The Lost Traditions of Men’s Hairstyles in Joseon

When Hair Meant Honor

In today’s world, hair is often a matter of fashion. But in Joseon-era Korea (1392–1897), a man’s hairstyle signified maturity, morality, social rank, and identity. From childhood to old age, the hair on a man's head was a public declaration of his role in society—deeply shaped by Confucian values and strict social codes.

 

Because grooming was not only aesthetic but symbolic, hairstyles in Joseon weren’t just personal choices—they were culturally assigned milestones. And unlike in the West, where facial hair or wigs came and went as trends, Korean men’s hairstyles followed a strict life-cycle: starting with long, unbound hair in youth and ending with the dignified topknot and hat of adulthood.

 

As a result, when we explore the lost hairstyles of Joseon men, we uncover a philosophy of life stages, duty, and visual discipline—one that linked the scalp to the soul.

 

The Unbound Hair of Youth: Shaggy Heads and Social Limbo

In Joseon Korea, young boys wore their hair long and loose, often parted or tied loosely at the nape. This unbound hairstyle (상투 전, before sangtu) reflected incompletion—a visual marker that the boy had not yet reached adulthood.

 

Because Joseon society was built on Confucian hierarchy and age-based roles, a child’s loose hair symbolized his immaturity and lack of social responsibility. He was not yet a man, not yet bound by the duties of family, nation, or ritual.

 

The hair was not to be cut, however, as body and hair were considered gifts from one's parents, and altering them was discouraged unless required by mourning or illness.

 

As a result, a boy’s long hair marked potential, not identity—a phase of growth, watched carefully by elders for the time when he could be “tied” into the social order.

 

The Coming of Age: The Sangtu Ceremony and Topknot Initiation

The transformation from boy to man in Joseon society was marked by a ritual called “Gwanrye (관례)”, during which a young man would tie his hair into his first sangtu (상투)—a topknot that symbolized entry into adulthood.

 

Because Joseon Korea was built on Confucian principles of self-cultivation and filial duty, this hairstyle change was more than cosmetic. It marked the beginning of moral accountability, family leadership, and marriage eligibility.

 

The sangtu was tied high on the crown of the head, often with a wooden or bone hairpin (비녀), and sometimes oiled to stay in place. From this moment forward, a man was visually and culturally transformed.

 

As a result, the sangtu became the most important hairstyle of a man’s life, tied not by a barber, but by elders—embedding him into the ancestral chain of men who had gone before him.

 

 

Hats and Hair: The Gat and the Politics of Presentation

After adopting the sangtu, Joseon men rarely showed their hair in public. Instead, the gat (갓)—a wide-brimmed horsehair hat—was worn over the topknot. This hat served not only as sunshade but as a signifier of dignity, scholarship, and status.

 

Because exposure of the hair could be considered informal or inappropriate, the gat acted as a mobile symbol of decorum. Its transparency revealed the topknot while still framing it within boundaries—mirroring Confucian ideals of visible virtue and hidden passion.

 

Hats were customized by rank: black gat for scholars, wide straw hats for officials in summer, fur hats in winter, and rigid military versions for soldiers. Some hats were so wide and high they created a literal barrier between the man and the world—a symbol of inner cultivation and societal separation.

 

As a result, the topknot was never just tied—it was protected, exalted, and aestheticized, showing how hair and headdress merged into a philosophy of propriety.

 

Mourning and Hair: When Grief Untied the Knot

In the Confucian mourning tradition, death undoes the living—and in Joseon, it also undid the hairstyle. When a parent died, men were expected to untie their sangtu, allowing their hair to fall freely, sometimes in disarray.

 

Because filial piety required that the body reflect the soul, untying the knot served as a visible symbol of grief and disruption. Men would wear mourning clothes, walk barefoot, and let their hair go unkempt for extended periods—sometimes up to three years.

 

This reversal of grooming standards was not viewed as shameful, but honorable. It demonstrated deep emotional loss and social humility.

 

As a result, the status of a man’s hair became a living mirror of emotional and ethical condition—carefully maintained in peace, and unbound in pain.

 

Facial Hair and Grooming: Beards, Mustaches, and Meaning

While the topknot dominated the crown, the face was its own canvas. Facial hair in Joseon was a topic of intense debate and symbolic tension. Some scholars kept beards as marks of wisdom and maturity, while others shaved to emphasize cleanliness and humility.

 

Because Confucianism valued naturalness, many men allowed beards to grow with age. The “wise man’s beard” became associated with scholars, while smooth chins were more typical of civil officials or military men in active roles.

 

Mustaches, however, were less common and often frowned upon, associated with foreigners or unruly masculinity. Still, some portraits show noblemen with neatly trimmed whiskers—suggesting that grooming was always a balancing act between identity and ideology.

 

As a result, the face—like the hair—became a site of moral and aesthetic negotiation, where style was always second to meaning.

 

Hair and Class: Hairstyles of the Commoner vs. Yangban Elite

Not all men could maintain elaborate hairstyles. The yangban class (scholar-officials) had the leisure, materials, and rituals to maintain their sangtu and hats with precision. But peasants and laborers, who worked long hours under the sun, often modified their topknots or wore simpler coverings like headbands or cloth wraps.

 

Because clothing and appearance were controlled by sumptuary laws, commoners were prohibited from wearing certain hats or accessories. Still, they preserved the essence of Confucian grooming—cleanliness, modesty, and visual order—even with limited means.

 

For some, the hair was tied more loosely, covered with a cloth. For others, the sangtu was formed only on ceremonial occasions like weddings or ancestral rites.

 

As a result, hair became a visual index of class, a quiet language that told who had time for cultivation—and who carried culture under sweat and soil.

 

 

The Fall of the Topknot: Modernization and Loss

With the fall of the Joseon Dynasty and the rise of modernization in the early 20th century, the topknot tradition collapsed under Western influence. In 1895, Emperor Gojong issued the Short Hair Ordinance (단발령), forcing Korean men to cut their topknots as a symbol of progress.

 

Because the sangtu was not just a hairstyle but a cultural identity, many resisted. Cutting the topknot was seen as cutting away one’s Confucian virtue, family duty, and masculine dignity. Riots broke out. Elders wept. Some men chose to flee rather than surrender their hair.

 

But the wave of change was unstoppable. Within a generation, the sight of a topknot became rare, then vanished.

As a result, an entire system of visual identity—built over 500 years—was undone. Yet in portraits, films, and memories, the sangtu lives on, reminding Koreans that hair was once not vanity, but the visible root of the self.