True Taste Korea

Love Yourself

  • BTS Changed More Than Music — The Message That Built a Global Fandom

    I have never been an ARMY in the traditional sense.

    I didn’t organize my life around BTS schedules.

    I didn’t participate in every fan project or follow every update.

    I was simply someone who discovered their music, became fascinated by their performances, looked back at their difficult beginnings, and eventually watched seven young Korean men become global stars.

    But somewhere along the way, I started watching something else.

    Their fans.

    And I began to wonder whether one of BTS’s greatest achievements might have very little to do with music charts.

    I Had Seen Korean Fandom Culture Before BTS

    I had watched Korean idol culture for many years.

    Fan passion was nothing new.

    Korean idol fandoms had always been extraordinarily devoted. Fans bought albums, attended concerts, waited for their favorite artists and defended the groups they loved.

    But there was another side to that passion.

    Competition between fandoms could become intense.

    Who sold more albums?

    Whose group was more popular?

    Who deserved an award?

    Whose idol was better?

    Arguments and rivalries could sometimes become almost as important as the music itself.

    Of course, BTS didn’t magically make fan conflict disappear.

    ARMY is enormous, and no community containing millions of people can be described as if everyone thinks or behaves the same way.

    But watching BTS and ARMY, I began to notice something else.

    What if the power of a fandom could be directed toward something beyond winning?

    “Love Yourself” Was More Than an Album Title

    This is where BTS’s message becomes important.

    The idea of loving yourself wasn’t confined to lyrics.

    In 2017, BTS and BIGHIT joined UNICEF in the LOVE MYSELF campaign, connecting BTS’s message with efforts to combat violence against children and young people and promote self-esteem and well-being.

    Then, in September 2018, RM stood at the United Nations.

    He spoke about growing up, losing confidence, making mistakes and learning to accept himself.

    His message eventually reached a simple challenge to young people:

    Find your own voice.

    BTS’s fans, RM said, had already become an important part of the LOVE MYSELF campaign through their actions and enthusiasm.

    That moment interested me because BTS wasn’t simply saying:

    “Love us.”

    The message was turning in the opposite direction:

    “Love yourself.”

    For a pop group speaking to millions of young people, I think that difference matters.

    The Message Started Leaving the Stage

    Words are easy.

    What interested me was what happened when some of those words became actions.

    By March 2024, BTS, BIGHIT MUSIC and fans around the world had contributed more than 8.9 billion Korean won—about $6.6 million at the time—to UNICEF through the LOVE MYSELF campaign, according to UNICEF. The partnership was renewed to support mental health and well-being among children and young people.

    UNICEF later reported the total at around $6.7 million for the period from 2017 through 2025.

    Those are impressive numbers.

    But money alone isn’t the part that interests me most.

    It’s the chain reaction.

    An artist sends a message.

    Fans receive it.

    And some of those fans decide:

    “Then let’s do something.”

    Then ARMY Did Something I Couldn’t Ignore

    One example remains particularly striking.

    In June 2020, BTS and Big Hit donated $1 million to Black Lives Matter amid protests against racism and police brutality in the United States.

    ARMY responded.

    Fans organized a campaign called #MatchAMillion.

    The goal was exactly what the name suggested:

    Match BTS’s $1 million donation.

    And they did.

    One In An ARMY, a fan-led charitable organization, announced that BTS fans had raised more than $1 million, with the campaign passing that mark rapidly after BTS’s donation became public.

    TIME has documented how One In An ARMY and other fans organized charitable projects around the world, including medical assistance and support for children, often drawing inspiration from BTS’s own philanthropic activity.

    That’s when fandom begins to look different to me.

    Buying an album supports an artist.

    Streaming a song supports an artist.

    Voting for an award supports an artist.

    But helping somebody you’ve never met?

    That reaches beyond the artist.

    No Fandom Is Perfect

    I don’t want to romanticize ARMY.

    Millions of people cannot possibly behave as one.

    There are arguments.

    There are rivalries.

    There are people who behave badly online, just as there are in virtually every enormous internet community.

    And charitable activity wasn’t invented by BTS fans. K-pop fandoms before and alongside ARMY have also organized donations and social projects.

    That context matters.

    So I wouldn’t say BTS eliminated the old competitive side of idol fandom.

    What I saw was something more interesting.

    They helped demonstrate how enormous fan energy could also be mobilized in another direction.

    Competition could exist alongside generosity.

    Passion for an artist could become passion for a cause.

    And a message contained in a song could sometimes travel much farther than the song itself.

    Perhaps This Is Why Their Lyrics Mattered So Much

    When I first discovered BTS, it was the power of their performance that caught me.

    “MIC Drop” made my shoulders move before I was thinking deeply about what BTS represented.

    Then I discovered their practice.

    Their difficult early years.

    The small things they shared.

    Their relationship with one another.

    And eventually their lyrics.

    That’s when I began to understand why the message mattered.

    Young people face enormous pressure.

    To succeed.

    To look good.

    To be noticed.

    To compare themselves with everyone else.

    To keep consuming the next exciting thing.

    And sometimes simply to survive a difficult period of their lives.

    BTS couldn’t solve those problems.

    No musician can.

    But they could say something.

    You have value.

    Listen to your own voice.

    Love yourself.

    And sometimes hearing those words at the right moment matters.

    UNICEF itself credited BTS with helping spark conversations about self-esteem and mental well-being among young people around the world.

    Then COVID Made That Message Feel Even More Important

    During the pandemic, the world suddenly became smaller.

    People were separated.

    Plans disappeared.

    BTS experienced that too.

    In their 2020 UN message, they spoke openly about the cancellation of their world tour and the isolation and uncertainty they experienced. Their message returned once again to remembering who we are, loving ourselves and imagining a future beyond the crisis.

    I remember thinking about the millions of people sitting at home during that period.

    Some discovered BTS.

    Others already loved them.

    For many, music became a temporary escape from an outside world that suddenly felt frightening.

    A song couldn’t open the door.

    But for three or four minutes, perhaps it could make the room feel a little larger.

    And BTS kept returning to the same fundamental idea:

    You’re not alone.

    Maybe That Is the Real Relationship Between BTS and ARMY

    Artists normally create music.

    Fans consume it.

    But BTS and ARMY often seemed to create a feedback loop.

    BTS spoke about loving yourself.

    Fans told BTS how those words had helped them.

    BTS heard those stories and spoke about feeling greater responsibility because of them.

    RM explicitly described receiving stories from fans who said BTS’s message had helped them through difficult periods and learn to love themselves.

    Then some fans took that inspiration into their own communities.

    The message went out.

    Something came back.

    And BTS sent it out again.

    Perhaps that’s one reason this relationship became so powerful.

    I Don’t Want BTS to Be Remembered Only for Records

    BTS has already achieved things I never imagined when I first encountered them.

    Billboard No. 1s.

    Stadiums.

    Awards.

    Millions of albums.

    A global audience listening to seven Korean men whose language many of them originally couldn’t understand.

    All of that belongs in their history.

    But strangely, those aren’t the things I hope will define them in the end.

    Records are temporary by nature.

    Someone eventually sells more.

    Someone eventually gets more streams.

    Another artist eventually breaks the record.

    That’s how records work.

    But influence is different.

    If a young person who once hated themselves learned to treat themselves with a little more kindness…

    If a fan who once spent all their energy fighting another fandom decided instead to donate a few dollars to someone in need…

    If people who lived thousands of kilometers apart discovered one another because seven Korean musicians brought them into the same community…

    Those things don’t appear on Billboard.

    But they matter.

    From Successful Singers to Legends

    When I first saw BTS, I underestimated them.

    Then I admired their music.

    I admired their performances.

    I admired the extraordinary amount of practice behind their talent.

    I learned about the difficult beginning they shared.

    I listened to their message.

    Then I watched them cross a language barrier I once thought would be almost impossible to overcome.

    And finally, I watched the influence move beyond the seven members themselves.

    Into ARMY.

    Into charity projects.

    Into conversations about self-worth.

    Into the lives of people BTS would probably never meet.

    I don’t know what BTS’s next chapter will look like.

    But I know what I hope for them.

    I don’t want them to be remembered simply as seven singers who became extraordinarily successful.

    I hope they become legends remembered for leaving something good behind.

    Because ultimately:

    Records are eventually broken.

    A good influence can outlive them.

  • I Thought BTS Was Just Another Idol Group — Then I Saw What Made Them Different

    I didn’t expect much from BTS at first.

    Maybe that sounds strange now.

    Today, BTS is one of the most recognizable music groups in the world. But when I first encountered them, I saw them through a very different lens.

    I thought they were just another Korean idol group.

    Good-looking young men. Catchy songs. Elaborate choreography. A passionate young fanbase.

    Korea had seen plenty of successful idol groups before.

    I didn’t expect BTS to change the way I thought about idol music.

    Then I watched “MIC Drop.”

    And something happened.

    I Couldn’t Catch Every Word — But My Shoulders Were Already Moving

    I’m Korean.

    But when I first listened to “MIC Drop,” even I couldn’t immediately catch every word flying through the song.

    It didn’t matter.

    My shoulders were already moving.

    I found myself humming along before I had even thought seriously about the lyrics.

    Then there was the performance.

    The explosive choreography. The confidence. The rhythm. The way seven different people could move with such force while still looking like a single unit.

    It was powerful.

    BTS officially debuted in June 2013, and “MIC Drop” later appeared on their 2017 album LOVE YOURSELF 承 ‘Her’.

    But I wasn’t thinking about dates or charts while watching them.

    I was thinking:

    What is this?

    For a while, BTS made me crazy about music again.

    And that surprised me because I wasn’t the kind of listener I imagined idol groups were targeting.

    BTS had crossed a barrier I hadn’t expected them to cross.

    They crossed generations.

    Then I Started Looking Back

    Once I became interested, I started searching for older BTS videos.

    And that changed things again.

    The BTS I had discovered through powerful performances wasn’t the BTS that had always existed.

    Their beginning looked much smaller.

    They debuted in 2013 with 2 COOL 4 SKOOL and “No More Dream.” From the beginning, the members participated in writing and creating their music, with their official debut material emphasizing that they were telling stories based on their own experiences and emotions.

    Watching their earlier years made their later success feel different to me.

    I saw young men who hadn’t started at the top.

    I saw old footage of them practicing, eating, living and spending enormous amounts of time together.

    What affected me wasn’t only the hardship.

    It was the small things.

    They ate together. They lived closely together. They shared what they had.

    Years later, I would see the same seven people standing on some of the biggest stages in the world.

    But those early images stayed with me.

    Before they shared the world’s biggest stages, they had learned how to share the little things.

    Talent Couldn’t Explain Everything

    Of course BTS had talent.

    You don’t perform at that level without it.

    But the more I watched them, the less satisfied I became with the explanation:

    “They’re talented.”

    Talent wasn’t enough to explain what I was seeing.

    Seven people don’t move with that kind of precision simply because they’re gifted.

    A performance that looks effortless to an audience can be the result of endless repetition behind the scenes.

    Practice.

    Correction.

    Again.

    Again.

    And again.

    That made a surprisingly strong impression on me.

    Because dancing isn’t really the point.

    Think about anything in your own life.

    How difficult is it to devote an extraordinary number of hours to one thing?

    How many of us have talent that we never fully develop because we stop before it blooms?

    Watching BTS made me think about that.

    Talent gives you possibility. Practice turns possibility into ability.

    They were gifted.

    But they also appeared willing to do the work required to make those gifts bloom.

    And suddenly their performances looked different to me.

    I wasn’t only seeing seven talented performers anymore.

    I was seeing the hours behind them.

    Then I Started Listening to What They Were Saying

    Eventually, something became even more important to me than the dancing.

    The lyrics.

    This was where BTS began to feel truly different.

    Korean idol music had existed for decades, and of course many earlier artists had sung meaningful songs. I don’t want to erase that history.

    But as a listener, BTS struck me differently.

    From their debut, their music was already asking young people questions about dreams and the pressures surrounding them. Their first album explicitly centered “No More Dream” around the question: What is your dream?

    As their music developed, the subjects became broader.

    Fear.

    Failure.

    Loneliness.

    Pressure.

    Dreams.

    Learning to accept yourself.

    Eventually, the idea of loving yourself became central enough to define an entire era of BTS music. Their LOVE YOURSELF 結 ‘Answer’ album even concludes its first disc with “Answer : Love Myself.”

    That message affected the way I saw them.

    Young people live surrounded by competition and endless stimulation. They’re constantly being told to achieve more, look better, earn more attention and become somebody else.

    BTS seemed to be saying something remarkably simple:

    Look at yourself, too.

    Your struggles matter.

    Your failures don’t make your life worthless.

    You should learn to love yourself.

    That was when BTS stopped being simply an entertaining idol group to me.

    What Surprised Me About the Seven Members

    There was something else I noticed as the years passed.

    The relationship between the members.

    I had watched Korean idol culture for a long time.

    Groups can appear extremely close when they’re struggling together. Then success arrives. Money, fame and individual opportunities grow, and sometimes relationships change.

    So as BTS became bigger, part of me wondered what would happen to the seven members.

    Obviously, I don’t know their private lives.

    No fan really does.

    And being close doesn’t mean seven different people never disagree.

    But from what I could observe over the years, their relationship continued to feel unusually important to them.

    Maybe those early years mattered.

    Maybe sharing cramped spaces, meals, uncertainty, practice and failure created something that success couldn’t easily replace.

    And perhaps the important lesson isn’t that close friends never fight.

    It’s something much more realistic:

    Being close doesn’t mean never fighting. It means finding a way to remain together after the fight.

    As an outsider watching them, that stayed with me.

    I Had Misjudged Them

    I started with a simple assumption.

    They’re an idol group.

    Then “MIC Drop” made my shoulders move.

    Their performances made me pay attention.

    Their practice made me respect them.

    Their early story made me curious.

    And their lyrics made me listen more carefully.

    That progression matters because I didn’t become interested in BTS because somebody told me I should.

    They changed my mind themselves.

    And perhaps that’s why I eventually understood something about their appeal.

    You don’t have to begin as an idol fan.

    You don’t have to be the same age as their core audience.

    You don’t even have to understand every word immediately.

    Sometimes music reaches you first.

    Then curiosity makes you look deeper.

    And when you look deeper, you discover the work, experiences and ideas behind the music.

    That’s what happened to me.

    I originally thought BTS was just another idol group.

    I was wrong.

    But even then, I had no idea what was coming next.

    Because I never imagined that these seven young Korean men would eventually challenge something much bigger than my own assumptions.

    They were about to challenge the boundaries of global pop music itself.

    Continued in Part 2: How Did BTS Break the Language Barrier and Reach the Center of Global Pop?