The Most Dangerous Contraband in North Korea Isn’t a Weapon. It’s a Wish.
By: Jihyun Kang
Growing up in North Korea, Jihyun took inspiration from the smuggled South Korean dramas she watched to create her own unique clothing. After reaching freedom in 2010, she has continued to pursue her interests in fashion and culture as a catalyst for change. She runs several business ventures, practices fine art under the name “Da Gyeol,” and works with the Ministry of Unification as an advisor. She’s pursuing her Masters in Entrepreneurship, Dept. of Future Science & Technology Business, at Korea University.
I grew up in North Korea, and at fifteen, I encountered a Westerner for the first time at the top of Mount Paektu. He stood over 190 centimeters tall with a thick beard, wearing ripped jeans and a frayed T-shirt. In North Korea, worn-out clothing was a symbol of deprivation. Yet my father whispered, "He is wearing that for style." With that single remark, the worldview I had been taught, began, the first time, to crack. And I thought: I want to dress like that, too.
Fashion is more than clothing. It is the moment when individual desire moves faster than collective command. People follow taste before ideology, and express themselves through what they wear long before any political declaration.
A state can enforce a dress code, but it cannot manufacture desire. That is why North Korea's fear of blue jeans was not irrational—it was the regime recognizing, however dimly, that something it could not control was already growing.
Clayton Christensen, a professor at Harvard Business School, argued that transformation always begins at the margins—in forms so crude and insignificant that those in power dismiss them entirely. Christensen built his theory around corporations, but the logic applies to any system that holds a monopoly over its people, including a state. North Korea's regime was so focused on maintaining ideological control at the centre that it ignored what was happening at the bottom.
That bottom was the jangmadang—the spontaneous, bottom-up market ecosystem created by ordinary people to survive after the collapse of North Korea's state-led distribution system. When that system imploded during the Arduous March—a famine in the mid-1990s that killed hundreds of thousands—people built informal markets out of sheer necessity: not revolution, not ideology, but survival. Yet by 2018, a CSIS study found 436 officially recognized markets operating across the country. What began as a desperate improvisation had quietly become the infrastructure keeping North Koreans alive.
These markets did not merely sell food. They became conduits for Chinese clothing, USB drives loaded with South Korean dramas, and glimpses of a world no one had taught them existed. When a system ignores what people actually want, the market finds the gap.
The act of choosing—what to eat, what to wear, what to watch—may seem trivial. But a person who has tasted choice cannot fully return to obedience.
The jangmadang was the first place where North Koreans learned they could survive without the state. That desire did not stay underground—it surfaced. People began wearing jeans, dyeing their hair, and pulling on T-shirts printed with foreign letters. The regime could no longer ignore it. Authorities branded jeans and Western fashion as 'anti-socialist infiltrations' and deployed street patrols. Teenagers caught in these sweeps were sent to re-education camps; in severe cases, their names and home addresses were read aloud on state broadcasts as public shaming (Radio Free Asia).
In 2024, state-run Korean Central Television went so far as to blur the jeans worn by British TV presenter Alan Titchmarsh during a broadcast. The ruling party's official newspaper, the Rodong Sinmun, warned that a country could 'become vulnerable and eventually collapse like a damp wall' if it failed to preserve its own way of life (Newsweek, May 2021).
Regulations cannot extinguish human desire; they only raise the price of the forbidden. This is the inflection point Christensen identified: by the time an incumbent recognizes the threat, it is already too late.
To date, more than 34,000 North Koreans have resettled in South Korea (South Korean Ministry of Unification, 2024). At the start of each of those journeys, there was something like my pair of jeans—not ideology, but desire; not a declaration, but a taste; not revolution, but the market.
No government in history has ever successfully suppressed the human impulse to trade, to choose, to want more. Not the Soviet Union. Not Cuba. Not Mao's China. North Korea will not be the exception.
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Jihyun is a participant of the LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which serves to not only help North Korean defectors build confidence and skills in English, but develop their capacity as advocates for this issue. To that end, we partnered with select LELP “columnists” to write and polish personal essays through multiple rounds of external feedback and revision. Our goal is to have more North Koreans share their stories directly and lead efforts to change the narrative.
We believe the North Korean people can achieve their liberty in our lifetime.
Opportunities like LELP invest in the people building that future now. Help more North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue.
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Starting Fresh: A Conversation with Jin Kyung
Jin Kyung escaped North Korea after experiencing her own modern-day Cinderella story. Her parents divorced when she was still young, and for a short time she lived comfortably with her father, but when her father remarried a year later, Jin Kyung’s life took a turn for the worse. Her father often worked away from home, leaving her alone with her stepmother, who scolded and punished her every day. Resolving to find a better life for herself, she escaped to China.
Jin Kyung was sold soon after crossing the border, but the family she had been sold into showed kindness and love to her. Unlike many women who are sold, she was allowed to come and go as she pleased. She came to be fond of the Chinese man and his parents. However, Jin Kyung wasn’t ready to settle for a life as an illegal immigrant in China despite being grateful for a happy home. Her new family helped coordinate her escape to South Korea, which she admits is not a common occurrence. After resettling in South Korea, she attended school and eventually reunited with the Chinese man, who is now her husband. They have a four-month-old son together and she’s currently a stay-at-home mom.
Our resettlement coordinator Anna visited with Jin Kyung and her son recently to see how they're doing.
Anna: What was the best thing that happened to you recently?
Jin Kyung: I’m grateful for every day for numerous reasons. It especially warms my heart to see my baby smiling, although taking care of him is sometimes physically demanding. My husband and I talked about having a second, but I’m not sure if I can handle it if I start attending college. In fact, I also passed the GED this past April and just submitted two college applications yesterday as a hair design and make-up artist major.
Anna: What's your biggest challenge in South Korea?
Jin Kyung: Raising a child is very challenging and sometimes tiring, but I enjoy it so much and want to have a second one as soon as possible.
After I got out of Hanawon and for a few months after that, I felt so lost and clueless.
Anna: How did you overcome the challenge?
Jin Kyung: Although many people recommended for me to go back to school, I only wanted to earn money to send to my family in North Korea. I soon found a job at a factory, but realized that there’s a limitation to the types of careers that I can pursue if I don’t get a proper education. I realized what my priority should be after working in a labor-intensive job at the factory.
Anna: Who has been the biggest help (outside of LiNK) to you since you arrived in South Korea?
Jin Kyung: A teacher from the alternative school that I attended the last few years. She is the one who actually got me interested in studying and led me to gain different perspectives on the world and life. She’s such an enthusiastic person who didn’t mind if I asked her questions, and she was always available when I needed her. I’ve been able to achieve as much as I have up until now thanks to her.
Anna: What was your biggest challenge in North Korea?
Jin Kyung: Living itself was very hard. I always faced starvation and struggled with serious domestic conflict. When I reached puberty, I abruptly left home to escape from that reality.
Anna: What is it like living in freedom in South Korea?
Jin Kyung: I believe resettling in a new society is not easy whether you have more freedom or not. I had an inferiority complex because I had a different intonation and background from South Koreans. For example, I couldn't even understand what a bank clerk was saying to me one time. I used to care so much what other people thought about me. It just takes time to adjust to a new community.
Anna: What is something that you started to do in South Korea that you never did before?
Jin Kyung: STUDY! I've always wanted to attend school to study and make friends since I was back in North Korea, but I had to leave school at a young age for family reasons. At first, I had no confidence in myself to study again, and I was honestly afraid to start anything at that time. The teacher whom I mentioned earlier, she boosted my confidence by lavishing me with praise. She encouraged me with praise for one correct answer instead of scolding me over nine wrong answers. In spite of many unfamiliar words in math, Korean, science, sociology, and history classes, I quickly gained more confidence and started to catch up! I’m still so proud of myself for passing the GED this year and I’m anxious, yet excited, to start college soon.
Anna: Have your perceptions of Americans and South Koreans changed?
Jin Kyung: I honestly had no spare time to care anything other than living day by day. I really didn't know much about other countries, but the fact that I grew up hearing bad things about them gave a negative impression. I actually used to think that the U.S. is the cause of separation of the Korean peninsula and wished that the U.S. had never existed, however, those thoughts all changed once I arrived in China by simply watching Korean movies and dramas.
Anna: What advice would you give to a friend who just arrived in South Korea?
Jin Kyung: I don’t think I’m in a position of giving them advice because there are many defectors who have lived here longer than I have. Nonetheless, I realized a few things as I resettled in South Korea. I wish North Korean defectors opened up their mind more to accept this new culture and engaged with South Koreans. I believe that it’s difficult to understand someone’s hardship if you haven’t been in the same situation, so I, as a North Korean defector, would like take an approach to get along with South Korean friends.
Anna: How often do you think about North Korea? What do you think about?
Jin Kyung: I should, but I tend not to think much about North Korea. I get upset whenever I think of North Korea because it brings out my hurtful memories and struggles. I’m also so sad and feel pity for those who still live under the miserable circumstances.
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