⚡4B ✨ MOMENT ⚡⚡

A World Without Men

 

The women of South Korea’s 4B movement aren’t fighting the patriarchy — they’re leaving it behind entirely.

Youngmi had a challenging upbringing. The 25-year-old nurse was raised in Daegu, South Korea, one of the most conservative cities in the nation, by a low-income family. When Youngmi was a little child, her mother left the house to avoid the physical abuse she was receiving from her husband. She left her sister and herself with him and their paternal grandmother. Her eight-year-old sister began experiencing hair loss at the age of five due to stress.

As she grew older, Youngmi experienced financial instability, depression, and uncertainty about her future. She felt like a constant victim, fixated on the wrongs done to her by her father, and under pressure to maintain her appearance in order to appease men in Korea's patriarchal society, where women are typically expected to submit to their fathers and to adhere to strict beauty standards. She spent a lot of money on cheap, low-quality clothing from H&M and bought new clothes every season despite having a limited budget as a nursing student. She was a makeup devotee. "I couldn't leave the house without makeup on. She remarked, "I felt embarrassed of my face." I was under constant pressure to be attractive and desirable.either sexually or physically.

In 2018, Youngmi was browsing Twitter when she saw footage of demonstrations happening in Seoul's streets. A spike in spy-cam sex crimes, mostly by men, had largely resulted in fines and suspended jail sentences, if they were prosecuted at all, in South Korea, where cases of femicide, revenge porn, and dating violence are common. That was not the case, though, for a 25-year-old woman who went online and took an unconsented picture of a nude male model while attending art school. She was given a ten-month prison sentence as well as court-mandated counselling on sexual violence. The obvious hypocrisy sparked the demonstrations.

Youngmi was struck by the unity she witnessed, but she couldn't understand one thing: a lot of the women at the demonstrations had shaved their heads in front of cameras. As Youngmi started to follow more feminist Twitter accounts, she realised that this was a visible defiance of the same standards of beauty placed on Korean women, which have made their nation a leader in plastic surgery and grooming products. She started to understand that "you know, men do not do that — men do not feel the pressure to wear makeup or buy clothes every season."

Youngmi soon joined the so-called "escape the corset" movement among young women in South Korea by shaving her head and giving up makeup. With their short hair and bare faces, Korean women publicly defied society's expectations of beauty in this movement, which first gained traction in 2018. (Youngmi was not alone; according to a 2019 survey, 24% of women in their 20s said they had cut back on their purchases of beauty products the year before, with many of them stating they no longer felt the need to make the effort.) Ultimately, this introduced Youngmi to the "4B" movement, a smaller but expanding group of Korean women. Four Korean words that all begin with bi-, or "no," are shortened to 4B: The first no is rejecting heterosexual marriage, or bihon. Refusing to have children is known as bisulsan, declining a date is known as biyeonae, and rejecting heterosexual romantic relationships is known as bisekseu. It's a lifestyle choice as well as an ideological position, and many of the women I spoke with extended their boycott to almost every male in their lives, even separating themselves from their male friends.

Youngmi met other feminists in Daegu, where she lived with her mother while pursuing her nursing degree, through open chat groups on KakaoTalk. They soon had in-person meetings. "People with short hair can easily recognise one another," she remarked. She no longer hung out with her middle school and high school pals, whose chats still centred on boys, clothes, and makeup. She was barefaced and casually attired in baggy jeans and a white fleece jacket when we first met in November of last year at a café in Seoul, where she has been residing for the previous two years. She was tired of people noticing her short hair at her nursing job, so she grew enough hair to pull back into a ponytail and tuck it under a white baseball cap. She claimed that feminism had assisted her in realising that patriarchy, not herself, was the issue and that "the bad things that happened in your life are not your fault."

According to Youngmi and numerous other adherents to its fundamental principles, 4B, or "practicing bihon," is the sole route for a modern Korean woman to lead an independent life. They believe that Korean culture is essentially misogynistic and hopelessly patriarchal, with Korean men basically beyond hope of redemption. According to a 2016 Ministry of Gender Equality and Family survey, the prevalence of intimate partner violence was 41.5%, which is considerably higher than the 30% global average. Although supporters of 4B may wish to influence society through protests, online activism, and setting an example of a different way of living for other women, they are not attempting to influence the men who they perceive to be their oppressors. Whether this movement can endure and grow in the long run is still up in the air. However, its beliefs and deeds have already impacted the nation's politics, internet conversation, and most importantly, the lives of individual women.

On a café terrace in the seaside southern city of Busan, I was approached by Yeowon, a 26-year-old office worker, who explained to me that practicing bihon meant he was removing the risks associated with dating or marriage to heterosexuals. Along with Yeowon's girlfriend and another friend, we conversed over coffee and pastries. They all had cropped short haircuts, wide black pants, and black sweaters on. Yeowon stated that although the risks she mentioned—such as sacrificing one's career for childrearing and housework, as well as the possibility of physical violence—marriage poses an existential threat in Korea.

Minji, a Daegu resident and 4B follower, once desired marriage "because, you know, everyone wants to get married." But now that she is aware of the prevalence of domestic abuse, to use her own words, "I don't want to get married anymore." According to Minji, 27, she is most likely heterosexual and has had romantic interest in a few men in the past, but they insisted that she "treat them like a king." Because these men are little better than her abusive and self-centered father, she has no problem boycotting the men of her generation.

Even young ladies outside of the movement express a lack of interest in dating or getting married to Korean men. Talking to her male friends "made me always feel like, 'Oh, maybe I can never find a Korean man,'" Sooyeon, a teacher in her early 30s, told me. Some men, even in my generation, still look on their spouses to play very traditional roles. As if to support her argument, a recent survey conducted by a matchmaking service revealed that men hesitated to get married due to "feminism," while women were hesitant due to the division of household duties.