Wall To Wall : From 'Soul-Scraping' to Inter-Floor Noise: The 84-Square-Meter Mirror of Korean Desire
The expression "84 square meters" is deeply familiar to Koreans. Most can instantly grasp what this number signifies. To a foreigner, however, the social and cultural implications embedded in this figure would be completely incomprehensible. This is because 84 square meters is more than a simple unit of area; it stands as a powerful symbol of a specific era and the desires of Korean society.
In Korea, 84 square meters represents the "national standard size," the most common and standardized apartment dimension. Tax issues play a decisive role in why this specific size became so important. Under housing-related tax laws, properties exceeding 85 square meters are often subject to higher tax rates or excluded from various benefits. Consequently, construction companies, catering to demand from buyers looking to minimize their tax burden, have mass-produced apartments that do not exceed this threshold. It is also generally considered the most suitable size for a typical four-person household.
Interestingly, there is no established theory as to why exactly "84" became the standard. Various hypotheses exist, but they remain mere speculation. Nevertheless, owning an 84-square-meter apartment carries significant social weight. Regardless of the region, owning a "national standard size" apartment is widely accepted as an indicator of having achieved a certain level of economic stability and success.
Especially in the Seoul metropolitan area, where housing prices have skyrocketed, purchasing an 84-square-meter apartment is no easy feat. This reality has given birth to the neologism 'yeong-kkeul,' which means "to scrape together even one's soul." It refers to the act of mobilizing all available credit, future income, and even help from family and friends to secure loans for a home purchase before prices climb even higher. This has become a defining social phenomenon.
Underlying the 'yeong-kkeul' trend is a powerful belief in the "myth of real estate invincibility"—the idea that property values will inevitably rise. The film <84 Square Meters> captures this contemporary backdrop and its symbolism perfectly. Those who buy a home through 'yeong-kkeul' often endure a grueling life under the pressure of monthly principal and interest payments. Many find themselves using the majority of their income to service debt, leaving little room for any other consumption.
The film's protagonist, No Woo-seong (played by Kang Ha-neul), is a portrait of this generation. He seemed to have reached the threshold of success by acquiring his dream 84-square-meter apartment through 'yeong-kkeul.' But his happiness is short-lived. The apartment's value plummets, he goes through a divorce, and his life spirals into ruin. To make matters worse, he is tormented by mysterious inter-floor noise, yet his neighbors mistakenly blame him as the source of the disturbance.
Unable to cover the massive loan payments with his salary alone, Woo-seong takes on a part-time delivery job to make ends meet. One day, he happens to overhear information about a cryptocurrency scheme. Feeling he has nothing left to lose, in a final act of desperation, he decides to sell his apartment and invests the down payment into the crypto venture as a chance to turn his life around.
His choice is the last resort of a man pushed to the brink. While he clings to a sliver of hope for a better turn of events, reality only grows harsher. The inter-floor noise problem worsens without any sign of resolution, and despite being a victim himself, his neighbors aggressively confront and blame him. The residents' representative, Jeon Eun-hwa (played by Yeom Hye-ran), steps in, but only to silence him.
Jeon Eun-hwa's true motive lies elsewhere. She is buoyed by the expectation that apartment prices will surge once a new GTX (Great Train eXpress) line is confirmed nearby. She fears that if the noise issue becomes public knowledge, it will tarnish the building's reputation and put a brake on the rising property values. Her character starkly reveals a mindset that prioritizes collective selfishness and the desire for financial gain over an individual's well-being.
In this way, the film realistically portrays the various debates and conflicts surrounding apartments in Korean society. The unique situation in Korea—where apartments are seen not just as living spaces but as tools for wealth accumulation and symbols of social status—can be perceived as an incomprehensible obsession in other countries, where apartments are often associated with rentals or lower-income housing. Through a subject that any member of Korean society can relate to, the film reflects the myriad human desires tied to the apartment, compelling us to look back at the current state of our society.
In Korea, 84 square meters represents the "national standard size," the most common and standardized apartment dimension. Tax issues play a decisive role in why this specific size became so important. Under housing-related tax laws, properties exceeding 85 square meters are often subject to higher tax rates or excluded from various benefits. Consequently, construction companies, catering to demand from buyers looking to minimize their tax burden, have mass-produced apartments that do not exceed this threshold. It is also generally considered the most suitable size for a typical four-person household.
Interestingly, there is no established theory as to why exactly "84" became the standard. Various hypotheses exist, but they remain mere speculation. Nevertheless, owning an 84-square-meter apartment carries significant social weight. Regardless of the region, owning a "national standard size" apartment is widely accepted as an indicator of having achieved a certain level of economic stability and success.
Especially in the Seoul metropolitan area, where housing prices have skyrocketed, purchasing an 84-square-meter apartment is no easy feat. This reality has given birth to the neologism 'yeong-kkeul,' which means "to scrape together even one's soul." It refers to the act of mobilizing all available credit, future income, and even help from family and friends to secure loans for a home purchase before prices climb even higher. This has become a defining social phenomenon.
Underlying the 'yeong-kkeul' trend is a powerful belief in the "myth of real estate invincibility"—the idea that property values will inevitably rise. The film <84 Square Meters> captures this contemporary backdrop and its symbolism perfectly. Those who buy a home through 'yeong-kkeul' often endure a grueling life under the pressure of monthly principal and interest payments. Many find themselves using the majority of their income to service debt, leaving little room for any other consumption.
The film's protagonist, No Woo-seong (played by Kang Ha-neul), is a portrait of this generation. He seemed to have reached the threshold of success by acquiring his dream 84-square-meter apartment through 'yeong-kkeul.' But his happiness is short-lived. The apartment's value plummets, he goes through a divorce, and his life spirals into ruin. To make matters worse, he is tormented by mysterious inter-floor noise, yet his neighbors mistakenly blame him as the source of the disturbance.
Unable to cover the massive loan payments with his salary alone, Woo-seong takes on a part-time delivery job to make ends meet. One day, he happens to overhear information about a cryptocurrency scheme. Feeling he has nothing left to lose, in a final act of desperation, he decides to sell his apartment and invests the down payment into the crypto venture as a chance to turn his life around.
His choice is the last resort of a man pushed to the brink. While he clings to a sliver of hope for a better turn of events, reality only grows harsher. The inter-floor noise problem worsens without any sign of resolution, and despite being a victim himself, his neighbors aggressively confront and blame him. The residents' representative, Jeon Eun-hwa (played by Yeom Hye-ran), steps in, but only to silence him.
Jeon Eun-hwa's true motive lies elsewhere. She is buoyed by the expectation that apartment prices will surge once a new GTX (Great Train eXpress) line is confirmed nearby. She fears that if the noise issue becomes public knowledge, it will tarnish the building's reputation and put a brake on the rising property values. Her character starkly reveals a mindset that prioritizes collective selfishness and the desire for financial gain over an individual's well-being.
In this way, the film realistically portrays the various debates and conflicts surrounding apartments in Korean society. The unique situation in Korea—where apartments are seen not just as living spaces but as tools for wealth accumulation and symbols of social status—can be perceived as an incomprehensible obsession in other countries, where apartments are often associated with rentals or lower-income housing. Through a subject that any member of Korean society can relate to, the film reflects the myriad human desires tied to the apartment, compelling us to look back at the current state of our society.
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