29-04-2025
I Was a Black K-pop Fan For 2 Decades—After Endless Cultural Appropriation & Racial Slurs, I'm Letting Go
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In this op-ed, writer Tabby Kibugi explains why she's stepping away from being a K-pop fan after renewed discussions of idols engaging in cultural appropriation, use of the n-word, and stereotyping Black culture.
I often liken my relationship with K-pop to that unforgettable ex — the one who never truly treated you right, yet you kept going back to because they were your first love.
My love for the genre began in 2008, when a classmate introduced me to the song 'Nobody' by Wonder Girls. The repetitive Korean lyrics were catchy; the choreography combined with the sparkly gold outfits, goofy concept, and overall retro vibes, a rarity back then, drew my attention. After listening to a few more songs by the girl group, I became so enchanted that around June of 2009, I nearly convinced my parents to fly me out to Washington to attend a Jonas Brothers concert at Tacoma Dome because Wonder Girls were the opening act. Granted, they were not on board with that (I live in Kenya, so yes, it was a pretty absurd idea).
But nostalgia only gets you so far. I spent my teen years dancing to Wonder Girls in my bedroom, learning Hangul one lyric at a time, and defending K-pop to anyone who didn't get it. It felt like pure joy, but even then, there was a quiet discomfort — something that twisted in me every time I saw Black culture being played for laughs or used as an aesthetic by idols. Over time, that unease hardened. The cultural appropriation, the stereotypes, and the silence from idols and companies kept piling up, and what once felt like ignorance began to look like a pattern. Loving K-pop has meant balancing joy and erosion — the thrill of the music against the heartbreak of watching the industry exploit Blackness while fans like me carry the weight. After nearly two decades, the joy the music brings me isn't enough to keep me in the fandom anymore.
What kept me tethered for so long was how magical it originally felt to be part of the fandom in those early days. Being a fan before the genre became a global behemoth felt like being part of a secret society. Curated playlists didn't exist, and official music videos were rarely uploaded immediately after a song was released. To access full albums, I had to dig through Tumblr or LiveJournal for 4shared links hidden in fan comments, often in zip files labeled something like 'BIGBANG_ALIVE_[HQ]'. LiveJournal, especially communities like Omona They Didn't, was the epicenter for international fans like us because it archived translated content and hosted discussions on comebacks, teasers, and K-pop scandals. It was a chaotic, funny, and deeply nerdy platform. It also felt like a second home.
Buying albums was also a hurdle. Being an international fan meant that if I wanted to buy a physical album, I had to rely on group orders because of the expensive shipping costs. Someone on a forum would collect money, place a bulk order on our behalf, and redistribute the albums which thoroughly saved my pockets. Eventually, I got exposed to more second and third-generation groups such as B.A.P, EXO, and 2NE1. By this time, my room was completely plastered with K-pop paraphernalia, especially posters of my favorite group, BIGBANG. As the genre gained traction outside of Asia and third-generation groups such as BTS and BLACKPINK hit global stardom, I was already a veteran fan and part of many online K-pop spaces, including r/kpopnoir, a subreddit for Black K-pop fans.
But as the years progressed, my devotion to the music that shaped my identity as a teenager started to fade as I continuously witnessed a series of racially insensitive incidents by K-pop idols. I was an avid watcher of K-pop variety shows in the early days especially during the second and third-generation K-pop groups. Back then, it was nearly impossible to get through an episode without encountering something blatantly racist — whether it was the idols or hosts mocking Black accents, or playing stereotypes of Black people just for laughs. I remember watching an interview on C-Radio's Idol True Colors in November 2014 with Red Velvet, when Wendy gave an exaggerated impersonation of how she thought Black men speak. It was chock-full of exaggerated stereotypical mannerisms. Of course, it wasn't the worst offense I'd seen by then, but it made me pretty uncomfortable how the idols and the hosts found humor in offensive stereotypes. No acknowledgement or apology was ever made.
Each successive instance of cultural insensitivity, appropriation, or blatant anti-Blackness left me feeling more uncomfortable than the previous one. As I weathered them, I convinced myself that most idols didn't fully understand the cultural significance of what they were doing, that their mistakes came from ignorance rather than malice. I held onto the hope that they would eventually learn and improve, or at least, their management companies would educate them.
But over time, it became harder to overlook. My first major shock came in 2017 when MAMAMOO ran a parody video of themselves performing Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars's 'Uptown Funk,' in which they not only mimicked the original video's attire but also incorporated blackface. The situation left me thinking about how little thought some idols give to the cultural roots of the music they imitate. For me and many other Black fans, the incident was deeply insensitive. It caused a lot of backlash online, and as a result, the group apologized via Facebook the next day, admitting that there was "no excuse" for their "insensitive actions."
'We were extremely ignorant of blackface and did not understand the implications of our actions,' they posted. 'We will be taking time to understand more about our international fans to ensure this never happens again. We hope that you will help to educate us on these and other issues so that we can become better people and better artists.' However, the incident was still not enough to make me walk away from the industry.
The years have passed, and with them new groups have repeated the mistakes of their elders.
Recently, leaked videos, purportedly of BLACKPINK, seemed to show the members singing along to the n-word in what look like old practice clips (YG Entertainment has yet to confirm their validity or address the criticism; Teen Vogue has reached out for comment). Similar things have happened over the years. In 2021, a member of the K-pop group ENHYPEN was accused of singing the N-word in SZA's "Love Galore" in the background of a video published on the group's official YouTube channel; aespa apologized after member Giselle mouthed the n-word while singing along to the same song.
In 2019, J-Hope of BTS was criticized for his hairstyle in the 'Chicken Noodle Soup' video, which some thought resembled dreadlocks. In 2020, ATEEZ apologized after member Hongjoong wore neon blue cornrows. In 2021, Jay Park was accused of cultural appropriation in his video remix of Kendrick Lamar's 'DNA,' where he and other Korean artists wore braided hairstyles and attire reminiscent of African-American culture, yet the video was about celebrating Korean identity. Whether it's singing to the n-word or appropriating hairstyles, it all keeps happening over and over.
Kiss of Life is the most recent group to spark backlash after they live streamed a hip-hop-themed party on April 2 where the members wore stereotypical hip-hop attire, including diamond and gold chains, hoop earrings, snapbacks, and even cornrows; fans also called them out for using AAVE and a blaccent. This latest incident from Kiss of Life did not shock me — though it did leave me with a feeling of exhaustion. It felt like yet another entry in a long line of moments where Black K-pop fans are reminded that our culture is simply an aesthetic to borrow.
The group addressed the controversy with a hand-written apology posted on their social media account, and that stirred a polarizing conversation, with some defending the group and others feeling the apology was insincere and acknowledging a familiar frustration: We've been here before. And then, like with so many previous incidents, I knew deep down that nothing would really change. Nope — life would continue as usual. Most people would forget and move on, eagerly awaiting their next comeback. And that finally made me realize that I no longer have the energy to rationalize or hope that 'next time' will be different. The emotional labor of being both a fan and a critic has taken its toll on me. I can't do it anymore.
I'm not alone. I've seen other Black K-pop fans share similar sentiments online over the past few weeks. One fan, who goes by the X username @hwaffless and had recently tweeted about how exhausting being a Black K-pop fan has been, shared her experience with me via X DM. She got into K-pop in 2017 after stumbling upon a BLACKPINK choreography and listening to music by the girl group, APINK, but after years in the fandom, she can no longer enjoy the music without feeling disrespected.
'Among the countless times of asking to be respected, the request still isn't treated with care,' she tells Teen Vogue. 'I just don't feel heard or seen, and the blatant disrespect is tiring. Even the fandoms are excusing the behavior and telling Black people to be quiet waaay more often and speaking for or over us. People will continue to listen to and stan who they want and for that reason I had to count myself out. It's a constant conversation with the wall. ' While the recent Kiss of Life controversy was just the push she needed, she admitted she'd already been 'out the door,' and now considers herself a casual listener. 'My stan years are well done.' Understandably, it's hard to make a clean break — @hwaffless has continued to post about groups like P1Harmony, for example.
P1Harmony's Keeho Speaks Up About Cultural Appropriation in K-pop
The P1H leader says the group actively works to avoid cultural appropriation.
Vivien Wanjiku, who's been part of the K-pop community since the second-generation days of TVXQ and Miss A, told me via email that she's now completely disillusioned by the K-pop industry. Unlike me though, she's learning to separate the art from the artists. 'You grow up and realize a lot of your faves aren't going to do the work,' she says. 'So I just enjoy what I enjoy and tune out the rest.' Still, she admits the cycle of appropriation and lukewarm apologies has made it harder to feel the same excitement she once did.
My choice to completely walk away from K-pop fandom at large, including the groups I love, hasn't been an easy one. It feels like saying goodbye to a huge part of my identity, but I've learned that love without respect or accountability wears you down. K-pop was my first love. It made me feel alive, I've made some great friendships with other fans, and I felt understood in ways nothing else had. Letting it go feels like ending a relationship with someone you once believed would never hurt you.
And who knows, maybe I'll find my way back someday. Maybe when OT4 BigBang returns, and like Vivien, I've learned to separate the art from the artists. Even though I'm stepping away, somewhere in me, there will always be the version that K-pop once shaped — that teenage girl in front of a flickering screen at 2 a.m. without a care in the world, eyes bloodshot from too much screen time, learning Wonder Girls' choreography, translating K-pop song lyrics, and swapping K-pop theories with strangers on Omona and K2N. The girl who held onto a world that didn't always love her back.
Originally Appeared on Teen Vogue
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