0.cached.png
By Newsweek Editors
0
Share
Newsweek is a Trust Project member
See more of our trusted coverage when you search.Prefer Newsweek on Googleto see more of our trusted coverage when you search.
The morning after South Korea's magical World Cup run came to an end last week, the streets of downtown Seoul were eerily quiet. Gone were the millions of delirious fans singing, dancing and embracing each other in a festival of patriotic fervor. The fireworks had fizzled out. The drums had gone silent. And the ubiquitous red shirts had been tucked away in people's closets, replaced on the street by the usual army of dark business suits. "We're known as a cooking-pot culture because we go hot and cold very quickly," says Lee Cheong Il, a 26-year-old bank teller. "But we better not let the feeling of the World Cup slip away."
Despite a loss in the third-place match to Turkey--and a naval clash with North Korea that left at least four South Korean soldiers dead and tensions between the two countries dangerously high--Koreans are hoping to keep the good feelings inspired by the World Cup alive. The mere fact that the indefatigable Korean team--winless in five previous Cups--notched victories over four European soccer powers sparked a national catharsis. Now it wants to capitalize on that success to keep the nation's pride--and profits--flowing. Says former foreign minister Han Seung Joo: "The World Cup marks a dividing line, a crossing from our past into our future."
So what will the future hold? Well, for one thing, men's cosmetics. The popularity of Ahn Jung Hwan, the dashing, mop-haired striker, has Korean men (or, more likely, their wives) yearning for his silky skin and well-permed hair. Ahn's ads have boosted online sales of Somang cosmetics sixfold in the past month, according to the online mall Interpark.
Read More on News
The next big winner: anything Dutch. Guus Hiddink, the Dutch coach who turned the bumbling Korean team into a world-class side in just 18 months, has become a hero--a remarkable feat in a country that, with its history of foreign invasions and occupations, is distrustful of anything foreign. The "Hiddink syndrome" has even spurred a sharp interest in Grolsch beer, Gouda cheese and--don't yawn--courses in Dutch medieval history. Hiddink's biggest impact, however, may be in the boardroom. "He broke down traditional hierarchies," says Kang Han Soo, a researcher for the Samsung Economic Research Institute, who just published a report on "Hiddink's management principles." "Our companies are now trying to put these lessons into practice." Chaebols, the family-run conglomerates that dominate the Korean economy, are notoriously resistant to change. Still, says one member of the Korean elite, "this will give a great deal of ammunition to those within these companies who argue for a more pragmatic and less parochial approach."
Korea Inc. is betting that the Cup will boost its image around the world. KT, Korea's biggest telecom, spent more than $100 million to sponsor the World Cup, but it hopes the exposure will sharply increase its value when it privatizes next month. Samsung and Hyundai Motor, both heavy Cup advertisers, used to fudge the fact they were Korean companies. But as their products and sales improve abroad--and as the World Cup showcased Korean efficiency--"Made in Korea" is losing its stigma.
The World Cup has come to the rescue of politicians, too. Korea's success provided President Kim Dae Jung a distraction from his sons' corruption scandals. But the real beneficiary is Chung Mong Joon, head of the Korean Football Association and potential presidential candidate. Chung, the 51-year-old son of Hyundai Group founder Chung Ju Yung, helped lure both the World Cup and Hiddink to Korea. And according to the latest newspaper poll, World Cup fever has lifted his approval rating past ruling-party candidate Roh Moo Hyun--and not far behind opposition candidate Lee Hoi Chang. Chung remains coy about his ambitions, but he could play the role of spoiler in December's presidential election.
The biggest winners, however, are the Korean people. Sandwiched between two giants, victims of repeated foreign invasions, Koreans suffer from chronic insecurity. But cohosting the World Cup, beating the Europeans at their own game, bringing the nation together: all of these have filled Koreans with a newfound sense of self-confidence. Perhaps the streets of Korea will never again feel the thunderous excitement of 7 million fans willing their team to perform the next miracle. But now Koreans know what it feels like to stand up as a nation--and have the rest of the world take notice.
View 0 Comments
Submit Correction
View Editorial & AI Guidelines