April 28, 2025
SEOUL – Beneath the glitz and glamour of K-pop, countless trainees, many still in their teens, spend years perfecting their vocals and choreography, clinging to the hope of one day stepping into the spotlight.
A 2022 survey by the Korea Creative Content Agency put their numbers at 1,170. But this figure leaves out K-pop star wannabes outside entertainment agencies — those training at independent dance studios or trying their luck on platforms like YouTube.
For many, the pursuit consumes their entire adolescence. But what happens to those who don’t make it? What becomes of the lives shaped around a dream that never came true? We interviewed three former K-pop trainees to find out.
‘The things that didn’t work out helped shape who I am today’
Park Hae-wan, a 31-year-old merchandiser at a food company in Gyeonggi Province, came close to making it. He was part of a “debut team” consisting only of debut-ready trainees at one of Korea’s top three entertainment agencies.
During his trainee years from ages 14 through 18, he traded schoolwork for daily vocal and dance practice — at least eight hours per day.
“Each year, not just the company but the industry itself seems to favor a certain ‘type’ of idol. Talent matters, of course, but I realized that other factors played a much bigger role,” he told The Korea Herald. “Though it was disappointing, I decided it was time to move on before it got too late.”
Once he left the agency, he turned to studying and was admitted to a university in Daegu. He later worked for two to three years as a vocal coach for idol trainees before securing a more stable role at his current company.
According to Park, many trainees who drop out around the ages of 18 or 19 either resume their studies or take on part-time jobs to make a living.
Having spent their formative years around celebrities and chasing idealized self-images, the young trainees, he explained, can lose touch with reality, leading to self-doubt and anxiety about life beyond K-pop.
“When I was young, not debuting felt like the end of everything. But even the things that didn’t work out helped shape who I am today. My experience interacting with adults during training gave me valuable skills for the workplace,” he said.
“I think preparing for the possibility that your dream might not come true is just as important as chasing it.”
Lost dream revived on YouTube
Jeon Yoon-jeong, 29, a psychology graduate from Sogang University, recently surprised her friends by revealing a little-known chapter of her past: six years of K-pop idol training that began in elementary school.
As a young K-pop fan who adored groups like Wonder Girls, Big Bang and TVXQ, Jeon first dreamed of becoming an idol after performing the choreography to Wonder Girls’ hit “Tell Me” at a school talent show.
Joining an entertainment agency as a trainee was the first step toward that dream. From the age of 13 through high school, she auditioned over 300 times for agencies of all sizes.
At 19, her efforts finally paid off when she passed an audition for Mystic Story, a subsidiary of K-pop powerhouse S.M. Entertainment founded in 2013 by singer-songwriter Yoon Jong-shin.
“I poured eight hours a day into vocal and dance training as a trainee. But just before I could even join a debut team, the company abruptly scrapped its plans for a girl group. I had no choice but to walk away,” she told The Korea Herald.
Letting go of her idol dream for the time being, she enrolled in a nursing program at a local vocational college and later transferred to Sogang University in 2019 to study psychology, a field she had always been curious about.
“I never lost interest in academics, even while preparing to become an idol. I hoped that if I ever became famous, people would say I had worked hard in school,” she said. “I didn’t end up becoming an idol, but I think having that dream pushed me to work hard and keep up with my studies.”
The stage she once chased as a trainee is no longer her goal, but music is still very much a part of her life.
She performed as a vocalist for the university’s R&B music club Abyss, as well as the intercollegiate band club Youth Planning. A year ago, she launched her own YouTube channel, P.ne, where she has been uploading covers of others’ songs along with videos documenting her everyday life as a college student.
“Even if I didn’t debut as a professional singer, I believe I can still pursue my passion by sharing music on platforms like Instagram and YouTube. No matter where life takes me, whether it’s graduate school for psychology or a corporate job, I want music to always be a part of who I am,” she said.
“Through various club activities, I realized I wanted to create and sing my own music. I hope to grow as a singer-songwriter by sharing music-related content on YouTube. Back when I was training to be an idol, I used to sing for auditions and agency staff. But now, I can focus on singing the songs I truly love.”
She noted that her story of an unrealized dream would resonate not only with teenagers dreaming of becoming idols, but with anyone preparing for a challenge, from university admissions to landing a job, emphasizing the value of having a dream, regardless of the outcome.
“Just having that dream kept me on the right track. I worked hard in school and tried to be honest in everything, even something as small as not throwing trash on the street,” she said.
“While many of my peers were all taking the usual route — studying hard for college –some of them told me they admired the fact that I had something I was passionate about. I never made it on stage as an idol, but I have no regrets. I picked up life lessons no textbook could ever teach me.”
From idol trainee to K-pop marketer
Lee Ye-youn, a 27-year-old office worker, once pursued the path of an idol trainee while in college. She was 23 at the time — an age many consider too late to start training.
Her days followed a strict routine. She went to school in the morning, then rushed to the company by 3 p.m. for vocal lessons, followed by solo practice and hours of group choreography in the evening. Most nights, she didn’t get home until 11 p.m.
After a year of training, she was accepted by a small entertainment agency, but she left shortly after, discouraged by the slim chances of actually getting her debut.
“Before I started training, I thought having talent would be enough to get a chance. But things turned out to be way more competitive and complicated than I expected. Most of the trainees had started when they were in elementary school, and a lot of them were already in their midteens. There were many trainees from overseas,” Lee told The Korea Herald.
“A debut felt like a distant and uncertain goal. Also, life as a trainee seemed less about expressing myself on stage and more about being shaped into a marketable product. It wasn’t in line with my identity or goals.”
Her idol career never took off, but the experience she gained as a trainee played a major role in shaping her professional path.
Holding on to her passion for K-pop, she joined one of Korea’s top three entertainment agencies in January last year, where she worked on artist-related marketing.
Her time as a trainee exposed her — both directly and indirectly — to various aspects of the K-pop industry, including trends in music, performance and fashion, all of which gave her a deeper understanding of the industry as a whole, she explained.
“I applied to an entertainment agency hoping to better understand how K-pop operates behind the scenes and to play a small but meaningful role in its growth.”
Lee recently transitioned to an artificial intelligence startup, where she now works on issues related to content management.
“I’m interested in protecting the rights of artists and creators in the digital space,” she said. “The most rewarding part of my job is seeing illegal content actually get taken down.”