It all started in 2018. A run down neighborhood in the northern part of Seoul began attracting the most unlikely group of people: trend savvy MZ. Euljiro—or ‘Hipjiro’ as it’s been baptized by social media—was and still is the domain of industrial workers; the streets are specked with dilapidated buildings, old factories, even older stores selling light fixtures, closed printing shops that culminate in a hodgepodge of urban chaos.
It’s a miracle that any one can find their way through this labyrinth of a place. But they do. What’s even more bemusing is that these same people hunt out cafes and restaurants with no signs.
You read that right. NO signs.
Hordes of young twenty somethings and the occasional thirty something scour the narrow alleys, a peculiar look of determination on their faces; their faces upturned, scanning the windows for signs that they’re on the right path (aka the hint of a line winding downwards from the entryway of a popular cafe). From a certain angle, this whole endeavor may seem excessively onerous. And it is. But it’s also what gives Hipjiro its allure.
Knowledge: the common denominator
What’s so special about Hipjiro (before it blew up) is that knowledge is (literally) key. You could have all the money in the world. But you wouldn’t be able to buy your way into one of Hipjiro’s staple cafes. You need knowledge that a certain cafe exists, tucked away on the fifth floor of a fifty year old building that’s just to the right of the third vista down from the station. Knowledge on Hipjiro back in 2018 was the NFT that gets you into exclusive brand events today.
Knowledge on Hipjiro back in 2018 was the NFT that gets you into exclusive brand events today.
The main route of discovery is—you’ve probably guessed it—Instagram. Images of cafes and bars portending a transportive experience away from the mundanity of Seoul proselytised quite a few people into pictorial sleuths. Something about sipping coffee from a vintage tea cup at a vintage-themed cafe overlooking Euljiro’s industrial skyline spoke to Seoulites. To be fair, it isn’t everyday that you get to channel hip retro vibes without feeling too anachronistic. This desire to take part in an immersive experience and flaunt it, propagated a chain of offline and online events that is touted as viral marketing. From the perspective of a brand marketer this is a dream come true. While the provenance of this phenomenon can’t be claimed to be 100% organic—it’s not unlikely that cafe/restaurant owners started the on-growing thread of enticing interior shots—what’s undeniable is that people caught on.
Public seclusion
A large part of people’s infatuation with Hipjiro is built upon a sense of public seclusion. Typically, privacy ceases the moment you walk outside of your flat. The doorstep is a liminal space that divides the private realm from that of the public. Once beyond this space, it is nearly impossible to shield oneself completely from the vision of others. Of course, those willing to spend a few extra dollars can buy seclusion via private rooms and services at restaurants, cinemas, department stores, etc. Such privacy though is usually considered a luxury—a privilege bestowed only upon those who can afford it.
Privacy operates on a different spectrum at Euljiro though. For those who have the knowledge, privacy becomes instantly accessible. Price is not so much a barrier; coffee, tea, small cakes and desserts at most of Euljiro’s cafes are priced at a range ($5~20) that is light on the wallet. Rather, the neighborhood’s exclusivity stems from the difficulty of unearthing and pinpointing the existence of a secluded spot. What awaits at the end of such hide-and-seek is a space that is sequestered from the rest of the world; an enclave designed to swath its occupants in a privacy that transports them to another more intimate setting. That most of Hipjiro’s cafes try to incorporate the neighborhood’s rusty, vintage feel imparts a velvety ambience redolent of a secret attic hideout onto its spaces.
The aesthetics of exclusivity
The people that come together at Hipjiro feel a camaraderie that springs forth from a mutual understanding that their exclusivity is a testament to their unique aesthetic.
Inhabiting a specific space, no matter how temporary, is an indication of choice. This choice is rooted in aesthetic and financial predilections that can’t be divorced from one another. As mentioned before, part of Hipjiro’s charm originates from an exclusivity that doesn’t discriminate based on economic wealth. The standard dichotomy of “haves” and “have nots” isn’t applicable to the Hipjiro ecosystem. Instead, exclusivity in this neighborhood is defined by an aesthetic that straddles two contradictory modes of being: social distancing and parlor chit-chatting. Hipjiro is the place for young millennials to allow the forlorn artists inside of them to socialize with other suppressed artistic souls.
This brings me to the branding takeaway for today.
People want the company of other like-minded individuals. By like-minded, I’m referring to people of the same vibe, energy, spirit. Assemble enough people who share similar vibes and you have a class. Get enough classes to co-exist within the same space and you have an ecosystem. Euljiro is magical in the sense that it desists from subscribing to the hierarchical norms of society. The neighborhood invented its own lexicon of exclusivity that excludes only those who do not share the same aesthetic yearnings. This exclusivity is loose around the edges and a far cry from the gatekeeping done by traditional institutions. And it is this openness that attracts Seoul’s youth, who are (yet) small in their spendings but big on their dreams.