarming increase in airport mobbing. However, even this measure feels like a superficial fix for a much deeper problem – the need to address the lack of boundaries in the relationships between fans and idols. The impact of this relentless attention extends far beyond mere inconvenience. It has a profound effect on the mental health of idols, many of whom debut at very young ages and are thrust into an industry that demands perfection, yet strips them of privacy and emotional freedom.
Beyond the emotional turmoil, the physical toll of K-pop’s grueling schedules is often overlooked. Idols face overwhelming demands from their agencies, leaving them with little time to rest or even just take time for their mental health and well-being. The industry’s notorious trainee system, which starts training idols from their early teens or even younger, conditions these young artists to sacrifice normal life experiences in pursuit of fame. Many idols miss out on a traditional education, forming close friendships, and even sleep. All in the name of keeping up with packed schedules of promotions, performances, rehearsals, and international tours. Sleep deprivation, stress, and isolation from friends and family are common experiences for many idols, yet they are expected to smile through the exhaustion for the sake of the fans who are watching their every move. Many idols travel across the world to obtain this dream and miss out on important moments in their lives spent with their family members.
The culmination of all these factors – parasocial relationships, Saesangs, relentless public scrutiny, and the pressure to maintain an unattainable standard – creates an industry that is detrimental to the well-being of its stars. While idols may seem glamorous on stage, they often lead lives of quiet desperation behind the scenes, where the demands of fame strip them of their autonomy and the right to live as normal young adults.
In conclusion, parasocial relationships in K-pop have evolved into a troubling phenomenon that severely impacts idols’ mental and emotional health. The pressure to remain emotionally available and perform perfectly under the watchful eyes of obsessive fans has created an environment that is both toxic and unsustainable. From Seunghan’s case to the treatment of idols by their companies, it is clear that the K-pop industry needs to rethink the way it fosters and profits from these parasocial bonds. The relentless fan scrutiny, coupled with companies’ manipulation of idols’ personal lives for profit, must be addressed to create healthier boundaries for both idols and their supporters. While K-pop will always inspire passionate fandoms, it is crucial to acknowledge the harmful effects of these one-sided relationships and advocate for a system that protects the well-being of the very idols it seeks to elevate.Â