The traditional K-pop narrative of rising from poverty to stardom is being fundamentally challenged as the grandchildren of South Korea's wealthiest families enter the industry as trainees. A recent incident involving Annie, a member of the new co-ed group Allday Project, highlighted this shift when her livestream accidentally captured a conversation between household staff announcing "Madame is arriving," giving fans a glimpse into the life of a chaebol family.
Annie, whose real name is Moon Seo-yoon, is the granddaughter of Lee Myung-hee, chairman of Shinsegae Group, and the eldest daughter of Jung Yoo-kyung, president of Shinsegae. She joined The Black Label as a trainee in 2016 at age sixteen, marking the first time a direct descendant of a conglomerate-owning family has entered an agency as a trainee and debuted as a K-pop idol. She is not alone in this trend, as Loren (Lee Seung-joo), son of Naver founder Lee Hae-jin, is also pursuing a career as a K-pop trainee.
This development represents a dramatic departure from K-pop's founding mythology. Since H.O.T.'s debut in 1996, the industry has been celebrated for its 28-year narrative of providing opportunities for people from humble backgrounds to achieve success through talent and hard work. The stories that once defined the genre – such as members of g.o.d stealing corn from fields due to hunger, or BTS's seven members sharing one bathroom and sometimes having to use public restrooms – are becoming increasingly rare in today's landscape.
The cultural shift is evident in how parents now view the trainee system. One parent, identified online as "J," proudly posted photos of their daughter with the caption "Major agency management trainee / 4th grade." Large agencies often scout management trainees through street casting, providing them with singing and dancing lessons for three to six months before deciding whether to accept them as full trainees. For many parents today, simply having a child reach this pre-trainee stage has become a source of pride, a stark contrast to decades past when parents worried their children would be stigmatized for pursuing K-pop careers.
A manager at a mid-sized K-pop agency reported that parents of elementary and middle school-aged children now wait for hours during auditions, noting that middle-class and wealthier families have become noticeably more common among recent trainees. According to a 2025 study by Kang Won-rae, a former member of the group Clon, titled "Problems and Improvements of K-Pop Idol Trainee System," teenagers now typically attend specialized academies for singing and dancing to prepare for trainee auditions. These academy-style agencies require monthly tuition and often additional private lessons, making strong parental financial support crucial for success.
The contrast between past and present living conditions for trainees is striking. The male members of Allday Project stay in a dormitory where each has his own room with a spacious living area, while BTS's seven members once lived together in one home sharing a single bathroom. During g.o.d's trainee years, they lived in an underground dormitory with no refrigerator, forcing them to place food outside to keep it cool.
Two major shifts now define the starting line for new K-pop trainees: the growing entry of highly privileged young people and the acceleration of early, exam-like competitions that sort trainees into hierarchies. These trends reflect K-pop's rapid class stratification, transforming what was once viewed as a land of opportunity where effort and talent alone could lead to success into something resembling an elite admissions track, where early training and financial resources heavily influence outcomes.
The growing class divide is partly driven by the perception that entering the K-pop trainee system represents a strategic investment in cultural capital. For many students and their parents, pursuing the trainee path has become a way to build a personal brand, with the goal no longer solely focused on debuting in an idol group. Even if a debut fails, the experience, networks, and visibility gained from being a management trainee or full trainee are seen as valuable stepping stones to becoming a YouTuber or influencer.
The financial barriers are substantial. A specialized weekend course at a major K-pop academy costs 720,000 won ($528) for four weeks, not including additional lessons. Despite the high cost and slim chances of being accepted as a trainee, parents continue investing. One mother in her forties with a fifth-grade son explained, "I regret becoming a corporate worker because I only studied. Preparing to be a trainee is a personal branding process. Even if it doesn't work out, I want my child to absorb everything from the agency system and later become an influencer."
Kim Heon-sik, a professor of social culture at Jungwon University, noted that many millennial parents "do not want to become like the stereotypical office worker who lives at a company's beck and call for twenty years and is eventually pushed out," adding that they want their children to avoid that path as well. As aspirations increase, the trainee system is becoming tilted toward families with the means to afford costly, academy-driven preparations. Lee Dong-joon, a professor at Sungkyunkwan University, observed that the trainee path now resembles "a private education admissions track involving high-cost investments, private tutoring and agency networks."
The influx of privileged teenagers into the demanding trainee system aligns with changes in how audiences consume popular culture. In today's market, charisma has become capital, and charisma is increasingly defined not by hardship or "hunger" but by effortless coolness. Fans report feeling vicarious satisfaction watching someone like Annie, whose confidence appears shaped by comfort and ease rather than struggle.
Writer Ahn Hee-je, in her book "Hesitant Love," analyzed K-pop fandom culture, stating that "K-pop idols embody the qualifications required to be loved in Korean society." She argued that the entry of wealthy teenagers into the trainee system shows that "inborn advantages and the resulting charisma – something unattainable through effort – are increasingly valued," and that "the signs of being raised with love are now seen as qualifications for attention in the interest economy." She noted that coolness often stems from economic comfort, and when natural-born advantages outweigh skills or personality developed through effort, it suggests growing rigidity within the industry.
Jin Soo-hyun, a research professor at Chung-Ang University, said the rise of privileged trainees shows that "K-pop is transforming into a platform that reproduces social class." She pointed to figures such as Han Seok-hyun, grandson of SK Group's founder, who works as a DJ and producer under SM Entertainment, as examples of this trend.
Large K-pop agencies have become increasingly favorable toward privileged trainees. Ahead of its new boy group debut next year, Modernberry Korea openly promoted the fact that one member, Ha Min-gi, is the grandson of the founder of a company with more than 100 billion won in annual sales. One agency insider with more than a decade of experience explained that "unlike the past, companies now look for trainees who grew up well, without trouble or rough edges," partly to prevent future scandals.
Industry polarization is deepening K-pop's class divide. According to Circle Chart, which aggregates data from nine domestic and international music platforms including Melon, Bugs and Spotify, seven of the top ten most-streamed songs last year were produced by major agencies. Not a single song from a mid- or small-sized agency made the top ten. By contrast, in 2014, three songs from smaller agencies ranked in the top ten, including Apink's "Mr. Chu" (Play M Entertainment) and Girl's Day's "Something" (DreamT Entertainment). In just a decade, small agencies have virtually vanished from the hit-making landscape, demonstrating the growing influence of large-scale capital and systematic advantages.
As class stratification accelerates, the myth of fairness continues to weaken. Trainees from less privileged backgrounds naturally experience higher anxiety, which creates further disparities in performance and opportunities. Kim Sung-yoon, a research fellow at Dong-A University's Institute for Convergence Knowledge and Society, noted that "it is difficult to expect fair competition between a teenager who must cope with economic hardship if their trainee career collapses, and someone from a wealthy family who is encouraged to take risks."
K-pop's class divide is also reshaping the music itself. Earlier generations of idol groups often highlighted themes of resistance, injustice, or personal growth. H.O.T.'s "Warrior's Descendant" (1998) confronted school violence, while BTS's debut track "No More Dream" (2013) urged young listeners to reject societal expectations and define their own aspirations. In contrast, groups emerging from today's stratified system tend to emphasize innate superiority and aesthetic perfection rather than overcoming adversity.
These shifts weaken the sense of community and shared growth that once connected idols and the public. Kim Sung-yoon observed that "in stratified K-pop, there is little room for the narrative storytelling that was long considered a core virtue of the genre. Instead, the focus shifts to aesthetics – how attractive the vibe is and how refined the music sounds." This transformation extends beyond the entertainment industry, reflecting broader social currents in Korea and revealing the other face of K-pop – globally celebrated as a triumph of the underdog, yet increasingly shaped by privilege and class reproduction.
