How Korea’s Coming-of-Age Ceremonies Have Evolved

Coming of Age in a Changing Nation

In every society, the transition from childhood to adulthood is more than a biological milestone—it is a cultural moment, loaded with meaning, memory, and expectation. In Korea, this passage has historically been marked through formal coming-of-age ceremonies rooted in Confucian tradition. Yet today, it is more common for young adults to receive a rose, a bottle of perfume, and a kiss than to don traditional garb or receive a new adult name. While the symbols have changed, the core idea remains: society must recognize when someone becomes an adult.

 

What makes Korea’s coming-of-age tradition particularly compelling is how it has not disappeared, but instead evolved—shaped by history, ideology, capitalism, and technology. The question isn’t whether these rituals exist today, but what they look like now, and what they tell us about Korean identity, gender, family, and generational values. From Confucian rites of passage like Gwanrye and Gyerye to Coming-of-Age Day celebrations filled with flowers and photo shoots, Korea’s way of defining adulthood reflects broader cultural transitions.

 

The coming-of-age moment in Korea operates within a unique cultural matrix. In contrast to individualistic societies where adulthood is often defined by legal age or personal achievement, Korea’s collectivist roots embed this transition within the fabric of family and society. In this way, Korean coming-of-age ceremonies reflect not just personal transformation, but the continuation of generational responsibility and cultural memory.

 

 

Gwanrye and Gyerye: Confucian Foundations of Korean Adulthood

In pre-modern Korea, the official beginning of adulthood was not determined by reaching a certain age, but by undergoing the formal rituals of Gwanrye (관례) for boys and Gyerye (계례) for girls. These ceremonies were deeply embedded in Confucian values, emphasizing moral responsibility, filial piety, and one's place within the family hierarchy and broader community.

 

During a Gwanrye ceremony, a boy typically around the age of 15 would tie his hair in a topknot (sangtu), change into formal adult clothing (gwanbok), and receive a new adult name (ja). For girls, the Gyerye ceremony included wearing her hair in a bun and changing into traditional female garments—symbolizing readiness for marriage and household responsibility.

 

These rituals were more than symbolic. They formalized one’s role in ancestral rites, property inheritance, and moral duty. By performing these rites, young people entered into adulthood not only as individuals but as active participants in a social and cosmic order.

 

The significance of Gwanrye and Gyerye cannot be overstated. In Confucian Korea, failing to undergo a proper coming-of-age ritual could be seen as social failure—not only for the individual, but also for the family, which would be perceived as lacking proper moral training. Confucian scholars warned that children who became adults without these ceremonies risked losing their ethical compass.

 

However, with the decline of the Joseon Dynasty and the intrusion of colonial rule, these rituals began to disappear. Japanese colonial authorities (1910–1945) actively suppressed Korean cultural practices and promoted their own Shinto-based state rituals. Following liberation, Korea’s focus shifted to modernization, industrialization, and survival—leaving little space for the elaborate rituals of the past. Gwanrye and Gyerye faded into cultural memory, surviving only in textbooks, museums, and reenactments.

 

Coming-of-Age Day: Roses, Perfume, and Postmodern Adulthood

In 1973, the South Korean government designated Coming-of-Age Day (성년의 날) as a national holiday to mark adulthood at age 19. Observed every third Monday in May, the day became a contemporary platform for recognizing young people as full members of society. However, the ceremonial structure was now radically different: it was simpler, more symbolic, and deeply consumer-oriented.

The modern ritual revolves around the giving of three symbolic gifts:

• A rose, representing passion and love
• Perfume, symbolizing personal charm and maturity
• A kiss, indicating romantic readiness and human connection

Sometimes these gifts are exchanged between partners; other times, parents or friends offer them. Companies often jump on the bandwagon with branded “coming-of-age packages,” influencer campaigns, and themed product launches. Social media is flooded with selfies, congratulatory posts, and emotional captions.

 

Despite its commercialism, Coming-of-Age Day retains meaning for many. It gives Korean youth a rare cultural moment to pause and reflect. In a hyper-competitive society obsessed with academic and professional success, the ceremony offers a softer acknowledgment of emotional and social growth.

 

Some families personalize the ritual. Parents might write heartfelt letters, recounting childhood memories and hopes for the future. Others take their children on symbolic journeys—to ancestral homes, cultural landmarks, or even volunteer trips. In these moments, the ritual regains its depth, functioning not as a performance for Instagram but as an intimate rite of recognition.

 

For marginalized youth, especially those in LGBTQ+ communities, Coming-of-Age Day becomes an act of reclaiming identity. Some organize private affirmations, write self-acceptance letters, or gather with chosen families. The ritual becomes not just about age, but about being seen and affirmed.

Criticism and Complexity: Gender, Capitalism, and Emotional Void

While Coming-of-Age Day has value, it is not without critique. Many cultural observers point to the over-commercialization and gender stereotyping embedded in current practices. Ads targeting women emphasize elegance, beauty, and perfume. Ads targeting men highlight success, strength, and financial independence.

 

This commercialization turns what should be an emotional and ethical milestone into a consumer ritual, reducing identity formation to purchasing decisions. It also places undue pressure on young adults to conform to gendered expectations. Girls are expected to look graceful and radiant. Boys are expected to appear strong and ambitious. For many, this is exhausting and alienating.

 

From a psychological standpoint, the lack of deeper communal guidance can result in what scholars call a “liminal crisis.” The ritual says you are now an adult—but offers little structural support for what that means. Young people may find themselves legally adults but emotionally unprepared, struggling with self-doubt, anxiety, and identity confusion.

To combat this, some schools and organizations have begun hosting coming-of-age workshops, including journaling exercises, mental health discussions, and values clarification sessions. These efforts are often paired with traditional rituals—like the giving of roses—but add layers of reflection and intentionality.

 

Moreover, some progressive groups have started reviving elements of Gwanrye and Gyerye, but without the patriarchal hierarchy. These modernized rituals focus on responsibility, integrity, and personal growth. In one notable case, a youth center in Jeonju held a modern Gwanrye ceremony where participants chose their own adult names and shared stories of personal challenges. It was deeply emotional—and entirely voluntary.

 

These stories suggest that Korea’s coming-of-age tradition is not dying, but diversifying. As the tension between ritual and reality intensifies, young people are creating their own frameworks to answer the question: What does it mean to grow up in today’s Korea?

 

The Future of Korean Coming-of-Age Rituals: Hybrid, Digital, and Reflective

As Korean society continues to globalize and digitize, coming-of-age rituals are evolving into new, hybrid forms. Many young adults now choose to mark adulthood not with perfume and roses, but with self-reflection, digital storytelling, and social engagement.

 

Some write letters to their future selves and lock them in virtual time capsules. Others host dinner parties with peers, where each guest shares one fear and one hope for their adult life. These gatherings, while informal, create a space for vulnerability and connection, much like traditional ceremonies once did.

 

Technology is also transforming how rituals are performed. In 2021, a Korean tech company launched a virtual coming-of-age platform, allowing users to create digital rites complete with avatars, family messages, and personal vision boards. Though initially intended for use during COVID-19 restrictions, the platform remains popular—especially among overseas Koreans who wish to connect with their roots.

 

There is also growing interest in reclaiming traditional ceremonies in contemporary ways. Some universities are experimenting with simplified Gwanrye reenactments that emphasize ethical responsibility and civic awareness rather than gender roles or family lineage. These experiments aim to re-integrate tradition into modern life, not as dogma but as dialogue.

 

In the end, the future of Korea’s coming-of-age ceremony will likely be pluralistic, personalized, and emotionally resonant. The shared value across all these forms—whether traditional or modern—is the acknowledgment that adulthood is not just about age, but about the commitment to live meaningfully, responsibly, and in relation to others.

And that, above all, is what makes a ritual worth preserving.