Shinsegae Gangnam’s B1 floor is a hodgepodge of food vendors, meandering gazes, riveting scents, outstretched hands. Such chaotic energy reflects Shinsegae’s reputation as the nation’s number one department store. The retailer recorded 11.1 trillion KRW in revenue for FY2023, of which its Gangnam branch comprised 27% or 3.1 trillion KRW. To put these figures into context, there are only two other department stores in this world that are able to generate more than 3 trillion KRW or 2.2 billion USD in annual sales at the branch level: London’s Harrods and Tokyo’s Isetan Shinjuku. A jaw dropping figure that manifests in the crowds spread out across Shinsegae’s 11 floors.
But we’re not going to lose ourselves to this crowd today.
Once you push past the throng of people swarmed around carts selling bunsik, hanwoo, jambon beurre, Japanese rice bowls, you’ll find yourself in a corridor lined with shops displaying swarovski-encrusted hair clips, mosenite earrings, summery straw hats. Resist the urge to let your gaze astray as today’s target is straight ahead. A few strides down, you’ll notice that the glossy mall floor gives way to a sea of black and white tiles that stretch towards a brightly illuminated space dotted with glass-encased shelves.
Welcome to Sweet Park.
Behind each glass counter is a delicacy that has been fastidiously selected to complete Shinsegae’s dessert collection. Consisting of 43 brands, sourced both domestically and abroad, Sweet Park is Wonka’s dream come alive. Statistics reveal that 66% of Shinsegae’s visitors—or two out of three people—purchase a sweet from this zone and that the mall’s dessert sales are up 210.6% the same period last year, solid indicators that Seoul’s sweet tooth is burgeoning.
Apropos of such eye-popping figures, today’s post deep dives into a) Sweet Park’s popularity b) why a sweet-indulging culture is manifesting in Seoul and what that portends for brands.
Have a cookie in hand? Let’s go.
Sweet algorithm
If there’s one thing that Millennials, GenZ and Alpha have in common, it’s the craving for stimuli. To be a bit more blunt, a habitual reliance on dopamine. These cohorts, whether as a result of zeitgeist or upbringing, have all been weaned on algorithms that entrap one in a continuum of pleasure. Sedative and seductive, social media algorithms numb users into a state of non-thinking from which they awake only when they encounter something that tops the ever increasing dopamine threshold.
Shinsegae’s Sweet Park taps into this dopamine seeking lust. A Wonkified TikTok at heart, Sweet Park transposes dopamine-inciting stimuli into a tactile, consumable form: dessert. The dessert form is multiplied into an almost inexhaustible array of variations—shortcakes, cupcakes, macarons, bagels, ice cream, cream-filled pastries, yanggaeng (red bean paste cakes) decorate the vast 5300㎡ space with an epicurean decadence. Whichever way you turn, something entices you. Mango shortcakes—treat of the season—emerge from behind a mountain of Seoul’s currently most coveted salt bread. No swiping needed. Fully tangible as well, unlike TikTok’s imagerial promises. As such, Sweet Park is designed to “lose” the customer in an algorithmic maze where a cascade of stimuli pushes one’s sense of rationality into obscurity. Visitors become agents of serendipity, acting on mercurial whims that are particular to the hour. It is not realistically possible for one to try everything on offer at Sweet Park in a single go. Not even the heartiest of eaters can take on 43 brands all at once. This overwhelming abundance of choice is one of the reasons Sweet Park is so addictive—one visit is simply not enough. Just like how five minutes on TikTok stretches into an hour.
A Wonkified TikTok at heart, Sweet Park transposes dopamine-inciting stimuli into a tactile, consumable form: dessert
If we flip the coin around, Sweet Park’s algorithmic set-up enables brands to utilize the environment as a culinary test-bed. Honeybee Seoul launched Ouch, an artisanal ice cream brand, at Sweet Park before rolling out the same menu at its main branch in Hannam-dong. The constant inflow of new (and returning) audiences conjures an environment well-suited for collecting both quantitative and qualitative feedback in real-time. TikTok’s likes are transposed into sales that indicate the extent to which Seoul’s sweet dilettantes find the idea of a certain dessert intriguing or worth pulling the trigger for.
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New menus arise from such entrepreneurial experimentalism, exclusive treats reserved for Sweet Park customers. While there is no guarantee that a menu will survive the beta test period, the attempt itself grants customers a preview of avant-garde recipes before they’re officially unveiled to the larger public. This element of prescience, in conjunction with speed, materializes into a unique offering that rationalizes repeat visits to Shinsegae’s dessert empire.
The third aspect that underlies Sweet Park’s successful debut is the zone’s functionality as a global dessert platform. Much like TikTok, Sweet Park aggregates desserts from all over South Korea and other countries i.e. Japan, France, and reorganizes them into a sequence of stands that transcends temporal and spatial boundaries. Customers no longer need to travel to Tokyo or Paris to treat themselves to a Gariguette or Pierre Marcolini, brands that were previously attainable only through travel. In short, Sweet Park increases the accessibility of renowned dessert brands by drastically reducing the temporal (and financial) costs previously incurred in their pursuit. Such convenience is not limited to global brands. Sweet Park now has all the best chocolatiers and patisseries from Sinsa-dong, Samsung-dong, Yeonhee-dong, Hannam-dong rounded up in one place—customers no longer need to drive up and down the Han River in their quest to catch’em all. If this isn’t the best reification of time warp in the 21st century, then I don’t know what is.
To recap, Sweet Park is a dessert themed TikTok. Visitors who step foot into the area are bombarded with a deluge of sweet choices, all of which are the quintessential manifestation of a culinary trend that originates from both within and without the country. The dilemma of having too much freedom and not enough digestive grit doesn’t end there though. Brands part of the Sweet Park-verse entertain visitors with limited edition menus that introduce another factor into the already oscillating mind: scarcity. Exposed to such an overflow of sugary content, visitors frenetically dive in and out of several imaginary preludes before zeroing in on the dessert(s) for that day— the chosen one(s) of the Algorithm! By the time they walk out of Sweet Park, their bodies are channeling a dopamine tsunami that inscribes into memory a lingering truth: sweet is happiness.
Self-appreciation
It’s now time to descend deeper into the realm of human truths. We’ve examined Shinsegae’s sweet success from a retail standpoint. So what’s compelling Seoulites to pay prilgrimage to Sweet Park? In other words, why are Seoulites doubling down on their dopamine intake? If you recall, Shinsegae’s dessert sales are up 200% more than last year. Oh to be a dentist in these times.
The craving for artificially-induced dopamine spikes (this is essentially what desserts are at a molecular level) intimates a desire for rewards. Not just any reward though. I’m not talking about shiny trophies and golden medals. Rather, rewards that are inherently personal. Rewards that epitomize a little “I love myself” moment. Think massages, staycations, concerts, clothes, cars. The latter two are somewhat debatable, as they are means through which people often publicly flaunt their achievements—wealth, power, influence. Nonetheless they are just as often imbued with personal meaning. All of the examples enumerated above stand for the toil, perseverance, discipline one has endured; the events in life that call for commemoration. Likewise, desserts channel the same energy. Desserts are a celebration, a personal jubilee.
What makes desserts so personal is their inability to be socially exhibited. Desserts, by composition, are delicate. They will melt, sour, rot, collapse if left out in the wild for too long. You cannot walk around Seoul with a carrot cake in your hand the way Carrie tucks her Fendi “baguette” under her arm while out in NYC. Most desserts are made up of perishable ingredients—flour, eggs, milk, sugar—forcing any and all forms of display to take place within a carefully controlled environment that restricts the number of eyeballs. Albeit, with the help of prosthetic eyes a.k.a. smartphones, desserts may be digitally purveyed to an audience that is larger than that which is normally possible. Then again, transmitting images of cake isn’t as impressive as posting a photo of a Rolex or Birkin. It just doesn’t elicit the same “wow” response. This is most likely because people instinctively know that desserts aren’t made to last.
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Desserts are without legacy. They cannot acquire historical significance the way that bags and watches can; they exist to be devoured. Effaced. Consumed. How can you ascribe meaning to something that ceases to exist with the passage of time? Social valence is rooted in temporality, in the historical act of sustained contemplation—an absence of time means a dearth of value. However, desserts are created for a single moment and, oftentimes, for a single person. Desserts have no future; they exist purely for the present, for the moment of celebration. As such, desserts momentarily attain value through individual gazing and admiring, actions that preface meaning creation. Yet again, such meanings are limited to the individual and rarely obtain communal significance. Desserts are not codified to serve as mediums of social value. Desserts are emblems of self-appreciation.
Desserts are not codified to serve as mediums of social value. Desserts are personal emblems of self-appreciation.
Now that we’ve established the inherently personal nature of desserts, it’s time we probe into why people still funnel so much money towards them.
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Simply put, desserts—at least the kinds that rivet our interest—are beautifully wholesome. Their aesthetic language is immaculate. We are drawn to gateau, sundaes, cookies, frappuccinos because of their perfect demeanor. Layers of airy cream, piles of opulent fruit, decorative symmetry are fulfilling to look at. Their orderly appearance emanates a serenity that fills us with satisfaction. This is the same satisfaction we feel when we watch ASMR videos that feature repeating images, sounds, actions. The cadence that arises from the mediated repetition of mundane things produces the same calming effect induced by an object of exquisite beauty; both invoke a feeling of peace that stems from witnessing images of perfection not readily observed everyday. Visual therapy precedes (or delays) the moment of gratification.
This perfection, contrived and artificial though it may be, is rewarding precisely because it is unnatural. Rewards are rare. They occur only occasionally, as they should. Rewards wouldn’t be rewards if they were commonplace. Artisanal desserts, especially, reward through a sublimity that disrupts, surprises, lingers. Imagine a gateau. The manifold details that decorate its exterior—lavish rows of fresh cream, fruit lacquered in honey—strike us as extraordinary through its intricacy. So much detail, an amount considered extraneous or uneconomical by quotidian standards, is contained within a small frame. I use the term “uneconomical” because there is a temporal disparity between the number of hours spent perfecting a gateau and the number of minutes spent eating it; beauty borne from fastidiously wrought details is devoured in a moment. Most other art forms are created with longer longevity in mind. However, it is precisely this tragic combination of excess and ephemerality that we find rewarding. Desserts are beautiful because their perfection is destined for demolition. We, in turn, indulge in a beauty that fulfills us through its wholesome visual and taste. This is how we reward ourselves. After all, we are what we eat.
Branding takeaway
Sweet things call for some savoring, and we’ve spent some time thoroughly mulling over today’s topic. So what does this all spell out for brands?
To start, people are drawn to brands that double as dopamine triggers. Shinsegae’s Sweet Park is precisely this. Not only does the dessert platform attract sugar-hungry GenZs and Gen Alphas, but it also engrains the notion that Shinsegae is the go-to place for addictive discoveries. Every action gets fed into a sticky algorithm that predicts what the next sweet “discovery” will be. Desserts now come to you under the guise of calculated serendipity. No one complains though. Who dares to resist an algorithm that feeds and runs on feel good energy?
From a human truths angle, desserts are desired because they epitomize self-appreciation. Just look at Seoul. The popularity of artisanal dessert brands is at an all-time high because people prioritize self-appreciation in an era of high interest rates and inflation. While we can live without showing off, we can’t live without self-love. Desserts are an apt medium for self-appreciation in that they materialize in impeccably beautiful forms unsuitable for mass exhibition. Desserts are meant to be indulged privately and immediately. They do not accrue value over time. Rather they acquire meaning in the moment of consumption—they are a celebration of bygone moments whose ephemerality is reflected in their delicate composition.
Lifestyle brands (a.k.a brands that straddle a lot of grey areas), in particular, should take cue from desserts and their inherently personal and instantly rewarding nature. With the onslaught of economic uncertainty and algorithmic dependency, most 21st century homo sapiens have evolved to become increasingly concerned with the self. “Me” has never been so important. This isn’t particularly surprising as just about every fin-tech, beauty-tech, house-tech, whatever-tech company out there is espousing a narrative grounded in personalization. What brands need to realize is that personalization is a means, not an end. People want a personalized experience because it is intensely gratifying. One’s tastes become a standard against which content is filtered for maximum satisfaction. More dopamine is released within a shorter time. Do you see the parallelism here with desserts? Gateau, ice cream, cookies are eaten because they make you feel really good. Instantly. This craving for immediate gratification is what motivates people to feed TikTok with personal preferences while also scan Sweet Park’s aisles for the next afternoon/post-dinner snack. It all boils down to rewarding oneself through instant euphoria.