Have I Fallen Out of Love with K-Dramas?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for a while now.

Have I fallen out of love with K-dramas?

The obvious answer would be yes.

After all, over the last year my watch history has become increasingly dominated by Chinese dramas, Chinese films and, rather unexpectedly, vertical dramas.

I’ve disappeared down a rabbit hole I never saw coming.

But I don’t think that’s the whole story.

In fact, I don’t think it’s the story at all.

It started long before the dramas

People often assume my interest in Korean entertainment began with K-pop.

It didn’t.

I studied Korean cinema and popular culture at Birkbeck as part of my Journalism and Media Studies degree back in 2012. Long before algorithms started recommending dramas, I was already fascinated by how different cultures tell stories.

That curiosity stretches back even further. In my late teens I lived in Japan with my boyfriend, immersing myself in everyday life, music and popular culture in a way that’s difficult to replicate as a tourist. Looking back, I think that experience quietly shaped how I approached storytelling from East Asia. It taught me that while there are shared threads across the region, each country has its own voice, rhythms and way of seeing the world.

Looking back, perhaps I was always heading in this direction.

Then China quietly took over

It wasn’t a conscious decision.

There wasn’t a moment where I announced that I was “switching” from Korean dramas to Chinese ones.

One series became two.

Two became ten.

Then suddenly I found myself learning about wuxia, xianxia, historical courts, web novels, cultivation, dubbing, symbolism and storytelling traditions that felt completely different from anything I’d experienced before.

I wasn’t replacing one obsession with another.

I was discovering another way of telling stories.

And then came the vertical dramas…

I genuinely didn’t expect to enjoy them.

Some are gloriously ridiculous.

Some are wonderfully addictive.

Some are absolute train wrecks.

And occasionally one appears that manages to tell an emotionally satisfying story in just a couple of hours, spread across episodes that last barely longer than making a cup of tea.

They’re a fascinating format.

Not because they’re better than traditional television.

Because they force storytellers to work differently.

So… have I abandoned Korea?

Not even slightly.

In fact, the second week of July was spent in London seeing BTS and, perhaps for the first time, really immersing myself in what it means to be ARMY in person rather than from behind a screen. There was something wonderfully joyful about sharing that experience with thousands of other people. If anything, it reminded me just how much Korean music and culture still mean to me.

My music library would argue the same point.

I’m still listening to Roy Kim, Epik High, Heize, IU, AKMU, N.Flying, Jannabi, Kim Feel and far too many others to list.

When BTS release something, I’m there.

When Gemini comes to London, I’m buying a ticket.

I still disappear into Korean interviews, podcasts and the occasional variety show that isn’t built entirely around people shouting at each other.

Korea hasn’t gone anywhere.

China has simply joined it.

Different countries. Different rhythms.

One thing I’ve come to appreciate is that Korean and Chinese storytelling often scratch different itches.

Korean dramas frequently excel at emotional intimacy. They’re often tightly paced, character-driven and remarkably good at making you care about a handful of people.

Chinese dramas tend to be more expansive. They have room to wander through politics, family, history, philosophy and questions of duty over dozens of episodes. Sometimes that’s frustrating.

Sometimes it’s exactly what I’m in the mood for.

Neither approach is inherently better.

They’re simply different rhythms.

Perhaps I’ve just become more curious

If anything, this journey has reminded me that I don’t really fall in love with countries.

I fall in love with storytellers.

Whether that’s Tablo, SUGA, Roy Kim, a Chinese historical drama, a beautifully crafted vertical series or an independent filmmaker I’ve only just discovered, I’m always looking for the same thing.

I want stories that trust me.

Stories that leave space to think.

Stories that don’t rush to explain themselves.

Perhaps that’s what has really changed.

I’m no longer choosing what to watch based on where it comes from.

I’m choosing it because I think the storyteller has something interesting to say.

Perhaps I haven’t fallen out of love with K-dramas after all.

Perhaps I’ve simply expanded the map.

And honestly?

It’s been one of the most enjoyable journeys I’ve taken in years.