Rob Marciano, the 51-year-old senior meteorologist on ABC’s Good Morning America, is the archetype of a red-blooded American man — six-foot-something, a healthy head of brown hair and Crest-commercial smile, wearing an impeccably tailored blue suit fit for a presidential debate. On an August day in New York City, he stands opposite the South Korean men of Monsta X, themselves models of handsomeness back home.
All in their twenties, Monsta X are wearing dramatic red and black prints, some in billowy button-up shirts, and all in tight, black leather pants. Their skin is rendered flawless with foundation, and their smokey eyes and lip tints glisten under the studio lights. Marciano is polite and friendly, but acts like an awkward dad, flashing peace signs here and there, not seeming to understand the massive appeal of one of the biggest bands in the world.
He’s not alone. K-pop has seen a meteoric rise in visibility in the West in the past three years, and bands have been welcomed with enthusiasm — as well as confusion. The wave has largely been led by BTS, who have secured four Billboard No.1 albums (the only other group to do so were The Beatles), and have sold out stadiums around the world. Other groups like BLACKPINK, Monsta X, SuperM, and NCT 127 have also graced American charts and found a voracious fanbase that will show up for them on tour.
But despite its passionate global fandom, many feel as if Korean music is only conditionally embraced by the American mainstream — a temporary foreign novelty rather than a legitimate player. When K-pop groups are invited to American award shows, they’re often excluded from the main creative awards, and either recognized for their social media presence or siloed into separate categories from their Western peers.
Brands will often attempt to curry favor with K-pop fandoms by engaging with them on Twitter in a blatant play to artificially grow their followers. Some critics felt that BTS was snubbed at the Grammys for the second year in a row, but that didn’t stop the Recording Academy from inviting them to perform on the big night, in what some pointed out looked like an effort to boost ratings. BTS’ most recent album, Map of the Soul: 7, was the biggest U.S. release of any band so far this year (double the debut sales of Justin Bieber’s Changes), but the band’s music continues to be largely ignored by American radio.
Foreign-language music has never had an easy time climbing the charts in America. But K-pop presents another added barrier to entry: the look and style of its male artists. Despite K-pop’s rise in the West, its integration into the U.S. mainstream might be awkward because it has forced Americans to confront and reckon with long-held stereotypes we have regarding masculinity — especially when it comes to Asian men. By specifically looking at male K-pop groups’ beauty in the context of traditional American views of masculinity, many of our biases and hangups are becoming more evident.