Soyeon — wearing short black jeans, a black T-shirt with the words “Love Yourself,” and comfortable Nike sneakers — is standing next to me at the entrance to the Allianz Arena in Munich, shifting her weight impatiently. She’s drawn three small red circles under her eyes with eyeliner, inspired by the logo of BTS’s new album, *Arirang*. In her hand, she holds what’s known as an “Army Bomb,” a stick with a large, bright light-up ball at the tip. Almost every one of the more than 75,000 fans waiting with us, who have traveled from all over the world, has one of these lightsticks in their hand, or dangling on their bag. They’re all waiting to finally see their idols perform live again after a four-year hiatus. 

The Army, as the band’s fan community calls itself, spoke of a “ticket war” — that’s how coveted and hard to come by the seats were. Many of the attendees have been waiting in line for hours; some since last night. In Munich, fans of all ages and genders are milling about, often easily recognizable by their carefully coordinated outfits. These feature either burgundy accents, one of the colors of the new album, or pastel lavender tones, one of the band’s signature colors. They’re always decked out in countless accessories that show their affection for the band and, in particular, their favorite musicians — whom they call “bias.” 

I ended up at the concert more by chance, or out of love one could say. I’m not alone in this. Fathers, mothers, and especially friends are wearing T-shirts that humorously highlight the differences between the “real” fans and their companions. Standing right in front of us is a man whose T-shirt reads, roughly translated, “I love my girlfriend, and my girlfriend loves Jungkook,” a reference to one of the band’s singers.

BTS — short for Bangtan Sonyeondan (Korean for “bulletproof scouts”) — is a Korean pop band that debuted in 2013 with the song “No More Dream.” Since then, BTS has been writing music about self-love, community, and dealing with mental health issues. While their style was initially characterized by rap and hip-hop elements, pop influences now dominate. With and through their fan community, the group consisting of the seven members RM, Jin, Suga, J-Hope, Jimin, V, and Jungkook achieved worldwide fame in 2017. The singers broke world records and topped the U.S. charts. In 2021, then-South Korean President Moon Jae-in awarded the band the Order of Cultural Merit for their contribution to the promotion of Korean culture and language. Another reason for their four-year hiatus, which ended last year, was mandatory military service in South Korea. Military references have also been present in the language of the fandom and their idols since the band’s founding: Army Bombs, ticket wars, and the “bullets,” which, in the band’s name, are a metaphor for clichés, criticism, and expectations placed on young people.

Soyeon and I let the crowds carry us all the way to the forecourt of the Allianz Arena. We climb the stairs up to the third tier. Since our actual seats are occupied by technical equipment, security assigns us seats further down. We’re incredibly excited. From here, we have a great view of the 360-degree stage, which looks tiny from our seats. It’s one of two concerts taking place tonight as part of the Korean boy band BTS’s tour in Germany this year. After a brief commercial break on the giant screens, we see instructions for the Army Bombs. From inserting the batteries to connecting the light sticks to the stadium’s technical system, every step is explained in detail with the help of animations in German and English. Cheering fans hold their Army Bombs high; they flash and vibrate. We blend into the sea of lights made up of fans, tense with anticipation and happily awaiting the show. When it starts, I understand why so many people wear ear protection at these concerts — the cheering is loud, and the joy in the stadium at having the idols back on stage is boundless. Soyeon next to me is sobbing; tears begin to stream down her face as BTS strikes up the song “Body to Body.” Soyeon’s voice, already hoarse from screaming, mixes with those of the ten thousand others as the arena begins to sing the bridge, the over 600-year-old Korean folk melody “Arirang.”

The song is a tribute to the pop band’s cultural heritage and identity. “Arirang” is also known abroad as Korea’s unofficial anthem. The song became a symbol of resistance against the occupiers, particularly during Japan’s colonization of Korea until 1945. Later, under the military dictatorship of the 1970s, it was promoted as a cultural symbol both in Korea and internationally. Soyeon knows the song from her childhood in Siberia, where her grandmother, who fled Korea as a young girl during the Japanese occupation, settled. She is not the only one for whom the song holds great emotional value. Shortly after BTS released their new album, she sent me numerous TikTok videos: Korean parents and grandparents, who had been living abroad for a long time, moved to tears as they witnessed their folk song achieve pop-cultural status and recognition in the West.

The new album doesn’t just return to national symbols with the title track “Arirang.” The song “No. 29,” which consists entirely of the sound of the Sacred Bell of King Seongdeok (South Korean National Treasure No. 29), also contributes to this cultural symbolism. BTS’s first concert after their comeback took place right outside the gates of the former royal palace.

This natural expression of Korean culture and identity creates visibility that is important for many people with ties to Korea or members of marginalized groups. Soyeon feels the same way: “As an Asian woman with Korean roots, I often feel culturally isolated in Germany; I can identify with BTS. When I’m not feeling well or can’t sleep, I watch reaction videos or concerts. That helps me unwind.” Especially when she was feeling mentally overwhelmed and spent a lot of time alone, the music gave her a sense of stability.

On the other hand, the pop band’s increased focus on cultural and national aesthetics can also be viewed critically. For Sool Park, professor of intercultural philosophy at the University of Hildesheim, these recent developments can be partly attributed to notions of Korean identity that are clearly defined in ethnic and national terms. These often exclude migrants and many people with ties to Korea living abroad as “not Korean enough.” Park considers the nationalist tendency, which took shape in the context of resistance during Japanese colonial rule (1909–1945) and remained highly influential after liberation, to be contradictory: “Because BTS is no longer the beloved underdog. With ‘Arirang’ and their comeback concert in front of the old Royal Palace in Seoul, they are returning to the center of power.” Precisely because BTS plays such a significant role in reinforcing identity for people outside Korea, who are often rendered invisible in dominant cultures, the professor finds the band’s nationalization and the resulting cultural confinement to be contradictory.

Tonight’s concert is a mix of national elements and a classic pop show. While BTS disappears backstage for a costume change, a performance by the backup dancers with scarves depicts the five elements and then the Korean flag. Blue and red Army Bombs light up the arena. When the band starts playing the song “Butter,” the entire stadium glows in butter yellow.

The involvement of the fans, for example, through the light show, reflects the evolution of fan culture over the past decades. Dr. Stefan Krankenhagen, professor of cultural studies at the University of Hildesheim, describes the shift in how fans perceive themselves: “We’re observing that fans are now, in many instances, taking on the role of producers in pop culture alongside that of consumers.” 

Time and again, amid all the colorful balls, you see bright lights glowing in colors other than those currently called for by the lighting concept, even Soyeon is surprised that her old lightstick can’t be synced with the show after all. Since this tour, there’s been a new version of the Army Bomb, though the previous version was originally supposed to still work. So for the next concerts, Soyeon needs a new one. At home, boxes full of merch (short for merchandise) are piling up. A few select items that are particularly dear to her sit on the bookshelf; Soyeon has sorted through a lot of it and resold some collectibles on eBay. However, she also views the increasing commercialization critically. “I used to buy every piece of merch that was available. Now I feel like it’s often just a money-making machine. These days, I only buy things I really like.”

“For a long time, pop culture was characterized by its economic accessibility. That has fundamentally changed,” says Prof. Krankenhagen, referring to expensive concerts, merchandise, and travel costs. This means: In the past, a large number of fans paid very little; today, fans must, on average, invest significantly more in their relationship with their idols and may even have to decide whether to skip a short vacation or a new pair of sneakers to cover the cost of a BTS weekend in Munich. In other words: If you want to be part of it, you have to pay a lot.

As their popularity continues to grow, BTS’s music and fandom are also changing. On the one hand, the musicians are singing less and less in their native language, Korean, but on the other hand, they’re incorporating Korean elements into their aesthetic. The song “Alien” includes the line, roughly translated: “When you come to my house, take off your shoes at the door.” This is one of the casual references to everyday cultural practices frequently found in their lyrics — practices that often differ from those in European or U.S. contexts.

“I think it’s a power move to say in the song ‘Alien’: ‘Pardon me, Kim Gu, tell me how you feel,’ and for everyone to just know who that is without having to explain it,” says Soyeon. This also gives her strength and courage for everyday life, where she often has to explain herself, her identity remains invisible, or people assume she has the same cultural background as those who grew up in Germany. “Everyone knows where the ‘K’ is now,” sings BTS in the same track. Korean references aren’t explained here.

For Soyeon, it is precisely this content with which she identifies. Prof. Park describes the “K-” prefix, as seen in K-pop, K-literature, K-food, or K-drama, as an external perception of Korean culture. This perception usually stems from a Western dominant culture that marks it as something special or different. In an article on K-literature published this year in the Korean journal *Sasanggye*, he explains that this prefix would become superfluous if Korean culture were no longer primarily viewed as foreign, but rather as part of a shared cultural space: precisely through the translation of its specific historical experiences, memories, and cultural narratives into a global context.

The streets in Munich are crowded; people are pressed tightly together. We let the crowds push us out of the stadium, passing lines of cars picking up their children and police officers who seem slightly overwhelmed but who patiently explain the driving routes over loudspeakers again and again. We walk a short distance and then, together with four other fans we meet along the way, take an uber toward our hotel. Later, I’m glad we made that decision; a friend texts me that the U6 has been shut down in the meantime. Because of the chaos, she, like thousands of other fans, doesn’t get home until two in the morning.

Soyeon’s cheeks are still drying as we stand in front of our hotel. For three hours, we laughed, screamed, jumped, sang, and cried. “It was basically like seeing my parasocial brothers again,” she says happily, wiping the sweat from her forehead. The July night is warm and the wind is gentle. We think of the countless people with whom we celebrated the concert together, the traditional melody of Arirang still in our ears. Once we arrive at the hotel, the first thing we do when we open the door is take off our shoes.