Mangwon Market on April 23 [Fergus Goodall Smith]

 

Mangwon Market has a completely different vibe from Gwangjang’s. The former is much less busy, and its avenues are mostly filled with Koreans, not tourists. You can buy potato croquettes for 1,000 won, a large bowl of
kalguksu (knife-cut noodles) for 4,500 won and
gimbap (seaweed rice rolls) for 3,500 won. 

 

Similarly, Tongjin Market maintains affordable prices while having fewer people, including tourists, than Gwangjin Market does. A huge pile of oil tteokbokki costs 5,000 won — a reasonable price for the serving. The same goes for
takoyaki (Japanese fried octopus dumplings). 

 

Che-yung, who works at a takoyaki stand, said the food is cheaper at Tongin than it is at Gwangjang. “There are more tourists at Gwangjang, and that makes [its food] more expensive.”

 

He confirmed that he still sees influencers at Tongin and that they’re generally good for the business. 

 

However, this seems to be the exact opposite of what people want: for local markets to be “discovered” in the way that Gwangjang was, leading to ramped-up prices.

 

Tongin Market in the evening on April 23 [Fergus Goodall Smith]

 

“It’s sad and ironic that the more a place becomes popular with tourists looking for an ‘authentic’ experience, the less authentic that it becomes,” wrote Reddit user Letter_Effective.

 

“Mangwon is [so] nice, but I fear as more people discover it, it […] will fall into the same problem,” another Redditor on the thread, Fellers, added, referring to increased prices. 

 

This problem also seeped into Seoul’s extensive cafe and bakery ecosystem. 

 

The line outside Artist Bakery in Anguk-dong in central Seoul only grew longer as the day continued, with the average wait time standing at an hour and a half. When this reporter arrived, the queue mainly comprised foreigners, and it became apparent that many of them were filming content.

 

Customers outside of Artist Bakery on April 21 [JoongAng Daily]

 

Suffice to say, the pastries were incredible, but were they worth the wait and the money? The prices were hefty, with one specialty bread costing 6,800 won and an oat latte adding another 7,000 won to the bill. Were people here because they knew the food was delicious or because someone on Instagram had encouraged them to come?

 

Next was Cafe Onion, which was not as busy as Artist Bakery but still required waiting in line. Here, some of the specialty breads were worth 7,500 won. 

 

Speaking to a fellow customer, Emilia said that she’d found the cafe on Instagram.

 

Onion cafe in Anguk on April 21 [JoongAng Daily]

 

“Basically, I do a search on Instagram and see all the posts that people [upload], and I’m trying to look for the people [who] seem [to] have some similar taste to mine,” she said.

 

As for why she used social media to choose where to go next, she explained, “Because I can see the photos [of the place], the aesthetic, […] how [the location] looks, the type of drinks they have, because I really don’t like the commercial [vibe].”

 

The high prices at Gwangjang Market, Artist Bakery and Onion, combined with the hordes of customers, highlighted a clear fact: The intense draw of social media and the compound effect of constant tourism content have the power to create so much allure that many people are willing to look past the price tag.

 

At a bakery just down the road, a piece of salt bread sold for 3,500 won, and an Americano cost 2,800 won. Maybe the quality wasn’t that of their neighboring tourist hot spots, but they were markedly quieter than the trendy cafes and had more affordable prices. 

 

 


The influencer tightrope 





The influence of social media content has pros and cons and can strongly affect the popularity and price list of a business.

 

It’s a fine line between lifting businesses up and turning them into tourist traps. 

 

“I like going to those places that are hidden gems because they are kind of quiet and not popular,” popular food influencer Sharif Seyam told the Korea JoongAng Daily.

 

His expertise is in
matjib, which he described as “hole in the wall” or “greasy spoon” establishments that become famous the old-fashioned way: through word of mouth.

 

Seyam has been able to turn his passion for food into a lucrative career, finding spots that he loves and helping promote them on Instagram.

 

“They’ve [restaurants and cafes] given me this position because I’ve worked for them for free. So I’ve promoted them for free. So I’m like, ‘I love your product. I love your food. It’s the best that I think [exists of its kind] in Korea or in Seoul. So I’m going to make a video with you,’ […] and they appreciate that, and they love it.”

 

According to Seyam, however, social media can pose a threat to these small businesses. “It’s that idea of there being the same spots that get shown over and over again by influencers and […] sort of stay in the bubble where it’s mainly foreigners that visit them.”

 

“Other businesses that make delicious food maybe don’t get the attention that these same folks keep getting in their revolving circle,” he continued, adding that a lot of older businesses also don’t use social media to their detriment. 

 

Seyam affirmed that he’s conscious of the effect that his videos might have on a business. “100 percent. I mean, I don’t think I’m that big of an influencer [to the point that] I can just show a place, and then it goes viral, but I understand [the risk].”

BY FERGUS GOODALL SMITH [[email protected]]