On Quick Changes of Cultural Affinity
The main Koreatown of Shin-Okubo in Tokyo has, unsurprisingly, a neon-washed main street. Shops advertising the latest hip new trends from the world of Kpop, combined with seemingly endless lineup of Korean street foods and restaurants, draw in customers from across the metropolis to experience "cool Korea." Yet, just a few steps away from the neighborhood's brightly colored main drag lies a completely different side. Dark little alleys, home to hundreds of mundane residences, extend away from the main street, at the first sight no different from any other residential area in the Japanese capital city.
But look closer, and the Korean nature of the neighborhood can be found in the little alleys as well, albeit in a quite different manner. Gone are the gawky bright signs advertising the coolness of Kpop and peddling related merchandises, and in are small eateries, situated inside old wooden small houses built decades ago, fronted by yellowing, peeling signs of dishes being sold. Most have no windows allowing potential customers a look inside the eatery itself, and some do not even have names. The fact that they are smack in the middle of normal residences mean that bright colors and noises of the main streets are obviously out of the question.
It is in one of these old eateries that the author found himself on a cold wintery day. Pushing aside the rusty metal sliding door leading inside, the author found himself in the middle of an empty little room. Two round metal tables so common among Korean eateries in Korea itself flank one side of the room, while the other side is in tatami-style, where clients need to take off shoes and sitting in front of low tables. The clatter of furniture means very little space is left in the middle, occupied by a small TV and an aging beer dispenser. Old wooden walls are graced by menu item pictures and out-of-place posters of famous Kpop idols.
An old woman, perhaps in her seventies, stumbles into the front upon hearing the noise of the gliding front door. "Yes?" She murmurs without a smile on her face. Motioning the author to occupy one of the metal round tables, she quickly disappears into the back kitchen after taking down the order. While she noisily got to work with cooking, the author occupied himself watching the (Japanese evening news) on the small TV, unbothered by the usual noise of other patrons (there are not any) or Kpop medleys as background music. Even the simple menu is devoid of any non-traditional fusion dishes so common on the main street close by.
Judging by the looks of the place and its sole proprietor, the eatery is a leftover from the days before Korea was considered cool and Kpop was all the rage here in Japan. Shin-Okubo of decades ago was a gritty dormitory town of migrant Korean factory workers, hiding themselves away from the disdain and discriminating eyes of the Japanese general public. Little tucked away eateries like the the one the author went to provide the comfort of home without being seen by the Japanese who undoubtedly considered sights of Koreans enjoying themselves irritating.
How the times have changed. Now enjoying Korean meals out in the open is not only appropriate in Shin-Okubo and elsewhere, but considered the cool thing to do among Japanese youths. Koreans no longer have to hide in little cheap eateries in the back alleys, and can now get out to the main streets and charge exorbitant amount of money for the same food to seemingly insatiable demand from the locals. Perceptions of Korea, Koreans, and Korean food have gone from hideous and irritating to cool and worthy of imitation in matter of a couple of decades. The elderly proprietors of small Korean eateries have been left behind.
Yet, the fast change in cultural affinity of Korea is not the only example. The author had the opportunity to speak with a Japanese professor of American cultural studies a few weeks ago. Speaking of American perception of Japan today, the professor ruefully remarked how when he just arrived in the US in the 1970s, there was little if any "cool" factor about Japan. The island country was simply considered a mechanical, industrial state with little appetizing culture to offer. From such a point of the view, the current American obsession with Japanese food and pop culture is also a massive, rapid change in affinity.
The examples of Korean culture in Japan and Japanese culture in America show that cultural perceptions can be extremely dynamic, in ways that individuals in the midst of the transformation, whether it be Korean eatery owners and Japanese professors, can be woefully unprepared to accommodate. It speaks to the need for individuals to remain open-minded about any country or locale, no matter how unsavory the place happens to be today in popular imagination. Who knows, that place that everyone hates today can very much be the "go-to" place for all the young trendsetters only a few years from now.
But look closer, and the Korean nature of the neighborhood can be found in the little alleys as well, albeit in a quite different manner. Gone are the gawky bright signs advertising the coolness of Kpop and peddling related merchandises, and in are small eateries, situated inside old wooden small houses built decades ago, fronted by yellowing, peeling signs of dishes being sold. Most have no windows allowing potential customers a look inside the eatery itself, and some do not even have names. The fact that they are smack in the middle of normal residences mean that bright colors and noises of the main streets are obviously out of the question.
It is in one of these old eateries that the author found himself on a cold wintery day. Pushing aside the rusty metal sliding door leading inside, the author found himself in the middle of an empty little room. Two round metal tables so common among Korean eateries in Korea itself flank one side of the room, while the other side is in tatami-style, where clients need to take off shoes and sitting in front of low tables. The clatter of furniture means very little space is left in the middle, occupied by a small TV and an aging beer dispenser. Old wooden walls are graced by menu item pictures and out-of-place posters of famous Kpop idols.
An old woman, perhaps in her seventies, stumbles into the front upon hearing the noise of the gliding front door. "Yes?" She murmurs without a smile on her face. Motioning the author to occupy one of the metal round tables, she quickly disappears into the back kitchen after taking down the order. While she noisily got to work with cooking, the author occupied himself watching the (Japanese evening news) on the small TV, unbothered by the usual noise of other patrons (there are not any) or Kpop medleys as background music. Even the simple menu is devoid of any non-traditional fusion dishes so common on the main street close by.
Judging by the looks of the place and its sole proprietor, the eatery is a leftover from the days before Korea was considered cool and Kpop was all the rage here in Japan. Shin-Okubo of decades ago was a gritty dormitory town of migrant Korean factory workers, hiding themselves away from the disdain and discriminating eyes of the Japanese general public. Little tucked away eateries like the the one the author went to provide the comfort of home without being seen by the Japanese who undoubtedly considered sights of Koreans enjoying themselves irritating.
How the times have changed. Now enjoying Korean meals out in the open is not only appropriate in Shin-Okubo and elsewhere, but considered the cool thing to do among Japanese youths. Koreans no longer have to hide in little cheap eateries in the back alleys, and can now get out to the main streets and charge exorbitant amount of money for the same food to seemingly insatiable demand from the locals. Perceptions of Korea, Koreans, and Korean food have gone from hideous and irritating to cool and worthy of imitation in matter of a couple of decades. The elderly proprietors of small Korean eateries have been left behind.
Yet, the fast change in cultural affinity of Korea is not the only example. The author had the opportunity to speak with a Japanese professor of American cultural studies a few weeks ago. Speaking of American perception of Japan today, the professor ruefully remarked how when he just arrived in the US in the 1970s, there was little if any "cool" factor about Japan. The island country was simply considered a mechanical, industrial state with little appetizing culture to offer. From such a point of the view, the current American obsession with Japanese food and pop culture is also a massive, rapid change in affinity.
The examples of Korean culture in Japan and Japanese culture in America show that cultural perceptions can be extremely dynamic, in ways that individuals in the midst of the transformation, whether it be Korean eatery owners and Japanese professors, can be woefully unprepared to accommodate. It speaks to the need for individuals to remain open-minded about any country or locale, no matter how unsavory the place happens to be today in popular imagination. Who knows, that place that everyone hates today can very much be the "go-to" place for all the young trendsetters only a few years from now.
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