My First K-pop Concert

Part curiosity.

Part feeling that living in Korea without experiencing K-pop somehow left my Seoul story unfinished.

So I went to Gyeongbokgung Palace to catch BTS's homecoming event.

The media estimated around 300,000 people, with overseas visitors more than doubling.

Numbers like that have a strange gravity.

It's hard not to be pulled in.

The concert started at 8 p.m.

I arrived shortly after four.

Following the crowds through security, I made my way toward Gwanghwamun.

The place was already packed.

Everyone seemed to be holding reservation tickets.

Only then did I realize...

you actually needed reservations.

Well.

Too late now.

Rather than fight for the perfect view, I did what was either smart—or just lazy.

I found a café overlooking the venue, ordered a matcha latte, and watched everything through the window.

Turns out that was the real VIP seat.

No pushing.

No heat.

No noise.

Just air conditioning and a front-row view as the crowd slowly grew larger.

Around eight, I finished my drink and headed downstairs.

The lights came on.

The music started.

The cheers erupted exactly on cue.

There were people from everywhere—different languages, different faces—all mixed into one enormous crowd.

After listening for a while, one completely inappropriate thought popped into my head.

...That's it?

This is one of the biggest groups in the world?

Maybe my expectations were too high.

Or maybe I'd misunderstood K-pop altogether.

So instead of judging the performance, I started watching the audience.

Some people were ecstatic.

Others looked surprisingly calm.

A bit like me.

Since I'd already committed the afternoon—and now the evening—I figured I might as well stay until the end.

Maybe one song would finally click.

It never did.

By the time it was over, my legs were numb.

My only real feeling was mild regret.

I'd just invested an entire afternoon because of a reputation.

On stage were performers who simply didn't match my own image of masculinity.

The music, choreography, and style weren't things I naturally connected with.

They performed with incredible energy.

I could see the effort.

It just wasn't for me.

Walking home, I remembered a book I'd been listening to earlier that day:

The Social Animal.

It argues two things.

First, humans naturally follow crowds.

Second, our taste and judgment are deeply shaped by past experience.

That afternoon proved both points perfectly.

Why had I come?

Because words like "300,000 people" and "global superstars" are powerful social signals.

They create a gentle kind of peer pressure.

Why didn't I enjoy it?

Because I've spent years listening to jazz, blues, country, rock, French music, Disney soundtracks, and powerful vocalists.

Even my idea of what feels masculine has been shaped by a lifetime of different cultural references.

I wasn't simply listening to music.

I was measuring one culture using another culture's ruler.

No wonder it didn't resonate.

The problem wasn't the concert.

And it wasn't really me, either.

It was simply...

perception.

Maybe the more honest conclusion is this:

Everything simply is.

Things aren't inherently good or bad.

They look different depending on where you're standing.

Looking back, the value of that afternoon wasn't checking "Attend a K-pop concert" off my bucket list.

It was realizing something much more interesting.

I like to think I'm an independent thinker.

Someone who forms opinions rationally.

But underneath all that...

I'm still just another social animal.

So perhaps next time I feel absolutely certain about something, I'll pause for a moment and ask myself:

Is this really a fact?

Or is it simply the perspective I've grown accustomed to?

Experience Doesn't Always Make Us Wiser—Sometimes It Just Reinforces Our Biases