Your Bodies are Our Future: Vietnamese Men’s Engagement with Korean Television Dramas as a Technology of the Self

ABSTRACT

In the 21^st century Korean television dramas (K-dramas) have featured prominently in the Vietnamese menu of mass cultural consumption as part of Hallyu – the global popularisation of South Korean cultural products. Grounded in Michel Foucault’s notion of ‘technologies of the self’, which conceptualises humans’ use of various means to achieve personal ambitions, this article discusses how Vietnamese working-class men use K-dramas in their constructions of self. It explores these informants’ ‘forward-learning’ reception, manifested in how they draw lessons from two prominent themes in K-dramas: the pursuit of dreams and representations of soft masculinities, marked by upper- and middle-class male characters’ metrosexual lifestyles. Through a psychosocial exploration of these informants’ viewing experiences, the article examines how they construct a modern self that fits their desire for a metropolitan lifestyle and upward mobility in light of neoliberalism in modernising Vietnam. The article contributes to Hallyu research, audience research and contemporary Vietnamese studies.

KEYWORDS:

• Vietnam
• technologies of the self
• Korean dramas
• Korean Wave (Hallyu)
• soft masculinities
• forward-learning
• audience reception
• neoliberalism

Introduction: Hallyu, Korean Dramas and Soft Masculinities

In the 21^st century the Korean Wave – the popularisation of cultural products from South Korea (hereafter Korea) such as television dramas (K-dramas), pop music (K-pop) and movies – has swept across nations to become a global phenomenon.¹ This phenomenon (also known as Hallyu) has led to transnational consumption of Korean lifestyle products such as food, travel packages and cosmetics, boosting the idea of Korea as a ‘dream economy of icons and aesthetic experience’ (Dator & Seo, 2004, 37). Within this dreamland, K-dramas in particular construct a hopeful fantasy in which, despite many obstacles, protagonists climb the social ladder and achieve happiness. The dramas’ narratives of improvement, mobility and modernity have appealed to audiences in numerous regions, from Asia to Latin America (Han, 2019; Ko et al., 2014; Yang, 2008).

In Korean dramas, aspirations for middle- and upper-class identity are often encapsulated in ‘soft masculinities’, a varied set of constructions marked by the aestheticisation and romantic idealisation of male protagonists and a blend of Pan-East Asian ‘pretty boy’ images and the Western metrosexual trend (Jung, 2011; see also Shiau, 2020; Wen, 2021). These images, also prevalent in K-pop, emphasise men’s purchasing power. On the one hand, soft masculinities in K-dramas perpetuate patriarchy by showing heterosexual men who dominate women financially and professionally: that is, those enjoying wealth and high social status, exemplifying ‘hegemonic masculinity’ (Connell, 1995).² On the other hand, soft masculinities subvert traditional visions by showing men’s romantic devotion to a female partner, nurturing behaviours, and willingness to express vulnerabilities (Jung, 2011; Khai & Wahab, 2017). Through their assertive behaviours, conspicuous display of wealth, and ability to transform the lives of lower-class peers, male protagonists in such hit dramas as Boys over Flowers (2009) and The Heirs (2013), known as icons of soft masculinities, represent audiences’ dreams. They possess the minds and bodies fitting ideals of modernity and a future that many desire. Nevertheless, these icons have attracted a backlash due to their feminised or androgynous traits, which transgress traditional gender ideals in East and Southeast Asia (Ainslie et al., 2017; Chen, 2016; Kim et al., 2014; Lee, 2017). Because of such varying reactions, soft masculinities and the genres featuring these images, such as K-drama and K-pop, have generated considerable scholarly discussion. Yet, female audiences of K-drama and K-pop tend to receive much more attention than their male counterparts due to their more active engagement, as opposed to men’s hesitancy to acknowledge such consumption because of the stigma associated with these genres (Ainslie et al., 2017; Creighton, 2009).

In the broader literature regarding the texts that attract more female fans than male ones, or so-called ‘female-oriented’ texts, a similar bias towards female over male audiences has been observed, leading to a call for greater attention to male consumers (Click et al., 2016). Research on male consumption of alternative genres is important because it may reveal changes in gender politics through its discussion of how men reconsider and negotiate conventional ideals of masculinity to enjoy these genres (Hautakangas, 2015; Miller, 2018). This article responds to this call for greater attention to male consumers by focusing on Vietnamese male K-drama viewers, with an emphasis on a class lens.

Although Vietnamese pop stars such as Isaac or Sơn Tùng M-TP have created their versions of soft masculinities under the Korean influence, both Korean and local representations of such masculinities have triggered adverse reactions in Vietnam. Local critics of soft masculinities see them as a threat to Vietnamese traditional dyadic ideals of gender, which expect men to be ‘strong’, ‘masculine’ and even somewhat authoritarian – traits deemed fit for patriarchal roles, most notably as trụ cột (‘the financial backbone’) of their family and as social leaders. Traditional Vietnamese ideals of masculinity abide by the principles of hegemonic masculinity (Connell, 1995) by highlighting a dominant heterosexual manhood that subjugates other forms of masculinities and femininities. Following such traditional views, local men are discouraged from expressing vulnerable emotions and investing conspicuously in their looks (Institute for Social Development Studies, 2020; La, 2012; Vu, 2021), which would risk associations with femininity and stigmatised homosexuality (Horton, 2014). In addition, society generally shows greater tolerance towards men’s risky or ‘inappropriate’ practices such as drinking, gambling and extramarital affairs, and places less emphasis on their involvement in housework and childcare than that of women (Horton & Rydstrom, 2011). Within my broader project regarding Vietnamese reception of K-dramas, some participants have frowned upon aspects of soft masculinities such as attention to looks and emotional, romantic and nurturing behaviours, and associated them with immaturity, femininity and non-pragmatism, while others have not (Gammon, 2021a; 2021b).

Media Texts as a Technology of the Self

This article belongs to a body of research that deals with media texts as a technology of the self, described by Michel Foucault (1988, 25) as one of those means that:

permit individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls and thoughts, conduct, and way of being, so as to transform themselves in order to attain a certain state of happiness, purity, wisdom, perfection, or immortality.

Technologies of the self may include sexual chastity or indulgence, diets, physical and intellectual engagements, and religious activities (Foucault, 1988; Hernández-Ramírez, 2017). Individuals continuously practise these techniques to know themselves and take care of themselves (Milanzi, 2001). These practices are enforced through governing techniques that promote the need to behave (Foucault & Blasius, 1993). In this era of globalisation, neoliberal states shift social responsibilities into individuals’ hands by allowing multifarious messages about technologies of the self (Rose, 1996).

Abu-Lughod (2000), Matza (2009) and Nguyen-Thu (2019) have taken this concept to discuss media’s role in audiences’ construction of self in Egypt, Russia and Vietnam, respectively. Most relevantly, Nguyen-Thu (2019), who focuses on Vietnamese consumption of Latino and East Asian soap operas in the 1990s, argues that these foreign shows became a technology of the self as locals integrated their narratives into social discourses and embedded them in self-making processes. Media in today’s neoliberal societies have become even more applicable to individual projects as they offer myriad self-help guides that emphasise the idea of individuals as masters of their lives (Ouellette & Hay, 2008). Adding to this scholarship, my article conceptualises three male informants’ K-drama reception within a forward-learning attitude (Kim et al., 2013), marked by a desire to explore the culture of a more developed country and their view of drama protagonists as inspiring figures. This attitude, which reflects the informants’ concern with the means to improve and construct a modern self, manifested in how they drew lessons from two themes: the pursuit of dreams and representations of soft masculinities, marked by upper- and middle-class men’s metrosexual lifestyles. In other words, they engaged with K-dramas’ narratives of improvement in ways that render these a technology of the self. The desire to be modern, especially among youth, is omnipresent in present-day Vietnam due to exposure to global media and foreign goods (Nguyen & Thomas, 2004; Thai, 2014). Engagements with themes of mobility and modernity help nurture the ‘capacity to aspire’, defined by a tendency to explore vehicles to fulfil ambitions (Appadurai, 2004). Considering that such capacity is unevenly distributed due to unequal possession of resources in society (Appadurai, 2004), it appears crucial for working-class migrants such as the interviewees featured in this article to cultivate the capacity for upward mobility. Their favourable engagement with the soft masculinities embedded in themes of improvement reflects at once a celebration of universally approved traits of hegemonic masculinity such as self-determination and display of wealth and power, and a willingness to depart from elements of tradition and embrace change.

Hallyu in modernising Vietnam

My focus on Vietnamese consumption of K-drama rather than other genres derives from Hallyu’s enduring impact in Vietnam. Since their emergence on domestic television in the late 1990s, K-dramas are being enjoyed by Vietnamese locals almost concurrently with Korean audiences thanks to streaming sites. Vietnamese viewers, therefore, see how Korea has become increasingly developed over the years, especially its most glamorous side, through K-dramas’ frequent representation of the middle and upper classes. These dramas provide those desiring cosmopolitan lifestyles with myriad suggestions for consumption adaptable to the Vietnamese context due to the cultural similarities of the two countries (Pham, 2015). The K-dramas appeal to many Vietnamese and other Asians because of their portrayal of modernisation alongside traditions: the settings and costumes are Westernised, yet the social etiquette and gender relations contain conservative elements (Ma, 2007). Many dramas simultaneously show individual compliance with and resistance to traditions, a common experience facing Asian audiences (Ma, 2007). Alongside the dramas, Korean pop music and cinema have also enjoyed steady popularity, piquing locals’ interest in Korean mobile phones and cosmetics (Nguyen Tu, 2019; Pham, 2015). Nowadays, Korean images and products permeate Vietnamese visual culture, and Korean stars often spring to Vietnamese minds when it comes to beauty standards (Nguyen Tu, 2019). The popularity of anything Korean in Vietnam has led scholars such as Kim (2010), Suh et al. (2013) and Trần and Cao (2015) to view Vietnam as the centre of Hallyu in Southeast Asia. Due to the fairly recent dominance of Korean economic power and mass culture in Asia, as well as cultural proximity, many Vietnamese view Korea as a desirable future of modernity that someday Vietnam could achieve (Nguyen Tu, 2019).

Hallyu’s development over the past two decades has paralleled shifting gender politics that results from an interplay of deeply rooted Confucian patriarchal ideals and Westernised gender-egalitarian values in Vietnam. Traditional expectations of gender roles still hold considerable sway, especially in rural areas, but some women voice expectations that men will depart from patriarchal traits. Noting a preference for ‘softened’ masculinities, Earl (2014) finds that in some workplaces in Ho Chi Minh City, men are expected to suppress perceived ‘masculine’ characteristics such as aggression and unrestrained behaviour to gain respect from women. Zharkevich et al. (2016) reveal how women born in the mid-1990s and early 2000s stress ‘nurturing’ qualities such as compassion and attention to family as ideal qualities in a future partner.

My interviewees’ forward-looking reception of Korean pop culture may be best approached through a consideration of growing neoliberalism in Vietnam. Within this context, neoliberalism is understood as the form of governmentality that promotes free trade to maximise profits and the reduction of welfare benefits as well as advocating entrepreneurial selves (Brown, 2006). Following this neoliberal rationality, since Đổi Mới (the economic reforms of 1986), the state has embraced capitalism and transferred certain welfare responsibilities to the market, while inculcating ideals of self-sufficiency in citizens (Bui, 2015; Nguyen, 2018; Nguyen-Thu, 2016).³ By combining market-based rationality with socialist propaganda through state-owned media, the communist party has advanced neoliberalism without abandoning socialist roots (Bui, 2015; Schwenkel & Leshkowich, 2012). One way it does so is through promoting neoliberal ideals in agreement with nationalist values, with slogans such as Dân Giàu, Nước Mạnh (‘Wealthy Citizens, Strong Nation’) (Nguyen-Thu, 2016). This strategy of touting personal wealth as patriotism to produce self-sufficient, consumerist, yet politically compliant citizenry is reminiscent of China’s promotion of a high suzhi (quality) population (Jacka, 2009; Nguyen, 2019; Nguyen & Locke, 2014). The neoliberal emphasis on self-responsibility, self-care and choice was followed by a growing interest in exploring the self and an accompanying preoccupation with technologies that facilitate improvement and self-understanding (Schwenkel & Leshkowich, 2012; Tran, 2015).

This article focuses on the interviewees’ aspirations for upward mobility and a modern identity expressed through their worldviews and engagement with soft masculinities rather than a desire to achieve an ideal manhood that mimics soft masculinities. Through analysis of informants’ receptiveness to K-drama narratives of self-improvement, the article demonstrates how neoliberal ideals have permeated contemporary Vietnam at a personal level. Before the main analysis, I outline the data collection and interpretive methods and introduce informants’ backgrounds, which are crucial to understanding their viewing experiences.

Methodology

This article draws on data collected in Hanoi in mid-2019. To protect interviewees’ privacy, I use pseudonyms and do not disclose identifiable details. I conducted all of the interviews in Vietnamese and translated them myself. Ethics approval for the project (application ID: 0000026887) was granted by Victoria University of Wellington’s Human Ethics Committee.

Interviews followed Hollway and Jefferson’s Free Association Narrative Interview (FANI) method (2000), itself inspired by Sigmund Freud’s clinical method of ‘free association’. Extending this method to non-clinical research contexts, FANI encourages participants to talk freely and tell personal stories. This approach, known as a psychosocial model, investigates how ‘subjective experience is interwoven with social life’ (Association for Psychosocial Studies, n.d.). To encourage the unfettered flow of thoughts and feelings, I used techniques such as asking open questions, avoiding ‘why’ questions that might result in intellectualised answers, and copying narrators’ phrasing in questioning. I met most informants twice, each time for about two hours, and traced their biographies to understand their perception of soft masculinities, especially in terms of gendered identification. I also showed them images of soft masculinities, such as photos of well-groomed male characters cooking or wearing makeup.

The interviewees featured in this article were recruited through an online Facebook ad that sought both male and female viewers of romantic K-dramas for a broader doctoral study about Vietnamese audience reception of the genre. Toàn, Ninh and Vinh migrated from underdeveloped areas to Hanoi, Vietnam’s capital and the country’s political and economic centre with a population of more than 8 million, to pursue university education. They were selected as the sample for this article because they all come from working-class families where parents engage in physical labour and live in underdeveloped areas, though they themselves are college-educated. I never explicitly asked about their sexual orientation, but they presented as heterosexual men when they were talking to me, a heterosexual Vietnamese woman in her early thirties. I met Toàn and Ninh twice and Vinh once.

At the time of the interviews, Toàn was a 23-year-old philosophy major. According to Toàn, his parents, both farmers, had little education and narrow world views. Fed up with his hometown’s emphasis on traditional ideals of marriage and collectivist attachment to kin, Toàn aspired to become a recognised scholar and travel the world. For Toàn, ‘a true man’ should be one with ‘an ego’ (có cái tôi): he is educated and decides his own path. Cái tôi (ego, or the ‘I’), as Toàn described, is closer to the Western individualist sense, rather than the traditional Vietnamese understanding of the self in close relation to kin and society (Doan, 2021; Marr, 2000);⁴ it is the neoliberal subject that takes responsibility for itself and denies others’ influences in thoughts and actions.

Ninh, aged 26, grew up in a quiet northern province and moved to Hanoi six years ago. His parents and older sister were factory workers. Like Toàn, Ninh drew a sharp distinction between his previous life and his current one, mentioning ‘personal advancement’, ‘networking’ and ‘knowledge’ as the advantages that Hanoi offered over his hometown. Ninh showed up for interviews well-dressed and spoke with confidence. Having majored in foreign language studies at university, worked in multiple jobs, dated women, and befriended foreigners, Ninh appeared to have adapted well to metropolitan life. When we met, he was juggling two part-time jobs, as a tour guide and insurance salesman, an arrangement that allowed him extra time to ‘keep contact with family, relax, have fun and learn additional skills’.

Vinh, a 37-year-old unmarried man, grew up in a disadvantaged mountainous area in northern Vietnam. He is a member of an ethnic minority group, which distinguishes him from Kinh, the dominant group. Ethnic minority groups, including Vinh’s, make up about 15 per cent of Vietnam’s population but represent 73 per cent of its poor (World Bank, 2018, 23). Vinh belongs to an earlier generation who witnessed the country’s transformation following the 1986 reforms. A graduate in business economics from a prestigious university, he worked as an assistant to an entrepreneur. Vinh was humble: he said he had a poor but happy childhood, and described himself as being neither handsome nor successful.

The participants’ narratives cast them as migrants who hover between working-class and middle-class identities: the former had become less relevant to them, while they were striving toward the latter through education and acquired social capital. They acknowledged watching the dramas as a form of ‘learning’: Toàn said they allowed him to keep up with ‘what people are thinking and talking about’, while Ninh appreciated the opportunities to learn about Korean life. Vinh has not watched a new drama for years, but said K-drama viewing was part of his adolescence and gave him ‘life lessons’ that he carried into adulthood.

An awareness of the informants’ backgrounds is instrumental in understanding their viewing experiences, one prominent element of which is their shared preoccupation with the identity and status mobility theme. The next section unfolds this salient pattern in their viewing, which can help explain why they engaged positively with narratives of improvement.

Preoccupation with Identity and Status Mobility Theme

In interviews, Toàn, Ninh and Vinh manifested a fascination with identity-switch tropes that see the rich lose power or yield it to the poor, or the poor catch up with the rich – themes that highlight the fragility of status while promoting a neoliberal message that anyone can ‘make it’, and that are prevalent in Korean pop culture (Lee & Zhang, 2021). Repeating this theme, K-dramas open ‘a world of fantasy where viewers can imagine the escape from the harsh realities of social class differences in the globalisation process to achieve modernity’ (Han, 2019, 44).

Toàn indicated a disidentification with male characters who have everything from looks to inherited wealth because ‘I don’t have such good luck’. Yet, there were moments in The Heirs (2013) when he related to the male lead, an heir to a conglomerate. Toàn was impressed by a scene in which Kim Tan (the protagonist) reveals himself to his upper-class fiancée and her mother as the son of his father’s clandestine concubine, rather than of his father’s legal wife, as they had presumed. This scene shows Kim’s determination to live with his true identity and his love for his birth mother, whom he introduced to his fiancée in the same scene. Toàn praised Kim’s ‘courage’ in revealing his identity, even though it ‘makes it more difficult for him to inherit’. Due to Kim’s revelation, his engagement is called off, but this gives him the chance to pursue the daughter of his family’s domestic helper, even though this is contrary to his father’s wishes. Despite Kim’s privilege, his struggles in coming to terms with his identity and pursuing love brought him affectively closer to Toàn: ‘You’d see him just as a youngster’; ‘a young man like us, who is determined, who boldly pursues love’. Kim’s confrontation with his ‘inferior’ identity as a concubine’s son moved Toàn. His identification is made possible via recognisable struggles – difficulty accepting one’s stigmatised background, defying parental expectations, and pursuing love. These struggles, which confront young people in changing societies beset by traditional values, lend the character authenticity.

Ninh was impressed by makeover scenes in dramas such as Boys over Flowers (2009), in which a wealthy man buys his working-class girlfriend fancy clothes, takes her to a beauty salon, and ‘transforms her into a totally different person’. The woman suddenly becomes a beautiful object of envy, demonstrated by her surprised peers’ admiring reactions. Such reactions represent a social reward for transformation, evoking a desire to emulate. Ninh mentioned this situation repeatedly and seemed to admire both the man’s power to transform and its outcome: the woman, who unexpectedly exudes beauty and charm. This magical change of image embodies a neoliberal belief in possibilities for the ordinary to become extraordinary, through consumption and appropriate technologies such as cosmetic treatments. Ninh’s fascination with this transformation recalls mass audiences’ interest in makeover reality shows worldwide, which nurture the neoliberal idea of selfhood as a project to constantly work on (Lee, 2020; Ouellette & Hay, 2008).

This Cinderella plot, matching an ordinary woman with a man of higher position, prioritises virtue over status and wealth in judging people. The romantic union between rich and poor reflects a ‘soft’ escapist remedy to on-going class inequalities (Yang, 2012). Vinh also highlighted this romanticised promotion of social equality through love and friendship by pointing out how rich people like hanging out with poor people in K-dramas, unlike the reality he had observed (that rich people tend to only hang out with other rich people). He made a Freudian slip that reveals how he may have imagined himself in the position of disadvantaged characters: ‘Some dramas show a friendship between someone who is very privileged, lives in the city, has wealthy and influential parents, and another who comes to study in Hanoi – from a very disadvantaged family’. Vinh did not notice that he had substituted ‘Hanoi’ for ‘Seoul’ in his account, suggesting that he identified strongly with the marginalised characters about whom he was speaking. His interest in class-crossing friendships may derive from a desire to be judged for character rather than economic capital and to be treated as equal to those of higher socioeconomic status. Vinh stressed that K-dramas, through portrayal of hard-earned success, motivated him to reflect on weaknesses and become a better person.

Toàn, Ninh and Vinh each forgot the bulk of the content of the dramas they had watched, but recalled situations involving identity struggles and status mobility. Sensitivity to these themes may arise from an awareness of their disadvantage vis-à-vis more privileged people and their struggle to adapt to competitive urban life. Their ‘hidden injuries of class’ (Sennett & Cobb, 1972) may have been manifested, even though they did not elaborate on any economic hardships or overt discrimination they had experienced. Vietnamese urban migrants generally suffer social discrimination (Nghiem, 2006; Sawamoto, 2014); a prolonged cultural distinction sees established Hanoians as superior to migrants in knowledge and manners (Nghiem, 2006; Nguyen, 2019; Sawamoto, 2014). Unlike Hanoi’s official residents, who tend to enjoy immediate familial support and pre-existing connections, migrants occupy a more vulnerable position as người ngoại tỉnh (‘people from outside the city’) (Karis, 2013; Nguyen, 2019; Nguyen et al., 2012; Sawamoto, 2014). As prospective partners in the dating market, male migrants such as the informants may suffer a disadvantage compared to established Hanoians. The men’s attention to identity and status mobility is important to understanding their engagement with narratives of improvement, which the next section about Toàn’s interest in the pursuit of dreams and the following section about Ninh and Vinh’s fascination with male characters’ self-presentation will illuminate. Their narratives exemplify the construction of a modern identity through engagement with globalised desires and lifestyles alongside references to traditional ideals.

Pursuing Dreams as Self-actualisation and a Focus on the Inner Self

When asked about his general impression of K-dramas, Toàn highlighted the recurring theme of ‘living with a dream’. For Toàn, these dramas encourage audiences to look beyond the confines of their lives:

Normally you’d think the gap is impossible to bridge, but they [K-dramas] encourage it [that the gap can be bridged]. And [the dramas exhibit] dreams that are considered impossible. Vietnamese, especially old people, often think that way. But Korean dramas show how people live their dreams. I feel we should live that way. In fact, young people now think that way. They can’t live the previous way any more. They have to live out their dreams. The older generations were oppressed by many things; they didn’t have the concept of ‘dream’ in mind.

For Toàn, ‘the gap’ is anything that stands between a person’s present reality and their dream, whether this is wealth, a desired occupation or love, which K-dramas portray as difficult to achieve due to limited means, working-class background or parental disapproval. Toàn drew on a generational conflict in Vietnamese society, where elders act as gatekeepers of traditions and norms and youth are a force resisting such traditions and welcoming new ideals (Marr & Rosen, 1998; Nguyen & Thomas, 2004). Traditionally, Vietnamese people do not just live for themselves, but also for their families; they make life choices that benefit their families’ reputations and comply with their parents’ wishes, even at the expense of their own desires (Gammeltoft, 2014; Shohet, 2021). For Toàn, however, being a modern person means pursuing personal dreams, even if it involves defying traditions and norms.

Toàn reasoned that ‘dreaming involves risks, so it’s not encouraged’, but argued that the stability the older generations maintain had become irrelevant: ‘Dreaming is necessary for integration, because we’re living in a high-tech era, and change is inevitable’. Distancing himself from tradition, Toàn pledged engagement with a modern self, characterised by a determination to live by one’s wishes, an embrace of change, a willingness to take risks, and continuous self-improvement. His mention of ‘dream’ recalls Yang’s (2008, 290) observation about how K-dramas assert young audiences’ ‘right to dreaming’ – i.e., to desire things beyond their immediate affordability. The dramas embody Toàn’s wish to break constraints such as norms and a disadvantaged background. Emphasising the importance of ‘integration’ and the need for younger generations to pursue their dreams, Toàn argued that the move toward modernity is necessary for a better future, which the dramas visualise. While the pursuit of dreams seems personal, it contributes to the collective good: development and modernity.

K-dramas’ theme of pursuing dreams is sometimes conveyed through an unlikely love between rich and poor or those supposed to remain lifelong rivals; such love usually transgresses traditional values such as filial piety by defying parental opposition. This theme of unlikely romance intrigued Toàn because, as he indicated, it ‘connects class groups that never converge’ – i.e., violating a norm. He explained how watching those stories make him reflect on reality:

How can two people from vastly different class groups be together? One’s too rich while the other’s too poor … I feel it’s just impossible: how can they end up married? It’s implausible. Yet a drama makes it possible. And that makes people want to watch the drama.

As often seen in K-dramas, parental approval is a prerequisite to marriage in Vietnam, though parental influence has waned in recent decades (Bélanger & Khuat, 2001). This theme of ‘rebellious’ romantic individualism ‘represents a deregulation of desire that threatens the social and moral order’ (Baldacchino, 2014, 15). Toàn found the defiance of external forces accompanying characters’ pursuit of love admirable because he grew up in an oppressive environment that discourages individualism. Unlikely romances show Toàn how characters assert and act on their desires. Cultural proximity may help foster identification, as modern Koreans and Vietnamese both experience tensions associated with the clash between Confucian values, including filial piety and collectivism, and modern ideologies; and K-dramas provide ‘a public imaginary space’ for those tensions (Lin, 2002, para. 1). The intrigue of the story rests on how the impossible is rendered possible. For Toàn, these love stories seem to represent hope for people with limited resources and possibilities. This hope is not necessarily about achieving greater wealth through a relationship; rather, it represents a possibility for greater social recognition and upward mobility.

One unlikely love story, though not a class-crossing one, that Toàn mentioned occurs in My Princess (2011). It revolves around a relationship between a conglomerate heir and a princess. The heir initially attempts to send the princess overseas because her presence threatens his inheritance, but he eventually falls in love with her and helps restore the monarchy, demonstrating romantic devotion typical of soft masculinities. The man’s pursuit of love requires great sacrifice and is, for Toàn, no mundane pursuit because this kind of devoted love ‘transcends ordinary life’ and ‘creates a centre for people’s inner world’. He explains:

Normally we lead very distracted lives, [distracted] either because of financial worries, or ageing [problems], or illness. There’s nothing that makes people strive towards the core of life … Life must be lived that way [lived for love or some form of passion] to become memorable. If one’s always worried about money, or about career and position, or about one’s children, what meaning does life offer?

Toàn is concerned with a philosophical question – the meaning of life. For him, everyday worries, created by material demands and the need to conform to norms, alienate individuals from their inner selves, and romance is a way for people to reflect on what would fulfil them and enrich their lives. Engaging with stories of individual development through romance is therefore an outlet for self-reflectivity for viewers such as Toàn. His concern with enriching the self is common among Vietnamese young urban residents who are increasingly addressing this concern through consumption of global media, self-help books and positive psychology (Tran, 2015).

Attention to Privileged and Cultured Habitus

While Toàn focused on the realisation of dreams, Ninh and Vinh paid attention to male characters’ habits, mannerisms and skills that are typical of people of upper- and middle-class backgrounds and distinguish them from those of lower class. These characters demonstrate a similar ‘habitus’ – i.e., traits of the body and mind shaped by a shared social background (Bourdieu, 1984[1979]). Toàn was concerned with practices that enrich the inner world, whereas Ninh and Vinh were drawn to aesthetic presentations of the self; both mechanisms are enacted out of ‘ethical duties to the self’ (Foucault, 1988; Gauntlett, 2002, 129). A trait that Toàn shared with Ninh and Vinh was the celebration of some defiance of traditions as characters assert and follow their desires to achieve freedom and happiness.

When shown photos of Korean actors wearing colourful outfits and makeup, Ninh extolled their meticulous looks. Citing the proverb Tốt gỗ hơn tốt nước sơn (‘quality wood is better than nice outer paint’), Ninh stressed: ‘Today both wood and paint should be good’. In reaction to pictures of actors displaying six-pack abs, a prevalent trope in K-dramas, Ninh stated that the images inspired him to get in shape. He thus engaged positively with the Korean Wave’s usual strategy of using celebrities’ ‘sublime’ bodies to invite ‘sensory overload of amazement’ to foster a social discourse that sees the body as a form of human capital requiring continuous care and enhancement (Shin, 2016, 618–619). This promotion of male beauty is no longer confined to the Korean market; it contributes to ‘a transnational economy of erotic desire’ (Epstein & Joo, 2012, 7). For Ninh, taking care of one’s looks equates to being ‘polite’:

You dress well for others, not just for yourself. Koreans make sure to look good when they go out. It’s their strength vis-à-vis Vietnamese men: they take care of themselves before being urged to, unlike Vietnamese men who don’t pay attention to looks and lack a sense of self-care. Vietnamese youth nowadays do care more about looks, but self-care has been on the Koreans’ agenda for ages.

Ninh framed self-care as involving the use of cosmetics, fitness training and bodily adornment, all of which he regarded as a way of showing respect to others. This view recalls Bourdieu’s (1984[1979], 213) emphasis on a middle-class concern with the body as ‘body-for-others’, making the body ‘an object of will and discipline’ that constitutes a social identity (Shin, 2016, 621). Ninh’s understanding of self-care coincides with a contemporary perception of beauty practices as part of social etiquette observed in Japan and Korea (Elfving-Hwang, 2021; Miller, 2006). Ninh saw Korean male entertainers as models for Vietnamese men, who lag behind in self-presentation. He said he had started using skin-care products, learning from Korean men.

Ninh was also impressed by ‘how they [Korean actors on screen] washed their face and sprayed cologne all over in the morning’ because these practices show how the men are ‘well prepared’ (chỉn chu). This common scene shows a man straight from the shower, looking fresh and immaculate and displaying a well-built, slim body as he faces the mirror, preparing for a new day. These practices show body-care consumption as carrying an ‘air of fantasy’ and demonstrating ‘a desire not just to smell good but to carry an aura of modernity and status and a whiff of prosperity’ (Nguyen & Thomas, 2004, 143). They also signal readiness to enter the public arena as a willing object of the social gaze and productive member of the workforce.

According to Elfving-Hwang (2020, 135), idealised representations of male professionals in Korean media ‘train’ men to ‘assume a fashion-conscious male consumer gaze’. Ninh’s interest suggests a fascinating array of gazing acts: Ninh gazes at both the character on screen and that character’s reflection in the mirror, as the character also gazes at himself in the mirror. This multi-perspective homosocial gaze is a narcissistic moment that highlights male beauty and virility. The presentation of morning routines engaged Ninh as a keen ‘learner’ in a Korean neoliberal regime of consumption-based self-care. This bodily performance of metrosexual masculinity offers audiences visual pleasure from desiring the man’s perfect body and consumption practices. The exhibition of a man’s self-care, from the way he applies cologne to how he slides into a new suit and straightens a matching tie, resembles a sequence from a grooming tutorial. This routine enhances a sense of worth: that the man is important, and those he will meet are important too. This show of metropolitan sophistication, manifested in characters’ looks, manners and speech, demonstrates embodied financial, social and cultural capital and upper-class status, and thus appeals to audiences’ dream of upward mobility.

Vinh found meticulously groomed K-drama actors ‘beautiful from head to toe’. On photos of Korean actors wearing colourful outfits and makeup, he remarked:

These days, it’s good to dress like that. These days, men should wear something slightly feminine too. It’s not that we should be too feminine to look trendy, but we should mix and match. For example, when I go out to have coffee with a friend, I can try pants or a T-shirt with a cute, funny picture or logo. You should wear what makes you feel good and comfortable.

Vinh repeatedly mentioned ‘these days’ (thời buổi này) to signal his modern view, implying the importance of keeping up with youth culture and fashion trends. He endorsed mix-and-match apparel items as part of metropolitan habitus, which reflects the ‘freedom of selection among possible variants’ and ‘the need to self-define one’s own individual style’ (Amatulli et al., 2016, 345). His advocacy for ‘wearing what makes you feel good’, even if it involves wearing ‘something slightly feminine’ – i.e., defying traditional ideals of masculinity – highlights the freedom of expression. His view reflects how ‘increased attention to appearance becomes constitutive of self-identity’ in consumerist societies (Miller, 2006, 11; Wen, 2021).

K-dramas also direct attention to aesthetic elements in characters’ lifestyles. Ninh highlighted the dramas’ tendency to aestheticise ‘the man in the kitchen’:

Ninh: I feel that the image of a man getting into the kitchen, especially to attend to a sick girlfriend, breaks the stereotype that says men should be tough. They can be soft in the kitchen.

Interviewer: Stereotype?

Ninh: I don’t think that way but Vietnamese society upholds that stereotype. It’s probably because of the way they filmed it. Whenever a man cooks, he looks so handsome (đẹp) and charming (duyên dáng), domestically capable (đảm đang) and skilled (thành thạo). When they cook, they’re so meticulous. It’s beautiful, more beautiful than when a male character in a Vietnamese drama cooks.

Interviewer: What about women who cook?

Ninh: It’s not special to me, not noticeable. Vietnamese dramas hardly ever show men in the kitchen, and even if they do, they can’t show how considerate (chăm chút) and meticulous (tinh tế) a man can be.

For Ninh, ‘breaking stereotypes’ makes a man’s cooking, a performance of care, intriguing, compared to the more familiar image of a cooking woman. Such romanticised scenes show the man as a caring partner and demonstrate his cultural capital, manifesting ‘(the) bourgeois ways of treating food, of serving, presenting and offering it’ (Bourdieu, 1984[1979], 421). The combination of good looks and refined manners makes a male character a charming, sophisticated spectacle. By highlighting how men in K-dramas look ‘more beautiful’ than men in local dramas, Ninh demonstrated a forward-learning attitude that upholds Korean pop culture as aesthetically superior. Likewise, aesthetic elements in K-dramas fascinated Vinh, who saw them as part of these dramas’ romanticism:

They [male characters] are meticulous. For example, a man brings a very beautiful bouquet of flowers when he visits his sick girlfriend. I was impressed, couldn’t help noticing. The girlfriend is sitting in the hospital hall, when the young man enters and gives her the bouquet, without a word. I mean, they don’t need to say much but still show passion. Not only are the actors beautiful, every detail is beautiful as well, from the bouquet to the way the flowers are tied together. I was, like, ‘wow, so beautiful’.

Here, the performative act of preparing and offering flowers points to a character’s social and cultural competence: he has an eye for beauty and expresses his affection in a simple but romantic way.

Notably, Ninh and Vinh both used the term văn minh (civility) repeatedly to describe how characters behave – i.e., manifestations of their class habitus. Văn minh, derived from the Chinese wenming, can be translated as either civilisation, civility or (being) civilised, depending on the context (Harms, 2016). The Chinese government has used this concept to promote self-discipline so that people willingly police their behaviour and demonstrate that they are responsible citizens (Harms, 2016; Zhang, 2010); this form of governance can also be seen in present-day Vietnam (Harms, 2016). The ubiquitous reminder to ‘behave in a civilised manner’ is shown in public signs asking people to keep the streets tidy or to wait in a queue, and is also heard in everyday conversations. Concern with văn minh, observed in working- and middle-class citizens alike, reflects a local desire for a more developed and cultured society (Harms, 2016; Nguyen, 2019; Pettus, 2003). This mundane mode of discipline is reminiscent of the neoliberal promotion of ‘the will to improve’ similarly observed in Indonesia (Li, 2007). Observing the arts of self-presentation in global media is a way men such as Ninh and Vinh learn to achieve civility and catch up with citizens from richer nations. This concern with catching up, which Toàn also expressed through his emphasis on ‘integration’, is consistent with a collective insecurity about Vietnam’s low status in the global economy and a desire to bridge the gap between Vietnam and wealthier nations (Nguyen-Thu, 2016).

Ninh and Vinh also admire male K-drama protagonists for their character, because they serve as moral models in a modernised culture: they are strong and resourceful, but also caring and kind. Asked if he finds Korean characters ‘manly’, Vinh again foregrounded a ‘modern’ context: ‘These days, I think we shouldn’t care too much whether someone looks manly or not, but rather his behaviour and actions’. Vinh cited the character Han Tae Suk in Autumn in my Heart, a wealthy man who quietly assists those around him, and related this situation to how he and his friends helped each other through tough times. Throughout our interview, Vinh did not emphasise gender-specific attributes for a masculine ideal, but rather stressed kindness and generosity in making a man ‘a good person’ (người tốt). For him, traditional ideals of masculinity, which stress ‘masculine’ looks and male domination over women, have become irrelevant, and universally appreciated human goodness matters more. His attitude suggests a break from traditional gender ideals, atypical of men of his generation.

Ninh believed an ideal man should be ‘strong when needed but gentle if circumstances require’, like the title character in Smile, Dong Hae (2010), who handles everyday conflicts in a gentle, thoughtful manner that helps him maintain complicated relationships. Relating male characters’ exemplary behaviour to everyday life, Ninh commented that gender relations in Vietnam nowadays are better than before, where acts of masculine entitlement pervaded, but that the way men treat women still needs to improve. ‘Men should behave more gently, they should not talk loudly or yell to intimidate others.’ He argued that ‘Everyone likes being treated with gentleness, why can’t Vietnamese men do so?’ Ninh extolled softness when resolving conflicts, which suggests an ideal of ‘flexible masculinity’ that sees modern men ‘move freely back and forth between a traditional male identity and an alternative identity’ to adapt to contemporary economic and cultural conditions (Garousi et al., 2017, 2834). His migration and work in service industries may explain his high regard for versatility.

Toàn, Ninh and Vinh valued the ‘modern’ characteristics embodied by male characters, even if they appreciated slightly different traits. Toàn emphasised self-determination and individualism, Vinh believed a man should be kind, generous and civilised, and Ninh stressed how a man should be civilised and versatile. Both Ninh and Vinh paid attention to male protagonists’ middle- and upper-class habitus, which displays privilege and cultural capital. The informants saw male protagonists as role models and engaged positively with narratives of improvement. They also enjoyed watching characters handle the conflict between individual ‘modern’ desires and tradition, whether this involved defying parental expectations, pursuing a dream not socially or parentally supported, or dressing in ‘slightly feminine’ ways. They found those characters fascinating and relatable because they are portrayed in ways that illustrate negotiations between historical and modern ideals, which are happening in a modernising Vietnam hungry for modernity yet haunted by tradition. The dramas present the middle-class lives they might one day afford should they keep striving for betterment; such lives might seem too distant if not portrayed alongside personal struggles to make these characters relatable.

The informants discussed perceived ‘soft’ traits in male characters as part of a new trend through the use of keywords such as ‘these days’, ‘high-tech era’ and ‘integration’, deeming these traits necessary to a modern identity and thus justifying their approval of soft masculinities. While their advocacy of soft masculinities leans toward a progressive gender view, it seems to come from a primary desire to be modern rather than a concern with women’s rights or more equal gender roles. Their identification with and admiration for the characters may not have been possible if the characters had not exhibited universally celebrated traits of hegemonic masculinity such as financial, social and cultural capital. Thus, they demonstrated an embrace of some progressive change, and at the same time, continuity of classic traits of hegemonic masculinity, albeit in new forms.

Concluding Remarks

This article has discussed how the informants described their K-drama consumption as a learning process: the dramas taught Toàn to ‘dream’ and sensitised Ninh and Vinh to ways of improving looks and manners. Watching the dramas allowed them to get in touch with their romantic selves and imagine possibilities adaptable to their self-fashioning projects that involve self-modernisation, self-cultivation and mobility, and manifest the influence of neoliberal sensibilities. The dramas therefore serve as a vehicle to help them consider ways to better understand and take care of themselves. They find it helpful to follow how the dramas’ narratives and portrayals of soft masculinity show how one can be a modern man in a changing society that still pays deference to tradition.

Dramas, as a technology of the self, have helped nurture their ‘capacity to aspire’ (Appadurai, 2004) in pursuing upward mobility. Hopes and dreams allow them to cope with the everyday challenges of their mobile lives and urge them to constantly strive, echoing Nghiem’s (2006) emphasis on the importance of aspirations in Hanoi-based migrants’ pursuit of better lives. Their living circumstances, which involve moving from a birthplace where collectivist values are upheld to a capital that encourages greater individualism, may have driven them to form modern outlooks. The need for adaptation facing domestic migrants, or as Pham et al. (2018, 119) put it, ‘an assimilation quest into the city lifestyle’, may have fostered an openness to change. The informants’ receptiveness to K-dramas reflects a ‘forward learning’ attitude, marked by their view of Korea as an exemplar of development and of male characters as inspirational models. Through consumption of K-dramas and observation of privileged male characters, these men saw in Korea and its urban lifestyles an alluring future.

The dramas also guided the men towards a more flexible view of gender relations and masculinity. While their consumption did not focus on a more egalitarian desire, through engagement with soft masculinities, they explored and adopted more liberal gender views. My study demonstrates how male viewers of a ‘female-oriented’ genre negotiate with a complex set of masculinities that contains elements of both tradition and progressive change. The case studies of these three informants cannot be generalised, but they offer avenues for further consideration that hopefully future studies on men’s engagement with Korean soft masculinities can help further illuminate.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Stephen Epstein, Cherie Lacey, Joost de Bruin, Khanh Nguyen, Joanna Elfving-Hwang, the anonymous reviewers, and the journal’s editors for their constructive comments on different versions of this article.

Disclosure Statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Funding

This project was financially supported by the Victoria University of Wellington.

Notes

^1. The title of this article is inspired by the chapter ‘Bae Yong-Joon, Soft Masculinity, and Japanese Fans: Our Past is in Your Present Body’ in Sun Jung’s book Korean Masculinities and Transcultural Consumption (2011). In contrast to my focus on Vietnam’s forward-learning attitude in receiving K-dramas, however, Jung’s chapter addresses a ‘retrospective learning’ mode among Japanese fans, manifested in how they seek to satisfy postcolonial nostalgic desires through consuming soft masculinities.

^2. In their analysis of 100 popular K-dramas broadcast between 2003 and 2012, Lee and Park (2015) found that most featured major male characters who were wealthier and better educated than their female counterparts. More recent dramas such as Crash Landing on You (2019) and It's Okay to Not be Okay (2020) began shifting the power dynamic to a more even footing.

^3. Đổi Mới marked Vietnam’s transition from a command economy under the communist state’s strict governance to a ‘socialist-oriented market economy’ that promotes Vietnam’s integration into global networks (Werner & Bélanger, 2002) and a more flexible social life, especially in cities (Nguyen, 2003).

^4. Prominent Vietnamese intellectuals during the French colonial era, such as Hoài Thanh and Nguyễn Văn Huyên, contended that the individual (cá nhân), or the ‘I’ as a subject independent of society, did not exist in Vietnam before Westernisation (Marr, 2000). See Doan (2021) for a historical discussion of the development of self-expression in Vietnamese literature.