Underestimating BTS (Again): On Numbers, Narratives, and Cultural Amnesia

The financial analysts don’t seem to be taking the BTS comeback particularly seriously.
Large parts of the South Korean public, meanwhile, appear to be backlashing at the very idea of it – questioning venues, numbers, motives, even politics.

None of this is new. But it’s still worth unpacking.

From the moment the tour venues were announced, some of the commentary felt strangely disconnected from reality. When it was confirmed that BTS would be playing in the round at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, it was obvious to anyone familiar with stadium layouts that capacity would be closer to 70,000 per night than 60,000. That isn’t hype it’s geometry. And yet when mentioned these numbers were immediately questioned, dismissed, or framed as exaggeration.

Since then, dates have been added almost daily. Entire regions – the Middle East, Africa, India – haven’t even been announced yet. Demand is still unfolding in real-time. And while South Korean media continues to downplay or politicise the comeback, international media is doing something very different: analysing BTS as an economic and cultural phenomenon, and writing about the impact their tour stops have on local economies, tourism, hospitality, and infrastructure.

Two parallel realities. Two very different lenses.

There’s also a peculiar strand of criticism suggesting BTS were somehow absent during moments of national difficulty. The irony, of course, is that during the attempted coup protests they were doing exactly what they were required to do — serving in the military. Quietly. Without spectacle. The same thing they were criticised for not doing quickly enough, and then criticised again for doing at all.

For context: I’m ARMY, but that doesn’t mean I lack perspective on K-pop history. I’ve been listening to Korean music for years across genres: K-pop, hip hop, folk, ballad, even the occasional trot. I saw BigBang, Jay Park, and SHINee in London before BTS debuted, or around the time they did. Not because of BTS, but because Korean music was already finding its way outward.

I still go to see Kang Daniel, Gemini, Blasé, and The Rose whenever they come through London. Live music has always been part of my life. I’ve been attending gigs since I was around six years old (Van Halen at The Rainbow, courtesy of a cousin and a godfather… definitely not something that would be allowed now). This isn’t about blind loyalty. It’s about pattern recognition.

BTS didn’t create the road. That road was already under construction. But they didn’t just walk it they paved it, widened it, and burst every ceiling for a foreign-language artist in the West. There is a reason artists like Gemini, Kang Daniel, and Blasé can now run economically viable tours in Europe and North America. The Rose are a slightly different case – as an independent, touring rock/indie band, they likely would have crossed the language divide anyway, but even they benefit from a global environment BTS helped normalise.

Without a doubt, BTS are a global phenomenon.

I’ve been ARMY since 2014. Being underestimated is part of their history. So is being doubted, dismissed, reframed, and reluctantly re-acknowledged once the numbers become impossible to ignore.

What feels particularly stark right now is the tension inside South Korean cultural discourse. There’s a strong push toward success – to be hardworking, visible, productive. Failure is shamed; stagnation is pitied. And yet, paradoxically, too much success, or the “wrong” kind of success, invites suspicion, resentment, and attempts to drag people back down.

This isn’t unique to South Korea. Every culture has its pressure points. But the volume, speed, and consequence of public outrage there often feels sharper, more punitive, and more enduring.

What I genuinely struggle with is the apparent disconnect between BTS’s global role and how easily that role is minimised at home. They’ve represented South Korea on the world stage for years – at the UN, at the White House, and in diplomatic and cultural contexts that most artists never even approach. And yet there remains a recurring insistence on treating them as a domestic problem to be managed, corrected, or cut down to size.

One other thought I keep circling back to, quietly and without certainty, is China. The gate for Korean performers entering the Chinese market has been closed for a long time, but it’s starting to open a crack. That doesn’t mean anything is imminent, or even likely in the short term – geopolitics, regulation, and cultural diplomacy move slowly and unevenly. But it is a shift worth noticing. Whether BTS would ever choose to step through that opening is another question entirely, and one that deserves far more nuance than a throwaway comment. It’s probably a conversation for another day, but it’s hard not to clock the possibility.

Perhaps this is simply what happens when cultural soft power grows faster than the systems designed to interpret it.

Either way, this pattern is familiar. BTS have been underestimated at every major turning point of their career in scale, in impact, and in longevity. Each time, the response has been the same: wait, watch, and let the reality unfold.

The numbers will speak. They always do.

They just tend to do so long after the doubts have already been voiced.