By Alex Low
Photo: Shawn/Unsplash
In 1998, Hyundai founder Chung Ju-yung walked 1,001 cattle across the Demilitarised Zone into North Korea. The gesture, part restitution and part symbolism, was widely understood as proof that industrial success could carry moral weight. Capitalism, in this telling, was not merely extractive; it could heal, rebuild and redeem. The story became part of Korea’s corporate mythology, casting its largest conglomerates, its chaebols, not just as companies but as national stewards.
Modern Aspirations
Photo: Alex Low
That mythology has evolved into the modern landscape of aspiration. South Korea’s chaebols dominate not only markets but social hierarchies. Their names — Samsung, Hyundai, Lotte, to name a few — function as shorthand for success itself. Luxury flagship stores rise like civic monuments, and destinations such as Lotte World place excess and spectacle at the centre of public life.
Walking through the Hyundai and Lotte flagship stores, I ascended floor by floor, each level a curated panorama of the world’s most coveted brands. The upper floors, plastered with “duty free” signs, revealed the stores’ role as global destinations, offering perks and exclusive access even to non-Korean residents. Membership programmes and curated displays underscore that luxury is not just about consumption; it’s a stage on which social distinction is performed, quietly shaping perceptions of status and legitimacy in modern Korea.
The Architecture of Success
Photo: Babak Habibi/Unsplash
Employment is another pillar of this system. Securing a position at Samsung is widely regarded as a monumental achievement, celebrated by individuals and families alike. The company offers more than a salary; it confers credibility, stability and social capital. With Samsung alone contributing over 20 percent of South Korea’s GDP, the company’s centrality to the nation’s economy is undeniable. In a society where housing, marriage and future planning are intertwined, corporate affiliation becomes an intangible luxury asset. When a private corporation represents the most reliable path to dignity and security, loyalty is structural rather than optional.
Photo: Alex Low
Property reinforces this dynamic. Chaebol-linked developments shape Seoul’s most desirable neighbourhoods, while homeownership increasingly determines access to adulthood itself. Real estate doesn’t merely reflect success; it governs whose ambitions are taken seriously. Rising expectations around wealth and possession have contributed to delayed family formation and falling birth rates, while social pressures persist despite the nation’s prosperity. These shifts aren’t accidental; they’re natural responses to a system in which stability’s scarce and expensive.
Inside the Paradox
Photo: Komorebi Photo/Unsplash
Beneath the glass towers and curated displays lies a structural toll. Labour disputes and workplace health controversies, often resolved with limited transparency, have periodically highlighted the imbalance between corporate power and individual vulnerability. Even broader measures of wellbeing complicate the prosperity story: South Korea consistently reports high levels of social pressure and distress, particularly among working-age adults. If economic success is meant to secure happiness, the disconnect raises uncomfortable questions.
Those questions sharpen when law and power intersect. Samsung’s chairman, Lee Jae-yong, became the face of Korea’s corporate power, facing criminal conviction, serving prison time, and later returning to prominence — eventually greeting US President Joe Biden during an official visit. The law was applied, but its consequences proved temporary. Accountability didn’t vanish; it became negotiable. In a democracy built on institutional checks, necessity repeatedly outweighs moral consistency when the institutions in question are indispensable.
This is the chaebol conundrum. South Korea’s financial ascent is real, hard-earned and globally admired. Luxury, property and consumption have transformed economic dependence into cultural pride, making power feel benevolent and inevitable. The issue is not whether chaebols built modern Korea; they did. The unresolved question is whether a democratic society can remain morally coherent while relying so heavily on institutions it struggles to fully hold to account.
