K-pop and Collecting Culture

If you've never been into K-pop (short for Korean pop music), it would be natural to assume that the way the industry functions is similar or even the same to how it functions here in the United States. While that's definitely true in some respects, I think one of the biggest culture shocks for me when I started getting into K-pop was the materialism and marketing around merchandise. Albums are often entire packages, with stickers, photobooks and other assorted goods; almost every single release comes with multiple versions of the album, each version having different goods. Some groups have even released upwards of 20 or more versions of the same album. Each album has the same compact disc (CD) in it, but the expectation is that nobody buying these albums really cares about the CD: consumers are in it for the merch, especially the photocards.

Photocards might be one of the main things the average person might associate with K-pop. Small portraits of idols who make up a group, photocards are randomly given alongside albums or other merchandise purchases, often with exclusive editions for specific vendors, pre-orders or for buying a set amount of merch. Affectionately called "boy paper" by one collector in Fargo, these cards are nothing more than photos of artists printed on cardstock. The value of these cards is entirely in what they portray, that being the specific idol featured.

The thing most fascinating to me about all this is the way that the K-pop industry has leaned into idol worship and the parasocial relationships that come with it. K-pop is not just about music, but entertainment as a whole, and the marketing and promotion of idols is a huge part of that. When talking to others in the area about K-pop, a theme arose surrounding the expense expected of die-hard fans of K-pop groups. If fans are trying to collect everything put out by a group, they may quickly fall into a spiral of collecting expensive junk that sits on a shelf and collects dust. In my own experience, the excitement of opening the package containing your pre-order from two months prior usually wanes quickly, leaving the annoyance of finding space for even more stuff in its wake. And this brief hit of dopamine makes consumers want more and makes them eager to buy the next batch of merchandise put out by groups. This cycle is similar in concept to conversations around blind boxes, where buyers get gambling-like sensations from buying something that is a mystery until you open it.

Many of the people I talked to about their own interactions with K-pop fandom cited the above as a big reason for avoiding buying anything at all, tempting as it may be. For us college students, the expense and space needed to collect typically don’t exist. Collecting is also a hobby that can easily get out of hand. This leads to seeking alternate avenues to get the albums you want, a big one being buying second-hand. Because of the aforementioned random chance of album inclusions, many people will buy albums in bulk to get what they want and then resell those albums online for a discount minus the photocards. Vic, a student I spoke to, mentioned that she pretty much only buys albums second-hand because of affordability. "I like listening to the CDs in my car, and I like the photobooks, but I don't really care about anything else," she said. This is definitely an easier option for more popular groups, but it can be harder to find second-hand sales for lesser-known groups, especially ones primarily popular in Korea without much international sway.

K-Pop is an industry that is both very big and heavily criticized, both of which often go together in tandem. I think it's a good example of having to choose and pursue your hobbies carefully. Collecting can be fun, but it's important to recognize when you're engaging in unhealthy or addictive behaviors, or else you'll end up with a dresser drawer full of albums you never look at (like me).