SEOUL -- At a televised policy meeting last month, South Korea President Lee Jae Myung launched into a seemingly banal discussion about healthcare. He noted people typically spend more on medical expenses as they age. Then came a hair-raising turn.
Lee, who has a voluminous head of hair, asked the country's health minister whether the state-run healthcare plan could foot the bill for hair-loss treatment. He wants the finances crunched. Told baldness is generally seen as an aesthetic problem covered out-of-pocket, Lee retorted that young people with thinning hair view their plight as a "matter of survival."
While the world is focused on inflation, war and immigration, South Korea's president is bringing attention to an underrecognized enemy: hair loss.
South Korea is globally renowned for its beauty, from heartthrob idols and picturesque actresses to elaborate skin-care regimens and world-class plastic surgeons. But the looks obsession isn't merely a ruse for exports.
"Lookism," the advantage afforded to the physically attractive, is a widely accepted concept. "Your appearance is also a credential" is a common expression. Nearly all jobs -- even for part-time baristas -- require a photo with the application.
The debate over the left-leaning Lee's proposal to cover hair-loss treatments has parted the country right down the middle.
Kim Sang-jin, a 33-year-old medical laboratory scientist, is wholeheartedly behind any government support. He didn't have much hair anxiety until a few years ago when friends pointed out his hair is thinning.
He used shampoos promising to reverse hair loss. He applied topical foams. They didn't work. Kim turned to his younger brother, who recommended a hair-loss clinic that had helped him. He's waiting to see if it works.
"It would be great if this were covered since the cost is quite high," says Kim. He spends roughly $100 a month but he can't stop. "I'm worried my hair could all go away in an instant."
Seo Eun-ji, 26, doesn't think her tax dollars should fund a problem that can be solved individually and disproportionately affects men. She's not a disinterested party either.
Seo said she started losing her hair in high school. She ate more black beans, lathered her scalp with French soap and opted for root perms. She now considers her hair thin, though at a sufficient volume. She also keeps it cut short. “It’s solvable,” says Seo, an editor of legal publications.
The Korean Medical Association, the country's largest physicians group, called coverage of hair-loss treatment "questionable" given the health system's stretched finances.
South Korea is so dominated by luxurious heads of hair -- real or imagined -- that the few sparse-up-there public figures can really stand out. One of the nation's most famous actors, Kim Kwang-kyu, became the face of a popular meme called the "hair-loss beam."
His photo sat above text that implored recipients to type "Let my hair grow, grow" within 30 seconds -- or be jokingly cursed to go bald.
More than three in four South Koreans believe that everyone has concerns about hair loss, according to a recent Embrain Trend Monitor poll. Roughly half of the poll's respondents, despite showing no symptoms of balding, said they were interested in remedies.
South Korea, one of the world's least racially diverse countries, has a more rigid definition of beauty than multiethnic societies like the U.S., says S. Heijin Lee, a professor at University of Hawaii at Mānoa, who has researched South Korea's beauty obsession.
"In so many ways, your looks and beauty are a metric for what socioeconomic class you are," Prof. Lee says.
President Lee, who won a snap election in June, made the pledge to cover hair-loss treatment when he unsuccessfully ran for president in 2022. But he dropped it when he ran again. At the recent policy meeting, Lee resurrected the idea as a way to appeal to the country's youth, which has grown more dissatisfied with him.
"I want you to review this so that young people can feel, 'I pay my premiums, too, and I'm getting some benefits,'" Lee said. The health ministry is reviewing the hair-loss treatments' appropriateness for coverage.
Implementation can't come soon enough for Lee Ki-eun, a 26-year-old medical resident. She once had such a lush mane that her hairdressers complained about it. Now it’s thinning, which she attributes to work-related stress. She’s begun to take topical treatment.
She worries having less voluminous hair could limit her job prospects at medical clinics specializing in cosmetic care or dermatology. But for now, she’s terrified of what her patients might think when she’s providing treatment.
“I’m constantly conscious that someone might be looking at the back of my head,” Lee says.
Jemin Park, a 27-year-old designer, says he’d rather the government take the funds potentially spent on treatments and redirect them toward finding a cure. His head, for now, is full of hair. But neither of his grandfathers had much; his father has a receding hairline.
“Everyone thinks about it,” Park says. “The only people who don’t worry are those whose parents on both sides have very thick hair.”
Han Sang-won can hardly remember going bald. The 87-year-old retiree lost most of his hair decades ago. He is perplexed by a potential state intervention but he empathizes with young people looking to keep their hair longer.
“Once it’s all gone,” Han says,“there’s nothing you can do.”