Reframing Identity Through Hallyu: A Collaborative Autoethnography of Korean Teacher Educators in Teacher Education Programs

1. Ontological Not-Enoughness and Otherness Within Embodied Orientalist Epistemologies

Our identities have been deeply shaped by Orientalism, which is not merely a set of cultural biases but a discursive system constructed by the West to define and dominate the non-West through structures of colonial power and knowledge (Said, 1978). Although formal colonialism has ended, its epistemic and affective residues continue to shape how we understand ourselves and our place in the world (Joo, 2016). Through Orientalism, we not only became the Other in the eyes of the West but also turned that gaze inward, engaging in self-othering that rendered us perpetually not enough.

It was full of students with pale faces, blonde hair, and blue eyes… They chatted joyously with each other, and when I entered, they all glanced at me and exchanged glances with each other, with slight smiles. I was the only Asian-looking person in a room of about 40 students. I tried to smile, but I was very terrified inside—simply because I was the one who looked so different in that space.

After the first day, I began to feel inadequate—and not enough. Compared to other professors, who are white and have teaching experience in American classrooms, I felt that everything was lacking. I lack experience in K–12 schools in the U.S., my English proficiency is not as native as that of the American professors, and I struggle to build a deep cultural connection with my students. I often find myself wondering if I truly belong here. I still question whether I am enough to stand at the front of this American classroom and call myself a teacher.

SungEun’s reflection

Reflecting on our initial few weeks of teaching teacher candidates in American teacher preparation programs, we both shared a sense of inadequacy and not-enoughness. It has also been terrifying for us to survive in a space where there is only one Asian teacher in the entire building. These affective responses are not unique to us. Research shows that many international faculty experienced similar feelings of inadequacy as educators due to language barriers, cultural differences, and a lack of teaching experience in American K-12 schools (Adebayo & Allen, 2020; Anandavalli et al., 2021; Bui, 2021; Han et al. 2025; Xu & Hu, 2020). Han et al. (2025) confessed that the systemic discrepancies between their home countries and the United States led to a sense of inadequacy and a struggle to bring the desired authenticity in the classroom. We highlight that these feelings were not solely grounded in our objective biographies but rather arise from internalized beliefs which were shaped by embodied Orientalist hierarchies. We believed we were inferior.

First of all, we felt a sense of inadequacy and otherness due to visible social markers. Our different skin tone, hair color, and facial features made it immediately apparent that we were Asian. We believed not only that we were different from American people, but also that they were “superior” in appearance.

If only for a day, let me be white.

This iconic longing of Gayoung captures the deeply racialized aesthetics that shaped our educational subjectivity. The perceived superiority of white embodiment—its social rewards, unspoken privileges, and symbolic legitimacy—has long been naturalized in our own imaginations. These beliefs were not formed in the United States; they were cultivated long before, in South Korea.

Our experience of Orientalist epistemology did not begin when we arrived in the United States. It began in Korea, where whiteness has long been idealized. Gayoung remembers working with Anne (pseudonym), a white American English teacher, in a Korean elementary school. One day, she said she wanted to spend the rest of her life in Korea. As a Korean citizen who held American citizenship and had long understood the symbolic power it carried, I was puzzled. But I soon understood.

I often helped her with shopping or outings, and everywhere we went together, Korea seemed extraordinarily kind to her.

At the post office, they gave her shipping boxes for free and assisted her with remarkable kindness. Even when she didn’t ask for help, someone always stepped up. At restaurants, they offered her free service items. She would smile and say, “Korea is so kind. I want to immigrate here.”

Her presence—tall, blonde, white—seemed to invite kindness I had never received myself as a Korean.

Gayoung’s reflection

Our sense of inadequacy also stemmed from linguistic hierarchies. Speaking English with Korean accents, rather than like “normal” American speakers, marked us as outsiders in American academia. We had grown up in a society where English proficiency was not only a skill but also a social marker of intelligence, social capital, and lifelong success (Min & Hong, 2015).

In that context, English was considered a superior language—more global, more valuable, more legitimate than Korean. The irony is that even after mastering English to the level of teaching in it, we still found ourselves wondering:

Am I enough to stand at the front of this classroom and call myself a teacher?

Our lack of K-12 teaching experience in the United States often felt like a disqualifier. Although we had years of teaching experience in Korea, they did not seem to count.

As educators working in public schools in South Korea, we had a strong aspiration to come to the United States to study education, as we viewed American education as the best in the world. The most widely cited educational theories, as well as many renowned scholars and researchers referenced in the education field in Korea, originated from the United States. To us, American education represented innovative educational philosophies, theories, and practices. We envisioned classrooms filled with lively discussions that prioritized critical thinking and creativity, project-based learning, cutting edge technologies, and teachers who nurtured individual students’ voices and identities. In contrast to the exam-driven and hierarchical structure of Korean schooling, American education appeared progressive, empowering, and liberating. These idealized constructions of the United States significantly influenced our decisions to pursue graduate study here.

Ever since I was young, I have been captivated by Hollywood movies. The first film I ever watched in a theater was Home Alone, and I’ve rewatched it every Christmas season to relive the holiday spirit. To this day, I still consider Titanic one of the most flawless films in cinematic history—each viewing leaves me in awe of its compelling storyline, emotional depth, and stunning visual effects. Watching Leonardo DiCaprio, Tom Hanks, Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Nicole Kidman, Julia Roberts, I found them incredibly attractive and charismatic, reinforcing a glamorous image of American people. For me, America came to represent ideals such as freedom, liberty, democracy, global leadership, wealth, intelligence, and physical beauty. I always dreamed of visiting the United States someday.

SungEun’s reflection

Ever since I was young, I dreamed of a life in New York. I imagined myself somewhere between B and S, as a kind of Y1—caught in that glittering in-between. I could see myself sitting on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art with friends, like a scene lifted straight out of Gossip Girl. Not buried in textbooks, but immersed in social worlds— gliding between Ivy League aspirations, parties, queen bees of the social scene, and proms. Things that felt utterly unimaginable in Korea seemed, in America, to be the natural rites of passage for any teenager. That dream shimmered in my mind, a quiet flame of possibility burning beyond the bounds of my reality.

Gayoung’s reflection

Figure 2. Visual representations of American cultural symbols that shaped the authors’ early imaginaries of the United States.

Figure 2. Visual representations of American cultural symbols that shaped the authors’ early imaginaries of the United States.

From a young age, we both wanted to come to the United States, the land of freedom, democracy, and happiness, full of intelligent and good-looking people. We Koreans have long lived with and aspired to American culture—it is deeply embedded in our daily lives.

This was not incidental. It was the product of cultural imperialism, where American soft power reshaped the aspirations of entire generations in Korea. Our desires, our self-perceptions, even our standards of educational excellence were forged in this unequal symbolic order. They were produced through embodied Orientalist epistemologies—racialized, gendered, and linguistic structures that rendered us simultaneously visible and illegible. Our journey as teacher educators in the United States revealed how deeply the legacies of cultural imperialism and racialized desire shaped even our most intimate professional uncertainties.

2. Paradigm Shift—“We Can Be Proud of Being Korean”: Hallyu as a Channel for Recognizing Cultural Identity as an Asset

“Could you add BTS’s Blood, Sweat and Tears to the music list for our work time?”

“Have you watched Squid Game? Do you know when the next season will come?”

“I saw this Korean recipe for japchae in a news magazine. Could you let me know how to get these noodles (dangmyeon)?”

Very interestingly, little by little, we’ve noticed that whenever people knew we were Koreans—whether in classrooms or other social settings—students, faculty, and individuals outside academia responded with great enthusiasm. They eagerly shared their experiences with Korean cultural products and expressed their knowledge of and interest in Korean culture by asking questions related to the topic. It was no longer surprising to see Korean language student clubs and K-pop dance teams at our universities, and many were genuinely enthusiastic about K-pop, K-dramas, and other aspects of Korean culture.

The emergence of Hallyu as a mainstream success in the United States has significantly impacted our lives as Korean teacher educators residing here, reshaping our perceptions of cultural identity. Experiencing Hallyu abroad and witnessing the widespread popularity of Korean cultural products and the transnational fandom surrounding Korean celebrities (Lee, 2016a; Yoon, 2019) served as an impetus for a “paradigm shift” (Kuhn, 1962) in how we perceived ourselves—from a deficit-based to an asset-based perspective. In particular, it helped us confront and move beyond our embodied sense of inferiority (Fanon, 1952/1986) and the internalized Western Orientalist discourse (Said, 1978) that has long portrayed us as inferior, dependent, and passive. Hallyu allowed us to recognize that what we possess is neither strange nor lacking in value but rather rich cultural assets that are appreciated and admired globally. The success of Hallyu stars and content is not theirs alone—it is also ours. We see ourselves reflected in them. Their success has become a form of aspirational capital (Yosso, 2005). Below, we explore how Hallyu has challenged and reshaped our identities as Korean teacher educators.

First, Hallyu challenges our embodied sense of inferiority in Asian bodies. This inferiority is associated with a broad perception of Asian bodies and identities (Museus & Iftikar, 2014), and we felt it particularly in our visibility (Foucault, 1975) in the white-dominant space of teacher education programs. Asian physical features have historically been mocked, with Asian men often stereotyped as lacking masculinity and physical attractiveness (Hamamoto, 1994; Lee, 1999), while Asian women have been depicted through hypersexualized stereotypes, such as the “submissive and obedient” trope or as exoticized figures desired through "yellow fever." One of the widely known racial microaggressions against the Asian population is pulling back the eyes to mock the shape of Asian eyes.

However, the rise of Hallyu has begun to challenge these portrayals, offering new representations of Asian bodies and redefining notions of both masculinity and femininity (Song & Velding, 2020). For example, in BTS’s “Boy With Luv” music video, the group subverts traditional gender expectations by embracing characteristics commonly coded as feminine. The members wear pink outfits, style their brightly colored hair casually, and accessorize with delicate jewelry like dangly earrings and layered pearl necklaces. This challenges traditional concepts of masculinity—such as the macho man ideal—and urges a reconceptualization of what masculinity can look like (Jung, 2011). Jung (2011) introduced the idea of soft masculinity, along with globalized and postmodern expressions of masculine identity, as reflected in the flexible forms of masculinity portrayed by K-pop boy bands within the framework of transcultural pop production. For both researchers, the success of Hallyu functioned as an oppositional gaze (Hooks, 1992) that challenged our internalized colonialism (Fanon, 1952/2008), particularly regarding the racialized Eurocentric norms of beauty and appearance.

Second, Hallyu challenged our deep-rooted assimilationist and monoglossic language ideology, valuing English as superior to Korean, and helped us to see our Korean language as linguistic capital (Yosso, 205) based on bilingual ideology. Thus we changed our perspective on our language from language-as-problem to language-as-asset. It was eye-opening to witness songs written entirely in Korean achieve global popularity, with American audiences not only singing along to Korean lyrics but also actively attempting to learn the Korean language. Among BTS's global hit songs, many feature Korean as the dominant language in the lyrics, such as “피땀눈물 (Blood Sweat and Tears)” in 2016, “DNA” and “봄날 (Spring Day)” in 2017, “Fake Love” and “Idol” in 2018, and “작은 것들을 위한 시 (Boy With Luv)” in 2019. We witnessed how our once-familiar mother tongue—taken for granted and regarded as inferior to English—became a valuable asset now recognized and appreciated in American society.

I got goosebumps watching BTS perform a song with Korean lyrics in collaboration with the British band Coldplay at the 2021 American Music Awards, which were held at the Microsoft Theater in Los Angeles, California, as Coldplay’s Chris Martin sang part of the song in Korean, while the American audience also sang along in Korean. (You can watch the performance here.)

SungEun’s reflection

Beyond K-pop, Korean dramas and films—such as Squid Game and Parasite—have received prestigious accolades, including Emmys and the 2020 Academy Awards, becoming the first non-English language works to achieve such honors. It was especially inspiring to watch Parasite director Bong Joon-ho accept the Oscar for Best International Feature Film. In his bold and witty acceptance speech, he said, “Once you overcome the 1-inch-tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films” (original Korean: “1인치 정도 되는 자막의 장벽을 뛰어넘으면, 여러분들이 훨씬 더 많은 영화를 즐길 수 있습니다”). His statement reflects a reversal of traditional linguistic hierarchies and ideologies: rather than urging non-English creators to cater to English-speaking audiences, he invited global viewers to embrace linguistic diversity by engaging with media in other languages.

Additionally, it is inspiring to see that, thanks to the global success of Hallyu, Korean words have been added to the Oxford English Dictionary, including noraebang (karaoke room), hyung or hyeong (elder brother), jjigae (stew), tteokbokki (spicy rice cake), and pansori (traditional lyrical opera). Seeing that our indigenous terminologies, which originated in Korea, were embraced in official authoritative dictionaries gave us great pride in the Korean language.

아파트 (apt), 아파트 (apt), 아파트 (apt)..., I had long understood the importance of moving beyond a monolingual perspective toward a multilingual one, but the question remained—how? The answer, unexpectedly, came through music. In the lyrics of BLACKPINK’s “Rosé,” Korean and English coexisted, crossing named language boundaries with ease. It was as if her linguistic practice embodied her identity as both a New Zealander and a Korean. In that moment, what I had encountered only in academic papers and conferences as translanguaging was suddenly realized—alive and resonant—in popular music itself.

Gayoung’s reflection

Hallyu offered a paradigm shift in our linguistic identity, moving from an assimilationist, monoglossic ideology to a pluralist and multilingual perspective. Hallyu taught us that the language we have can be a form of capital that American people want to acquire. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o (1986) critiqued the continued dominance of English in educational systems and literary production. Ngũgĩ argued that this linguistic hierarchy perpetuates colonial ideologies and alienates individuals from their cultural roots. He advocated for writing and teaching in indigenous languages as a radical act of reclaiming identity, culture, and resistance—a process he famously described as "decolonizing the mind." In a similar vein, Hallyu functions as a form of linguistic and cultural decolonization, challenging the monoglossic ideology that privileges English over Korean and repositioning the Korean language as a valued and legitimate medium of global cultural exchange.

Third, Hallyu challenged the fixed hierarchical onto-epistemology that positioned Western culture as superior and Korean culture as inferior, instead embracing greater cultural flexibility and hybridity (Bhabha, 1994). Homi Bhabha (1994) complicated the binary oppositions central to colonial discourse through his concept of hybridity, which resists rigid cultural identities. Rather than viewing our Korean identity as fixed or oppositional, Bhabha’s notion of the "third space" allowed us to conceptualize cultural in-betweenness—a space where hybrid identities emerge through negotiation and reinterpretation. Also, in recognizing the hybrid nature of Korean cultural products that combine their own indigenous funds of knowledge of Korean history and society and Western culture, we were able to negotiate hybrid or transnational identities (Jung, 2011; Kim, 2022). The hybrid nature of Korean cultural products is evidenced by K-pop dance, which is “genre hybridity” (Park, 2025). Many scholars argue that K-pop dance blends diverse Western dance forms—such as modern, hip-hop, street, and jazz—to create a distinctive and innovative style of performance. (Lie, 2012, Lie, 2015; Oh, 2015; Shim, 2006). Also, its choreographic style and visual elements are also strongly influenced by traditional Korean performance practices, especially Talchum (mask dance), which highlights coordinated movement, storytelling, and collective emotional expression (Park, 2025). Seeing the hybrid nature of Korean cultural products and their success with global audiences, the researchers were able to develop more hybrid, flexible, and transnational identities and ways of being.

3. Cultural Threads from Home: Weaving Korean Cultural Wealth into Teacher Education and Higher Education

Through the paradigm shift in the Korean teacher educators’ perceived identities—shaped by Hallyu—from a deficit-based to an asset-based perspective, the educators recognized and incorporated Community Cultural Wealth (Yosso, 2005) into their teaching practices and strategies within teacher education programs.

First, the Korean teacher educators incorporated their linguistic capital, in particular, their Korean language competencies, into teaching various literacy, ESL, or multicultural education courses. According to Yosso (2005), linguistic capital includes the communication competencies nurtured through multilingual experiences (Orellana et al., 2003).

For instance, Gayoung incorporated the syntax of the Korean language into teaching the English language system in literacy courses, such as when teaching prepositions or postpositions from a comparative linguistic perspective. She observed that using the Korean language system to explain the English system helped students quickly grasp the meaning, and the approach proved to be very effective. Additionally, when co-teaching with a white professor on the topic of metaphor, a student asked whether the notion of metaphor exists in other countries. Gayoung proudly introduced examples of metaphor in the Korean language system through traditional Korean proverbs and metaphoric expressions.

Second, Korean teacher educators draw on their familial capital rooted in Korean ethnicity. According to Yooso (2005), familial capital, as outlined by Delgado Bernal (1998, 2002), refers to the knowledge, values, and traditions transmitted through family and extended kinship ties. They incorporate traditional Korean games and food—transmitted through their home culture—into their instruction for preservice teachers. SungEun introduced Korean traditional games such as ttakji-chigi (딱지치기), yut-nori (윷놀이), jegi-chagi (제기차기), and paengi-dolligi (팽이 돌리기), which he used to play with his family members and friends from a young age, as well as Korean dishes like tteokbokki and japchae, in a multicultural education course. Along with introducing the Korean traditional games and food, he shared the stories relating to the games and food about what these meant to him. I played yut-nori with all my family members during Seollal (Lunar New Year) or Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving Day) when I was young. I have many fond memories of the game, and I still play it with my family here in the U.S. I also taught my daughter how to play.

This was done to model culturally responsive teaching, promote an asset-based perspective on students from diverse backgrounds, and enhance preservice teachers’ cultural awareness.

Third, the two researchers proactively incorporated the experiences and perspectives of marginalized positionalities, such as English language learners and Koreans, into their teaching and community service. As Ashcroft et al. (1989) suggested, the researchers affirmed their marginalized identities and recognized the importance of using those identities as sites of resistance and agency. Rather than viewing marginality as a deficit, they positioned it as a powerful lens through which to critique dominant discourses and foster more inclusive and culturally responsive pedagogies. Their marginalized positionality became a form of resistant capital, referring to the critical knowledge and skills developed through efforts to confront and resist systemic inequities (Freire, 1970, 1973; Giroux, 1983; McLaren, 1994).

The researchers actively challenged monolingual ideologies and the forms of oppression they imposed on linguistically and culturally diverse students. For instance, they strategically used Korean-only instruction to help preservice teachers understand how English language learners might feel when instruction is delivered solely in English, drawing on their own experiences as English learners in monolingual English-only spaces. Gayoung had students read Korean text written on the board and told the teacher candidates, “The feeling you have now is your future students’ feeling.” Additionally, SungEun shared his struggles learning English as a Korean speaker, particularly with English sounds that do not exist or are not distinguished in the Korean sound system, such as th/d and p/f. He explained how certain English accents among non-native speakers can be understood in relation to the phonological structures of their first language.

Fourth, the Korean teacher educators incorporated their insider perspectives on Hallyu to help preservice teachers move beyond a surface-level and static understanding of culture and engage in deeper, more critical thinking—avoiding cultural appropriation and fostering cultural appreciation. They were also cautious about the possibility of essentializing Korean culture or reinforcing stereotypes of Korean or Asian identities through Hallyu phenomena, such as the equation “Korean culture = K-pop.” For instance, SungEun shared with students,

There are many different types of K-pop, and the K-pop I used to listen to a lot when I was young is different from the styles that current K-pop groups perform. I like BTS and Blackpink, but I’m not very familiar with other current boy or girl K-pop groups. Also, there are many types of Korean food besides kimchi, and I’m not even a big fan of kimchi.

SungEun also offered a campus-wide lecture series on how Hallyu can serve as a vehicle to challenge Eurocentrism and Asian hate by addressing the long history of microaggressions, hate crimes against Asian populations, and stereotypes of Asians in the United States. The series aimed to move beyond cultural appropriation of Hallyu toward cultural appreciation, while promoting critical thinking about culture from the perspectives of positionality, privilege, and power. Our efforts inspired the students we taught, and one of the students who took our course wrote a letter at the end of the semester:

Dear Professor,

Thank you so much for your support and guidance throughout my journey. I truly admire the way you teach with compassion. Your pride in your identity and your openness have deeply inspired me. You’ve reminded me that being yourself is a powerful form of teaching itself.

This heartfelt message underscores the profound impact that educators’ authentic cultural expression and familial knowledge can have on preservice teachers, fostering empathy, respect, and a deeper appreciation for diversity within teacher education.