Why South Korean young men and women are more politically divided than ever

SEOUL — It’s a worldwide shift that has taken political scientists and sociologists by surprise: the growing ideological divide between young men and women.

In the recent U.S. presidential election, President Trump won 56% of the vote among men ages 18 to 29, according to an analysis from Tufts University’s Center for Information & Research on Civic Learning and Engagement.

In Germany, young men are twice as likely as young women to support the far-right Alternative for Germany party, or AfD, according to the Pew Research Center. Last year’s European Parliament elections showed a similar trend. According to the European Policy Center, in Portugal, Denmark and Croatia, more than four young men voted for far-right candidates for every young woman who did the same.

But few countries exemplify the trend more than South Korea, where a recent presidential election showed just how polarized its youth has become.

In South Korea, 74.1% of men in their 20s and 60.3% of men in their 30s voted for one of the two conservative candidates compared with 35.6% and 40.5% of their female counterparts, respectively.

Experts say the so-called 2030 male (men in their 20s and 30s) phenomenon, which emerged alongside the mainstreaming of gender equality discourse in South Korea over the last decade, has defied traditional left-right taxonomies.

The “2030 men are difficult to define under standard electoral theory frameworks,” said Kim Yeun-sook, a political scientist at Seoul National University’s Institute of Korean Political Studies.

Having come of age in a world with radically different social contracts than those of their parents, right-leaning 2030 male voters are less likely to focus on North Korea — a defining preoccupation for older conservatives — than on feminism, which for them has become a dirty word that conjures “freeloading” women trying to take more than they are owed.

The men have taken umbrage with visual symbols or hand gestures — such as a pinched forefinger and thumb — that they argue are anti-male dog whistles used by feminists, in some cases succeeding in getting companies to discontinue marketing campaigns featuring such offending content.

In the 2022 presidential election, it was men in their 20s and 30s who helped Yoon Suk Yeol — the conservative candidate who claimed that structural sexism no longer existed — clinch a razor-thin victory over his liberal opponent, Lee Jae-myung, who was elected president in June.

This perception that men — not women — are the true victims of gender discrimination in contemporary society is a defining belief for many young South Korean men, says Chun Gwan-yul, a data journalist and the author of “20-something Male,” a book about the phenomenon that draws on extensive original polling of young South Koreans.

Although male backlash to contemporary feminism is the most visible aspect of the phenomenon, Kim Chang-hwan, a sociologist at the University of Kansas, says that its roots go back to socioeconomic changes that began much earlier.

Among them was a series of government policies three decades earlier that led to a surge in both male and female college enrollment, which soared from around 30% of the general population in 1990 to 75% in 2024. Add to that the increasingly long-term participation of women in the workforce, Kim said, and “the supply of educated labor has ended up outpacing economic growth.”

“The young men of today are now feeling like they are having to compete five times harder than the previous generation,” he said.

(Despite the fact that gender inequality in South Korea’s job market is among the worst in the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, with women making on average around 65% of their male counterparts and far more likely to be precariously employed, such wage gaps tend to be less prominent for earners in their 20s.)

And although most research has shown that the negative effect of South Korea’s male-only compulsory military service — which lasts up to 21 months — on wages and employment is minimal, anxieties about getting a later start than women in a hypercompetitive job market have also contributed to young South Korean men feeling that they are getting a raw deal.

Chun, the data journalist, points out that the mass entry of women into higher education also led to another tectonic shift being felt by the current crop of young men: the rapid collapse of traditional marriage dynamics.

“Women have been doing the math and are increasingly concluding marriage is a net loss for them,” he said. “South Korea transformed from a society where marriage was universal into a marriage-is-optional one in an incredibly short time frame, especially compared to many Western countries where those changes played out over 60 or 70 years.”

In 2000, just 19% of South Koreans between the ages of 30 and 34 were unmarried, but today that number is 56%, according to government data. Over a third of women between 25 and 49 years old now say they don’t ever want to get married, compared with 13% of men, according to a government survey last year. One in 4 men will now remain unmarried in their 40s.

South Korean women take part in a rally to mark International Women’s Day in downtown Seoul on March 8, 2024.

(Jung Yeon-je/ AFP/Getty Images)

Chun notes that the mismatch in the marriage landscape has bred in many the misogynistic resentment associated with incels, a term for men who identify as involuntarily celibate. A common refrain among young conservative men is the swearing-off of South Korean women, who are often cast as “kimchi women” — gold diggers who are unwilling to pull their weight while demanding too much of men.

“Do you need to only date Korean women just because you’re Korean? No,” said Chul Gu, an online personality popular among young men in a recent stream. “There are Thai women, Russian women, women of all nationalities. There is no need to suffer the stress of dating a Korean kimchi woman.”

Resentment toward South Korean women, Chun says, is inseparable from the generational animus that feeds it.

“In the worldview of young South Korean men, they aren’t just fighting women, they are fighting the older generation that is siding with those women,” he said. “It’s essentially an anti-establishment ethos.”

The “586 generation,” as they are commonly called, are South Koreans in their 50s or 60s who came of age during the high-growth, authoritarian period of the 1980s. Associated with the pro-democracy movements of the time, the 586 generation is one of the most liberal and pro-gender equality demographics in South Korea — and one whose members built much of their wealth through cheap real estate, an avenue no longer available for the majority of young South Koreans accustomed to seeing housing prices in Seoul double in as little as four years.

“Young South Koreans are seeing those homes become worth millions,” Chun said. “Meanwhile, South Korea’s birth rate is falling and life expectancy is rising to 80 or 90, so many young voters are thinking, ‘We’re going to have to be responsible for them for the next 40 to 50 years.’”

Among the candidates in last month’s presidential election, it was Lee Jun-seok, a 40-year-old third-party conservative candidate, who most aggressively targeted these tensions.

During his campaign, Lee promised to segregate South Korea’s fast-depleting national pension by age, a move he said would relieve younger South Koreans of the burden of subsidizing the older generation’s retirement.

Although he finished with just 8% of the total vote, he won the largest share — 37.2% — of the 20-something male vote, and 25.8% from men in their 30s.

“South Korea is very much locked into a two-party system where it is generally rare to see a third party candidate make much of a difference,” Kim, the political scientist, said. “I think there’s a lot of negative polarization at play — an expression of defeatism or disenfranchisement at the fact that status quo politicians aren’t addressing young men’s problems.”

Data show that disillusionment with democracy too runs deep.

According to a recent survey of 1,514 South Koreans by the East Asia Institute, a Seoul-based think tank, just 62.6% of South Korean men between the ages of 18 and 29 believe that democracy is the best political system — the lowest percentage in any age and gender group — with nearly a quarter believing that a dictatorship can sometimes be more preferable.

Whether the rightward drift of young South Korean men is a temporary deviation or a more serious forecast for South Korea’s democracy is still an open question, according to Kim.

“But now is the time to act,” she said. “There absolutely needs to be a political response to the younger generations’ frustrations.”