For those seeking K-pop stardom, the path can be long and grueling

By Jessie Yeung, CNN

Seoul, South Korea (CNN) — Seven girls sit in a room, waiting for their name to be called. All of them are young, slim and gorgeous, ranging in age from 14 to 20, with glossy hair and flawless skin. Anticipation hangs in the air, and nerves are written plain on their faces.

They’re about to find out which among them will make the cut to be in South Korea’s newest K-pop group – a dream shared by countless young hopefuls across the country, and increasingly the world, as the multibillion-dollar industry surges in global popularity.

But it’s a long, grueling path to get into that room. The girls have spent months or years training in singing, dancing, rapping and performing – all while following demanding exercise and diet regimens.

Several have given up their formal education or left families hundreds of miles away. And in the fast-moving world of K-pop, where stars trend young and groups often disband after just a few years, some girls feel like this is their only shot.

“In the idol world, 18 is very old … so if I miss this opportunity, I worry whether there will be another place other than this company that would accept me,” said 18-year-old Ah-In Lee, one of the seven final trainees at K-pop company MZMC.

CNN’s Kyung Lah was granted exclusive access to MZMC’s final week of training before launching its first-ever group for a documentary aired on “The Whole Story With Anderson Cooper.”

MZMC founder and CEO Paul Thompson, an American who has written and produced hundreds of K-pop songs, estimates they went through thousands of auditions before selecting about 30 girls as official trainees – of which now only seven remain.

The rest either dropped out or were cut during monthly evaluations that gauged if trainees were improving fast enough.

These eliminations are the norm in the massive K-pop machine, which stands apart from other music industries worldwide for the scale of its artist development and production programs. Agencies don’t just train and select stars – they dictate their schedules, prepare their public debuts, manage their media appearances and concerts, encourage online fan interactions, and even oversee many parts of the stars’ personal lives.

The United States once had a similar version of this system in Motown, with the label scouting young talent throughout the 1960s and ‘70s and teaching them how to perform – but it disappeared “because it’s too expensive,” Thompson said.

But in South Korea, it has flourished – MZMC is a relatively small company. Thompson estimated larger labels can sign hundreds of trainees before whittling them down to a final selection.

One of those seven girls at MZMC is Brittney Jang, a soft-spoken 20-year-old who grew up in the US before returning to her birthplace of South Korea to pursue her K-pop dreams. The oldest of the trainees, she seemed confident about her chances of making the final five – perhaps because she knew what was at stake.

If she isn’t selected, “that means that I can’t become an idol,” she told CNN, using a term commonly used for K-pop stars. “This is my last chance.”

Relentless training and pressure

For the girls every day begins with two hours in the gym before a full day of classes including vocal and dance lessons. Younger members like 14-year-old Liwon Kim attend half a day of regular school before going straight to training, which can last until midnight.

Some don’t even live with their families, instead staying in dormitories – like 17-year-old Rana Koga from Japan, the only non-Korean trainee.

The pressure can be relentless, with scrutiny of their appearance, as well as their skills. Part of this reflects the culture in South Korea, where rigid beauty standards have traditionally valued fair skin, slender physiques and hyper-feminine features. Plastic surgery procedures like double-eyelid surgery are so common they’re often offered to teenagers as graduation gifts from parents.

Beauty standards are even higher for K-pop stars.

“The word is idol,” argues Thompson, the MZMC founder. “Nobody wants to idolize someone who reminds them of yourself. You want to look up to someone and say, ‘I want to be like that person. Look how pristine and perfect they are.’”

But the demand for thinness can turn dark.

“Definitely, people have been cut (from training programs) for their weight,” said Amber Liu, a Taiwanese-American former idol turned indie artist. “I developed a very unhealthy habit of just starving myself … I was 16, I didn’t know what to do.”

Min, another independent musician who used to be part of K-pop group Miss A, told CNN 100 pounds (about 45 kilograms) is considered the standard weight for a female idol.

Those expectations color the daily lives of the MZMC trainees, who closely track their intake and weight.

“I have to eat while lessening the amount of food and calculating the nutritional value and calories. That’s a bit difficult,” said Lee, the 18-year-old trainee, giggling as she listed pizza as a favorite food.

But, she added, “you could say that (appearance is) the most important thing for an idol because it’s a job where being seen is the most important thing.”

Thompson, the CEO, said the agency measures the trainees’ body mass index twice a month. “We provide them with roasted chicken and boiled eggs and things like that…They’re eating enough,” he said, defending the diet as key to the group’s “visual aesthetic.”

He also insisted that the agency doesn’t push any trainees into plastic surgery, saying he valued their musical talents first and foremost.

Still, the thought lingers in the girls’ minds.

Seoyoung Yun, a 16-year-old trainee, is energetic and confident, sporting black hair cut into stylish bangs – and has long played with the idea of getting plastic surgery on her eyes.

“My job is one that needs to be loved by the public, so if the public wants or needs me to show a prettier side for my debut, I think it’s okay to do so,” she said.

Her father had previously objected, and she seemed swayed for a moment, musing that being “confident in my natural self” might win her fans who “appreciate that authenticity.”

But in the end, her vision of stardom is winning out.

“If it’s plastic surgery that doesn’t deviate too much from my current appearance, then yes,” she concluded. “If it’s for success, then I think it’s okay to do it.”

The price of fame

Even when a group is finalized and makes its public debut, the pressure doesn’t ease. If anything, the stakes grow higher.

Of all the groups that debut the saturated market, less than 1% achieve the level of global fame set by now-household names like BTS or Blackpink, said Woonghee Kim, MZMC’s casting director.

And popularity brings its own limitations. Fervid superfans of high-profile groups often pore over members’ appearances, performances, and private lives. Perceived “bad” behavior such as smoking or drinking can earn widespread public backlash, forcing stars to live under strict rules.

That even extends to dating. In past years, angry fans have turned against artists who publicize their relationships. Last year, K-pop singer Karina of the girl group Aespa had to post a handwritten apology online after confirming her relationship with an actor, which prompted fans to threaten “declining album sales and empty concert seats.” Just weeks later, the relationship ended.

Experts have previously told CNN the phenomenon is partly due to the industry being built around the fans, who commonly make charitable donations in celebrities’ names, or pay for independent ads promoting tours or albums. But this extreme loyalty also means artists and agencies are tightly tied to fan demands and desires.

“There’s certain things like that, we train the girls to be aware,” Thompson said. “If you’re going to do these things (dating or drinking) when you’re older, you have to be more private about it.”

Some agencies have relaxed their rules in recent years, after a spate of high-profile deaths highlighted the mental health toll on idols.

Yun, the 16-year-old, experienced a panic attack in 2023 after surviving three years of monthly eliminations. She was able to take four or five months off from training to recover, and hasn’t experienced further attacks since returning, her father told CNN.

Despite the immense pressures of the job, it remains a lifelong dream for many aspiring stars as the industry expands.

After breaking into the US market with Psy’s 2012 hit “Gangnam Style,” K-pop has gone globally mainstream, with Blackpink performing at Coachella and BTS earning five Grammy nominations over the years. K-pop has always been one of South Korea’s biggest cultural exports, and that influence has only swelled as other bestsellers – ranging from K-dramas to K-beauty – swept the world in the so-called “Korean wave.”

For the seven girls in that room, the chance to join this globe-spanning, culture-defining industry lies just on the other side of the door – where Thompson and other MZMC executives will reveal their fates.

One by one, the girls were called in – reacting with shock, joy, and some tears. By the end of that day, the new girl group was born: VVS, named after a rare grade of diamond, expected to make their official debut in early 2025.

Lee, Koga, Jang, Kim and final member Jiu Moon had all made it. But the mood was bittersweet, with two of their friends being cut, including Yun.

The two eliminated trainees eventually found other pathways, with Yun instead pursuing a solo rap career. But in the cutthroat world of K-pop, it’s anyone’s guess how far they will go.

“We will achieve a certain level of success. We will find the right fan base and the right people that will enjoy our music,” Thompson told CNN, soon after naming the final lineup.

“Does that mean we’ll be Blackpink?” he added. “Remains to be seen.”

This article has been updated.

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