Episode 82: “I Must Be Lucky”

The basic meaning of the word ‘idol’ is an object of worship.

In other words, an idol is a being to be idolized, and in modern times, it refers to a “well-known singer.”

The idol industry that first appeared in Japan in the 1960s began to expand significantly from the 1970s and 1980s, when mass media broadcasts vitalized popular culture.

Up until just before Japan’s bubble economy, the idol industry’s influence became known around the world. It went on to greatly impact neighboring Asian countries and eventually brought the idol business to Korea.

That’s how Korea’s first-generation idol groups were born in the 1990s.

There’s no one in Korea who doesn’t know ‘H.O.T’ or ‘Sechs Kies.’

There may be few among today’s teens and twenties who actually saw them during their heyday, but there are good reasons why they’re still talked about on TV and their latest news is still highlighted.

That’s because the popularity of first-generation idols at the time had such an enormous cultural impact that dozens of new terms were coined in this country.

“Then, do you think the tremendous popularity of those idols was simply because of their music?”

Seo Ji-won was looking down at me, her face upside down.

Right now, I was sprawled out on a three-million-won recliner sofa in Seo Ji-won’s living room.

On my face was a homemade facial pack that Seo Ji-won had just whipped up, made of strawberries, milk, seaweed powder, cucumber, broccoli—ingredients that made my stomach churn just thinking about them.

“Mmmp mph bmmph?”

With the face pack on, I asked, “Then why?” and, as if she understood my muffled words, Seo Ji-won smiled sweetly and replied.

“It’s the face. The face.”

I couldn’t help but think, Is looks really all that matters? But I quickly answered myself.

Surprisingly, looks do solve a lot.

You can see it just by watching the latest viral SNS Q&A meme videos.

When attractive people are asked, “Would you rather keep your current face, or receive a billion won but change your face randomly?” most people choose the former.

“You were about to say, ‘Just because you draw stripes on a pumpkin doesn’t make it a watermelon,’ right?”

“Mm.”

“In broadcasting, taking care of your face is a matter of basic manners.”

“Mmm?”

“It’s like, if you don’t have a suit for a funeral, at the very least, you wear something black.”

I wondered if Seo Ji-won had always been this articulate.

It made me realize that, whatever else, people really are different when it comes to their area of expertise.

Having started out in a top-tier third-generation idol group and now risen to stardom as an actress, Seo Ji-won knows better tips about the entertainment industry than most university graduates with master’s or doctoral degrees.

So I decided not to question or resist the expert any further, and lay there meekly, not moving a finger, letting Seo Ji-won do as she pleased.

And so, while she was busy dealing with the wrinkles and blemishes I’d picked up past my mid-thirties, I asked Seo Ji-won another question.

“Mm mm mm mmmm?”

“Other than looks, what else is important?”

“Mm.”

“It’s presence. Charisma.”

Seo Ji-won grabbed my limp wrist, and, like an oriental doctor, felt my pulse while gazing into my eyes.

“There are tons of lights and eyes on set.”

Even though I’d visited filming sets, I always stood in the back, just thinking there were too many people and it was confusing.

But the position of those who have to stand in front of the camera is different.

The performers have to face not only the blazing stage lights and the cameras pointing their lenses at them, but also the faces of all the staff members enduring everything because of them.

If you make a mistake, even for a moment, money and manpower start leaking away by the minute and second, and in that situation, with the set temporarily stalled because of you, anyone would be nervous.

It’s no wonder so many celebrities suffer from panic disorder and other mental health issues.

A single mistake can cause huge problems, and the pressure that your actions could harm many people, plus the fact that all of this is broadcasted to countless viewers, means—

It’s a mentally exhausting ordeal.

So, how does Seo Ji-won, a 12-year veteran idol and top-tier actress, deal with it?

“In those times, just think of potatoes.”

“Mmm?”

“Yeah. Whether it’s the cameras, the lights, or the staff—just imagine everything that moves as a potato. If you think like that, your mind feels at ease.”

When people get angry, have expectations, or look disappointed, you become self-conscious. But if a potato gets mad or starts ranting, it just feels cute and less scary.

If you imagine you’re alone in a potato field, mumbling to yourself for no reason, you relax and naturally immerse yourself in the broadcast.

It might sound like a dangerous statement, as if you shouldn’t treat people like people, but it was a mental defense fitting of a veteran with 12 years in the entertainment business.

“Mmmmmm?”

“What next? Hm, this one’s a bit tricky. You have to create a character.”

“Mm mm?”

“You know, people with that clueless charm.”

Like saying New York is the capital of the US, or that the E in E-Mail stands for ‘energy,’ and even getting the spelling wrong.

Especially in variety shows, those kinds of characters pop up all the time.

Not only that—there’s the scammer with a smiling face, the person who always yells at everyone, and so on.

“It’s best to clearly separate your on-air persona from your real self, and build a character just for broadcasting. Show that character to the audience.”

That way, even if you get criticized, it’s not really ‘you’ but your ‘broadcast persona’ taking the heat; even if you’re praised, the compliments go to the character, so you don’t get too depressed or conceited. It helps you maintain your composure.

And if you think about the character when you come up with lines, your words naturally go through a mental filter before you speak, so you’re less likely to make mistakes. Seo Ji-won explained the need for a character in detail.

“Mmm…”

“You’re wondering if you should avoid having a concept since Dang Quiz is a real variety show? Come on, if they filmed Infinite Challenge or 2 Days & 1 Night as documentaries, would they really be called variety shows?”

So-called ‘real variety’ or ‘observational reality variety’ shows are still built around a concept and infused with character work.

“Then, what kind of character should you adopt, Writer-nim? For someone like you, who’s new to broadcasting, it’s dangerous to pick a persona totally different from your real self. You need something with a bit of connection…”

Seo Ji-won, having paused from applying various oils and creams to my face, picked up her phone and started looking something up.

A moment later, she played a recent meme: a short video from Lee Jun-hyuk’s college lecture.

I’d heard Dang Quiz reached out to me after seeing this meme, so it was quite a trend.

Seo Ji-won nodded after watching it.

“Let’s make your character this one.”

***

The day of Dang Quiz’s filming.

The underground parking lot of the NBN Broadcasting Building in Yeouido.

After receiving Seo Ji-won’s perfect care and mental coaching, I got out of the car with firm resolve.

I took the elevator from the parking lot to the first-floor lobby, where an assistant director, waiting for me, hurried over and greeted me.

“Hello, Writer-nim. You’re here for the Dang Quiz shoot, right? You’re early.”

“Yes, luckily I live nearby.”

The assistant director handed me a temporary visitor pass and a large name tag necklace reading [Dang Quiz – Contestant: Lee Jun-hyuk].

“I’ll show you to the waiting room. This way, please.”

“Yes, pota— I mean, thank you.”

I tapped the visitor card at the lobby gate and entered, following the assistant director to the escalator inside the building.

“The waiting room is on the second floor. By the way, it’s the closest and most comfortable one.”

“Getting such a nice waiting room—I must be lucky.”

Inside, the waiting room was spacious enough for a single person, with a long leather sofa, a table, and a dressing table with chairs for makeup.

A little later, two stylists carrying makeup boxes and beauty tools arrived with the assistant director.

“Please take a seat, and we’ll help with your makeup.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

I sat obediently in the big beauty chair in front of the dressing table.

Contestants are called in three hours before shooting precisely for this makeup process.

Of course, famous celebrities get much more expensive makeup at exclusive shops, but as I’m not quite a celebrity, and it would be awkward to go to a shop, I was content with the broadcasting station’s basic makeup.

As one stylist began powdering my face, she pursed her lips into a circle, making an ‘Oh—’ sound of admiration.

“Writer-nim, do you get professional care regularly?”

“I usually don’t, but I got something like a skincare treatment since I’m on TV today.”

“Is that so? Most regular guests’ skin doesn’t take makeup well, but yours is so clear—it’s a relief for us!”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

After makeup, I didn’t look drastically different, but details like my hairstyle and skin tone felt more satisfying.

And it seemed I wasn’t the only one pleased.

“Wow, your features are very well-defined—makeup looks great on you!”

“Right? Writer-nim, you should try putting on just a bit of makeup day to day. Lots of men wear makeup these days.”

Both stylists looked very satisfied at how much I’d changed with just basic makeup.

“I must be lucky to have such skilled people do my makeup. Thank you.”

“My, you’re so kind with your words! We’re the ones who should thank you.”

Right then, the assistant director returned, both hands full of plastic bags.

He pulled out a hearty five-side-dish lunchbox set from the bags.

“You haven’t eaten yet, right? I brought a lunch box so you won’t go hungry. Would you like to try it?”

“Wow, you did my makeup and even brought me food. Today’s really my lucky day.”

“Well, it’s not so much luck—we do this for all the guests… haha. I’m glad you’re happy.”

I accepted the lunch box with the innocent expression of someone who had nothing to dislike in the world.

“No, really, I’m just lucky. Haha.”

That’s right.

Today, the character I was going to play on Dang Quiz was ‘the lucky guy.’