you can call bts 'artist,' you can call them 'idol' (just not both)
As BTS wraps up the final North American leg of their Arirang tour, I’m still stuck in the past. But instead of reliving the two magical shows I got to experience this summer, I can’t stop thinking about the photo RM and j-hope posted backstage at the Chris Brown concert on August 12th.
Brown has an infamous history of domestic violence. (Notice that I don’t describe the charges as “alleged” - because he pled guilty to felony assault in 2009. Brown does not deny what he did, and 15 years later, there is no excuse for the public to claim ignorance.) Arguably, he is better known for these charges than for his R&B career - yet he continues to be celebrated by the music industry.
Initially, j-hope shared about attending the concert on his Instagram stories. At that time, BTS Army was having very different conversations, centered around the age-old question: Can you separate the art from the artist?
But the next day, Chris Brown posted a photo of himself, RM, and j-hope together backstage, tagging their official accounts. RM and j-hope described meeting Brown as an “honor.” Meanwhile, Brown clapped back at disappointed Army in the comments, telling one fan to “pray ‘bout it hoe.”
The moment that post hit Army’s feeds, the conversation took on a graver tone. As The Star wrote on August 20th, “Attending the show does not prove that RM and J-Hope approve of violence. However, posting enthusiastically from the performance, tagging Brown and posing with him backstage made the association visible, voluntary and celebratory.”
Now, we no longer have to guess whether RM’s or j-hope’s attendance at the August 12th show should be viewed as an endorsement of Brown. Brown’s social media post - and BTS’s subsequent silence - put an end to that speculation. Whether or not it was intended as such, the photo serves as a loud reminder that no amount of violence against women will ever stop a successful man from being celebrated by other men.
If you’ve been paying an inkling of attention to the world around you, you’re probably thinking, “well, duh.” Even for BTS fans, the truth isn’t surprising; we know who wrote War of Hormone, after all. But the fact that we aren’t shocked doesn’t mean that we aren’t disappointed. After all, BTS is a product of Korea’s idol system - a system that is, arguably, explicitly designed to prey on the fantasies of young female fans.
Under this system, teen boys undergo intensive training regimens and are carefully constructed into synchronous groups resembling the boy bands of the 1990s-2010s. Trainees are molded into archetypes such as those satirized in the film K-pop Demon Hunters: the Baby (I.N. from Stray Kids); the Romantic (Kihyun from Monsta X); the One with Washboard Abs (San from Ateez). Ultimately, the final commercial product is sold to a fanbase of predominantly young women as a romantic daydream, in which every teen girl can become the ‘main character’ in a catchy love song.
We know BTS is aware of its ‘idol’ image and of its predominantly female fanbase… and so, we expected better of them. However, at times, BTS has openly struggled with this ‘idol’ identity in its quest for artistic legitimacy - a cognitive dissonance they grapple with in songs like “IDOL” and “they don’t know ‘bout us.”
The group initially formed as an underground hip-hop crew, but Bighit Entertainment pivoted its concept for the band toward a traditional idol model when their original plan failed to produce financial results. Of the original crew members, RM, j-hope, and SUGA were the only three who were willing to train as idols - and as they say, the rest is history. But the lore does lead me to wonder, to what extent might the BTS rap line have a chip on its shoulder about being “hip-hop artists” first, idols second? And to what extent might hip-hop culture have influenced their willingness to embrace Brown?
From R. Kelly, to Robin Thicke, to Chris Brown, the rap, hip-hop, and R&B scene has a long and storied history of platforming perpetrators of physical and sexual violence against women. RM and j-hope name many of these individuals as their own role models. For example, RM openly admires the rapper Nas, who has a gun conviction on his criminal record and was accused of physical and mental abuse by an ex-girlfriend. (Nas, of course, denies these allegations.) According to Kpop Profiles, both RM and j-hope also idolize Travis Scott, who incited a deadly crowd crush at his 2021 Astroworld concert in Houston, TX. The incident killed at least 10 and injured hundreds more, and remains (in my opinion) a singular example of artistic irresponsibility leading directly to crowd-based violence.
This isn’t to say that hip-hop as a medium is universally problematic - nor is it my intention to perpetuate the racist moral panic that rap music incites violence. But it is important to acknowledge that violent men are woven into the very fabric of the hip-hop music industry, just as they are integrated into so many other parts of society.
Fans and fellow artists continue to cover these men in a protective shroud of emotional and economic support. This willingness to protect male abusers over female victims produces tangible results for artists like Chris Brown, who continue to financially benefit long after their commercial viability (in my opinion) should have expired due to their conduct.
To that point, RM and j-hope are far from the only artists to continue working with and promoting male abusers despite overwhelming public awareness of their unsavory conduct. Just look at the long list of artists who have continued to work with producer Dr. Luke well after Kesha publicly accused him of chronic emotional and sexual abuse. In fact, some fans have argued that BTS has received disproportionate criticism compared with white, American artists who have also visibly supported Brown.
Most definitely, this incident is a symptom of the rot within the music industry - not an affliction unique to BTS. However, I would argue that BTS is uniquely deserving of the criticism due to the band’s carefully-contrived public stance against violence. Within South Korea’s conservative culture, Bighit has singularly positioned BTS as a symbol of youthful progressivism. The band’s Unicef fund, LOVE MYSELF, directly supports campaigns that combat violence among children and teens; according to the project’s website, 3% of sales proceeds from the band’s Love Yourself album and 100% of Love Yourself merchandise sales proceeds benefit the foundation.
RM, in particular, has a reputation among Army as a feminist and an intellectual-type. However, I would argue that RM’s image has always given more ‘performative male’ than ‘male feminist,’ as it was carefully crafted by Bighit in response to the backlash he received for writing War of Hormone. After the song was criticized for its misogynistic lyrics sexualizing women, Bighit issued a publicist-approved apology on the band’s behalf. Later, RM stated that he had enrolled in women’s studies courses and consulted with professors to improve his lyricism - something which (to my knowledge) has conveniently never been verified. However, the gesture was enough to solidify RM’s reputation as an international example of positive masculinity. His response to the WoH controversy was largely heralded as the gold standard of personal growth and accountability to one's fans.
Prior to attending Brown’s concert, RM was named to an ‘honour roll’ of 16 male role models by the Pixel Project, a global organization combating violence against women; as of August 19th, he is now “indefinitely suspended” from the list as a direct result of his public appearance with Brown. As far as I can tell, RM’s suspension by the Pixel Project is the only material consequence that either RM or j-hope has faced as a result of this controversy.
Many Armys voiced their opinions in the initial days following the controversy, and RM and j-hope received some visible backlash on social media. But, at least on my feed, evidence of the incident disappeared within a few days. By the following week, Army was largely back to its usual self, thirst-posting Jimin's abs and wishing Jungkook a happy 29th birthday.
While I’m not arguing for BTS’s permanent cancellation, or that we should expend more energy scolding RM and j-hope than condemning Brown himself, I do feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness in my ongoing mourning. Maybe it’s because of my personal experiences that I’m taking it so hard: As a child of domestic violence, it’s admittedly been challenging to watch the world move on in a matter of moments from something that feels so intensely personal.
On September 4th, the popular kpop podcast Asian Glow posted an episode titled “does fangirling feel unhealthy now?” - and I briefly got my hopes up, that someone else might still be thinking about the controversy that’s had me in a chokehold since it happened. The episode was an excellent deep dive into the pitfalls of kpop fandom, but unfortunately, it stopped short of naming the Chris Brown issue outright. (Notably, its two hosts are dedicated BTS fans - who ironically argue in the episode that they do not owe BTS their loyalty.)
It’s incredible what we’re willing to overlook when we’re overcome by the delusion of parasociality. BTS are called ‘idols’ for a reason - and some fans (especially young ones) will always defend them no matter what they do. But seeing fully grown women, and even survivors of domestic violence, express nothing but love and support has filled me with a specific type of nihilism that I’m cheekily calling ‘gender dread.’
Gender dread is the same feeling I got upon learning that half of white women voted for Trump in the 2024 election against their own best interests. It’s the sad realization that many women & femmes would actively choose to prioritize the safety and comfort of men they’ve never met over the safety and comfort of their own gender. And nowadays, ‘gender dread’ also describes what I feel when one of RM’s or j-hope’s solo songs shuffles its way onto my Spotify queue.
Similarly, I feel a quiet sense of dread when I think about the future of BTS. After their five-year hiatus, the band has reunited to a level of international stardom never before enjoyed by a kpop group. And, as they rise to new heights of fame, the members of BTS appear to be straining against their “idol” image.
Not long before RM and j-hope appeared with Chris Brown, BTS issued a public statement protesting the Grammys new “best Asian pop” category, vowing that they would not be submitting the music from Arirang for consideration as long as it was siloed into an international category. While I agree that the move was likely a deliberate attempt to keep BTS from ‘stealing’ a more competitive prize from white American artists, I also believe it reflects a shift in BTS’s artistic priorities.
As an album, Arirang is constructed around the lofty concept of BTS becoming missionaries of Korean culture abroad - drawing a parallel between the seven members and the seven Korean students at Howard University who, in 1896, made the first known recording of a Korean folk song in the Americas. This imagery paints a vivid depiction of how BTS views itself within the broader context of history, implying that they no longer see themselves merely as idols but as cultural ambassadors.
Unquestionably, BTS occupies unprecedented historical territory for Asian musical artists within Western culture - and with unprecedented territory comes unprecedented pressure. The documentary BTS: THE RETURN highlights this pressure, depicting the painstaking process of producing Arirang. Throughout the movie, each member agonizes over the cultural importance of the album, and the need for its artistry to fulfill those lofty expectations.
I’ve written before about how, when cultural ambassadorship becomes intertwined with artistry, it becomes a sanitized commercial product instead of a radical work of art. It begs the question, can a ‘product’ like BTS remain ethical once it becomes mass-produced?
One of the most common defenses I’ve seen of the Brown controversy is that by meeting with Chris Brown backstage, RM and j-hope were merely ‘playing the game’ of the music industry; smiling the polite smiles and shaking the hands needed to achieve their ultimate goal of Western critical acclaim. However, I can’t help but wonder if the cost of achieving this level of mainstream approval is forsaking the progressive image and female fandom that set them apart in the first place.
Maybe this new BTS is better positioned as an industry powerhouse… but when you’re making records for an industry run by abusers, you’re no longer making records for the fans whose dollars lined the pathway to your success. You’re making records for fucking Chris Brown.
Sources:
Asian Glow Podcast
BTS, Chris Brown and the fracture of a carefully built narrative
BTS: THE RETURN (a documentary)
BTS Members Profile
BTS' RM Sparks Debate After Being Named Role Model To Stop Violence Against Women
BTS - War of Hormone lyrics (English translation)
Fangirls, Fandom, and BTS — A Letter to the ARMY
How Seven Korean Students in 1896 Recorded The First Arirang, And Inspired BTS
LOVE MYSELF Project
Statement from the Pixel Project