In contemporary pop culture, K-pop girl groups have achieved enormous global visibility. Yet paradoxically, they rarely succeed in attracting a large male audience. The reason lies not simply in music or marketing strategy, but in the psychological fantasy they are designed to sell.
The core narrative behind many K-pop girl groups is not primarily directed toward men. Instead, it is aimed at ordinary women who imagine themselves, through these performers, as irresistibly alluring figures in the eyes of men. The fantasy unfolds like this: a woman who appears captivating and desirable, yet remains emotionally distant—offering men a mixture of teasing charm, subtle mockery, cool indifference, and confident superiority.
In essence, what they sell is a type of elevated “goddess fantasy.” Beneath the surface, this fantasy satisfies a subconscious desire: the idea that female sexuality can be used to command, manipulate, or control male attention.
This psychological dynamic reveals a deeper impulse—the latent desire for power and recognition. Through identification with the idol, ordinary women symbolically share in her perceived dominance over male attention. The success of the idol becomes a proxy for their own sense of validation and self-worth.
When a fan sees the idol adored, pursued, and desired, she may unconsciously experience a form of shared achievement. The idol’s power over male attention becomes a symbolic confirmation of the fan’s own value.
But this also exposes a troubling pattern: for many women, self-recognition becomes inseparable from male attention. The yardstick for self-worth quietly shifts away from objective accomplishments—such as professional ability or personal achievements—and toward a single measure: whether or not they attract attention from the opposite sex.
In simple terms:
If men pay attention to her, she feels validated.
If they do not, she struggles to affirm her own value.
Without that external confirmation, many find it difficult to establish another framework for self-recognition. As a result, their sense of worth becomes subtly dependent on male approval. This dependence breeds insecurity, self-doubt, and a lifelong search for validation.
Ironically, modern discourse often frames women as independent protagonists determined to free themselves from male expectations. Public rhetoric emphasizes autonomy and empowerment. Yet beneath this outward declaration, traces of the same dependency still surface—sometimes subtly, sometimes unmistakably.
The more independence is proclaimed, the more the underlying need for male recognition may quietly persist.
This contradiction explains why the true audience of many K-pop girl groups is overwhelmingly female. They do not primarily function as entertainment for men. Instead, they serve as mirrors for female fantasy—fantasies about power, desirability, and control over male attention.
Scarlett O’Hara: A Very Different Kind of Strength
A strikingly different portrayal of female power appears in Gone with the Wind, through the unforgettable character Scarlett O’Hara, created by Margaret Mitchell.
Mitchell spent nearly a decade crafting Scarlett—a heroine deeply flawed, often vain, impulsive, and sometimes unapologetically selfish. Yet when readers close the novel, what lingers is not her faults but her fierce vitality.
The novel’s opening line immediately sets the tone: Scarlett is not conventionally beautiful. At sixteen, she possesses a pair of restless green eyes—mischievous, stubborn, and entirely at odds with the refined Southern lady she tries to appear to be.
In the society of the American South before the Civil War, women were expected to appear delicate and submissive in order to secure marriage. Scarlett mastered the art of performance. She could pretend to faint at the sight of a mouse, even though she had grown up climbing trees and riding horses. She could flatter men she secretly considered foolish. She knew she was acting—and she understood why.
Yet one man saw through her immediately: Rhett Butler. Unlike others, he recognized that she was not a conventional lady at all, but someone with a fiery temperament and an intense passion for life. And he admired her precisely because of it.
Before the age of sixteen, Scarlett’s world revolved around dresses, dances, and the men who admired her. But the outbreak of the American Civil War shattered that world.
She watched her homeland collapse. Her mother died. Her father lost his sanity. Her sisters lay sick in bed. Then came the cruelest moment: a tax collector demanded three hundred dollars—an enormous sum at the time—or her family estate, Tara, would be seized.
Scarlett faced a brutal choice. Unable to raise the money, she remembered that her sister had a fiancé named Frank who possessed some wealth. Without hesitation, Scarlett married him herself.
Was it moral? Perhaps not. But in that moment, the alternative was starvation.
After marriage, she took over Frank’s business, borrowed money, and invested in a lumber mill. Every day she drove her carriage across town conducting business. Neighbors condemned her as unfeminine. Relatives called her disgraceful. She ignored them all.
Frank himself eventually realized the truth: the soft and charming woman he had married had transformed into someone decisive, relentless, and unafraid of hard work—qualities society insisted women should not possess.
The Core of Scarlett’s Strength
Scarlett’s greatness lies in one defining quality: she cannot be broken.
During the war she escapes through burning cities with a woman who has just given birth. When Tara falls into ruin, she kneels in the fields digging up radishes to eat. When poverty threatens the family, she seizes every opportunity to rebuild. When tragedy strikes—her daughter’s death, Rhett’s departure—she cries, then stands up and declares that tomorrow will bring another chance.
Even more remarkable is her independence.
During the Civil War era, women were expected to rely entirely on men. Marriage and motherhood were considered their only legitimate roles. Yet Scarlett never believed herself inferior to men. Nor did she intend to rely on them.
Even after marrying the immensely wealthy Rhett Butler, she refuses to abandon her business ventures. She continues managing the lumber mill, negotiating deals, and pursuing profit. She understands a simple truth: love and marriage are unreliable foundations for survival. Ultimately, a person must rely on themselves.
This dual independence—economic and psychological—made her an anomaly in her time. But Scarlett did not care about conformity. She simply pursued what she wanted.
She may not be the “ideal woman” people dream of marrying. Yet she is a figure who commands deep respect. Because when life collapses—when hunger, war, or disaster strip away social pretenses—someone like Scarlett becomes indispensable.
She is the person who rolls up her sleeves, digs radishes from the dirt, builds businesses, feeds her family, and refuses to surrender.
Two Visions of Female Power
Placed side by side, these two portrayals reveal two very different ideas of female strength.
The fantasy surrounding many idol girl groups centers on attention—especially male attention. Power is imagined as desirability, as the ability to attract, tease, and subtly command the gaze of others. In this framework, recognition from the opposite sex becomes the stage on which female value is performed.
Scarlett O’Hara represents something else entirely.
Her strength has little to do with being admired. It appears when the world collapses—when war destroys her home, when hunger threatens her family, when love fails her. In those moments, what defines her is not charm or desirability, but stubborn resilience. She survives because she refuses to give up, and because she believes that her life ultimately depends on her own actions.
This difference matters.
One kind of power lives in imagination and symbolism, sustained by the gaze of others. The other exists in the stubborn reality of living—working, enduring, rebuilding when everything falls apart.vScarlett may not be the kind of woman people dream of marrying, but she is the kind of person you would want beside you.
Female strength does not come from being seen. It comes from standing up, wiping away the tears, and saying quietly to herself: Tomorrow is another day.
Natalie Feng 
Leave a comment