What Two Sequels Taught Me About Representation - Part 2

 

Image description: In my previous post, I began a much longer discussion about sequels, representation, and the many forms that can take. I discussed Taash (right) from Dragon Age: The Veilguard, a non-binary character who I felt struggled to be the representation their creators intended, and compared them briefly to Hyun-ju (left), Squid Game season 2's transgender character. Today I turn my attentions to her, discussing why I think Hyun-ju is terrific representation for trans folks and queer folks of all kinds, highlighting where I think her story succeeds, what we can learn from her, and how I hope these lessons can one day be applied to aspec characters too.

Something I think a lot of nerds can probably relate to is the strange phenomenon wherein some of your favorite and least favorite media comes from the same place. In my case, as a huge fan of Korean dramas, it’s strange to think that streaming giant Netflix is responsible for some of the absolute best and absolute worst K-Dramas I’ve ever seen. This is especially ironic when you consider that my very first K-Drama was the smash-hit Netflix series, Squid Game, one that I would consider in that all-time best category.

Because Netflix shows can swing so wildly in quality (something which is not limited just to K-Dramas), I admit I was nervous for Squid Game’s second season, fearing that there would be a significant drop in quality. However, in my opinion, the second season managed to be even better than I dared hope. While it departed from the first season in certain key ways, it managed to be everything that made the first season so deeply affecting while at the same time being its own unique thing.

This continuation stood in stark contrast to another from around that same time – Dragon Age: The Veilguard, the fourth game in the fantasy roleplaying video game series, Dragon Age. Much like the second season of Squid Game, this sequel also departed from its predecessors in many ways; however, unlike Squid Game, these changes often felt unnecessary and even lore-breaking, making it less an exercise in creative branching out and more like an example of reinventing the wheel and making it square. Similarly, both pieces of media tackled representation in new ways as well, and true to form, one did it better than the other.

If you read my previous post, you saw I discussed Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s non-binary character Taash at great length, detailing the controversy behind their inclusion, as well as the ways BioWare either squandered or outright bungled some elements of their story. As a blog about asexual and aromantic representation in media, I know how hard it can be to get any representation for minority identities and how awful it feels when these identities are not portrayed well; therefore, I thought discussing Taash was a good opportunity to explore the pros and cons of representation, unpacking the ways I thought BioWare succeeded and failed.

When discussing bad representation, it is not always possible to then immediately turn to better representation as a counterbalance, but in this case, I can. It comes in the form of Squid Game season two’s transgender character Hyun-ju, and while she is certainly a very different character from Taash in many ways – including identity itself – I believe that the way the show handled her identity, her character, and her story is more in line with how I hope to see aspec identities and identities of all kinds portrayed in the future.

Therefore, in part two of this duality of posts exploring representation, I’m going to focus on Hyun-ju’s story, discussing what I think the show did very well and the reasons why she works as a character. Of course, no character or piece of media is perfect, so I’ll also explore a few places where the show could have done better, as well as incorporating outside opinions and research to further dig into some of the things that make Hyun-ju such important and valuable representation. Finally, once I’ve finished discussing Hyun-ju herself, I’ll take one final look at both her and Taash, giving my last thoughts on the differences and similarities they share and the final lessons they can teach us about representation.

Spoiler warning! 

Squid Game (season 2)

[This post was written BEFORE Squid Game season 3, so spoilers are present for the first 2 seasons only]

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A Recap and Another HUGE Disclaimer

Image description: The cover of my previous post, featuring Taash and Hyun-ju

Because this subject was destined to be very long and admittedly somewhat difficult to discuss, I decided to split my material up over two posts, the second of which you are now reading. While splitting these posts into two allowed me to more fully talk about each character in their own separate post, there is still connective tissue between this post and the previous one. As I said in my intro, that first post is mainly about Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s controversial non-binary character Taash, and how their inclusion in the game represents both the good and the bad when it comes to representation.

If you haven’t read that post yet, I highly recommend reading it so you have a basis of comparison for everything I’m going to say here. But just to give you a quick recap on the substance of that post in case you need a refresher, Taash is a romanceable companion character in the game whose story is mostly about their struggle with their identity – both in trying to figure out what parts of themselves they should embrace and in the struggle with being accepted as non-binary. While Dragon Age has always been a diverse game, Taash's story has a few departures from the usual representation in the series, chiefly in that the term “non-binary” is actually used in game, whereas no other terms have ever been explicitly used in the series before.

Beyond just the debate about whether including this terminology worked or not, the way Taash is portrayed throughout the game is at times contradictory at best and cringeworthy at worst. Despite the fact that Taash had both a non-binary writer and voice actor, their story manages to come across as largely inauthentic and forced in many of their most important scenes, with very little character growth to speak of and middling attempts at making the audience understand Taash as a character or root for them. While of course there has been a lot of criticism of their character that is unvarnished bigotry, a lot of other criticism has been levelled that questions what Taash demonstrates to the audience – criticism which I think is fair.

This leads me to my disclaimer. While everything I said in that first post still stands, I’d like to add a few updated disclaimers that relate to this particular post. Just as I said in that first post, as a cisgender woman (meaning I identify as the gender I was born with), I am not qualified to truly dig into the question of whether Taash and Hyun-ju are good non-binary and transgender representation respectively. In the case of Hyun-ju, whom I am discussing today, I am likewise not qualified to speak about the issues transgender people face in South Korea, the country of origin for the series. As a cisgender woman living in America, I only know what I myself have seen in this country, none of which I am experiencing firsthand.

Furthermore, while I have done some research – both from western perspectives and Korean perspectives – regarding Hyun-ju’s character, this analysis only tells a small part of an otherwise much more complicated and multi-layered issue, and the research I have done is limited by the perspectives I found during that process. Just like in the first post, I am primarily interested in exploring how representation functions within the media I’m discussing here and how it seems to be perceived by people overall. When I look at this and compare it to the aspec struggle for representation, I am in no way, shape, or form intending to take away from these other marginalized groups, nor am I attempting to conflate their struggles to my own.

Queer identities are not monoliths, and thus no single character within a specific identity can possibly hope to convey the struggles that every person in every queer identity is going through. As such, that is not the goal of today’s post; rather, I seek to look at what makes these characters good or bad representation and try to draw lessons from those portrayals. Both Taash and Hyun-ju have good and bad elements to their stories, and elements that may seem otherwise lacking. When I compare and contrast both the good and bad elements, I am not saying the characters themselves are good or bad. Both characters can teach us many lessons, as I hope to prove with the substance of these two posts.

With my own limitations and biases acknowledged, I hope my analysis today is not only able to show you why I love the character of Hyun-ju – and why many other people of all identities did too – but also demonstrate the parts of her characterization that I think were so powerful. While of course her representation is unique to her, as is her story, I believe that aspec characters can be equally well-received if future creators strive to use some of the techniques that made Hyun-ju so vulnerable, heroic, and complex.

Let’s Talk About Hyun-ju – The Good, the Bad, and the Unknown

If you’re not familiar with Squid Game, I highly recommend reading my post where I discuss its positive representation for non-romantic female characters (or, for a more in-depth review, consider checking out my secondary blog, “The Asexual K-Drama Geek”). However, I’ll give a quick overview here [beware of spoilers!]. Squid Game centers on a deadly and sadistic competition, wherein hundreds of desperately impoverished players are brought together on a remote island to play brutal variations of children’s games. Win the games, and you get one step closer to an unbelievable amount of money; lose the games and you die. Season one led us on this terrifying journey as we followed the story of Seong Gi-hun, an unlucky but ultimately kind-hearted debtor, who ends up winning the games and becoming the sole recipient of the staggering cash prize.

Season two reunites us with Gi-hun three years after his win. Traumatized by his time in the games and haunted by what he witnessed there, he has spent the years following the games focusing on two things: taking care of the people his fallen friends left behind, and trying to find a way to bring these deadly games to an end. Unable to do so despite his best efforts, he finds himself in the games again where he attempts to destroy the system from the inside the way he never could from the outside. Thrown into this deadly world again, he attempts to protect and guide the other players using what he knows of the games from before, only to be dogged at every turn by the machinations of the game’s overseer, the Front Man, as well as by the other players, who are desperate to play “one more game” if it improves their chances of taking home the life-changing prize.

Part of what makes Squid Game so incredible – apart from the pulse-poundingly brutal games and intense story, of course – are the characters. Season one was populated with diverse characters with gripping stories, and the second season is no different, introducing us to an array of compelling allies for Gi-hun, who aren’t just bound to his story, but have their own incredible arcs. One of those characters is player 120, a transgender woman by the name of Cho Hyun-ju, who is in need of the cash prize to not only finish her surgeries, but to recover from the financial and personal devastation that came into her life when she came out as transgender. [Spoilers here on out for Squid Game season 2]

Image description: Hyun-ju gazing up at the prize money that awaits the winner of the games

Having formerly been in the Korean military, coming out destroyed Hyun-ju’s career and ability to support herself financially, something that was further exacerbated by her friends and family all disavowing her. She describes this experience as being a difficult dichotomy, wherein she was finally able to experience the peace and freedom of living as her true, authentic self, but found herself quickly ensnared in hardships due to all her social and personal roots being upended at once. As such, despite befriending many other players in the game, Hyun-ju feels compelled to consistently vote to continue the games, a true sign of her desperation to escape her current situation and finally build a life.

That mix of the warm-hearted, genuine care she has for the people around her and her own determination to better her own situation lead to moments of genuine pathos and complex morality that make me absolutely adore her character and the arc she goes through during the games. Hyun-ju’s story is, at the core, of course about her identity as a transgender woman in a largely unaccepting society, and many of the things she does throughout this story can trace their origin back to this. But not all of them. For instance, in the first game – Red Light, Green Light – Hyun-ju joins our main hero Gi-hun in trying to rescue an injured player. This establishes Hyun-ju as brave and heroic right out of the gate, and has nothing to do with her identity, only with the content of who she is as a person.

This is something that I believe is essential to representation of all kinds. By showing that marginalized people can be heroic, I believe audiences can begin rooting for them and for their stories. But more than heroic, I think these characters also need to be seen as multi-faceted, something which Hyun-ju is also shown to be at various points throughout the narrative. While it might have been easy to either play her as a stereotype or to overcorrect and make her utterly perfect, the story instead makes her complex, as her votes to keep playing the deadly games show us. These things make her realer, something which is essential for representation, showing audiences that these less-represented identities are more than just the stereotypes or caricatures society often portrays.

This can also be accomplished by showing us the reactions of other characters and Squid Game does this marvelously. In fact, one of my favorite elements of season 2 turned out to be Hyun-ju’s unlikely friendship with an older player named Jang Geum-ja, as well as Geum-ja’s character in general. The mother of one of the other players, it’s clear Geum-ja starts with very traditional beliefs – she even says she believes men are men and women are women when she first sees Hyun-ju. But I deeply appreciate that she’s not portrayed as an outright bigot or a bad person, and she soon comes to see Hyun-ju not just as an ally and a friend, but sympathizes with her. This isn’t even portrayed as a huge pivot for Geum-ja, because we also see that she has a good and caring heart. What she needed wasn’t a radical paradigm shift triggered by being around Hyun-ju for a while; all she needed was to hear Hyun-ju’s story and see her as she really is, thus breaking out of the stereotypes society has left her with.

Of course, we can’t talk about Hyun-ju’s arc in season two without talking about her tragic friendship with fellow player Young-mi. Hyun-ju and Young-mi first meet during the second game, which requires the players form five-person teams to complete a series of smaller games within a sort of relay. Initially, Hyun-ju struggles to find a team due to the prejudices people feel against her and assumes that Young-mi will not want to form a team with her either. However, it’s Young-mi who asks if Hyun-ju would like to team up with her, referring to her as unnie – the Korean term women use when speaking to older women. This is something that continues throughout their short time together, showing how much Young-mi admires Hyun-ju, seeing her as a brave, steadfast, dependable friend; in turn, Hyun-ju cares for Young-mi in return, grateful for the support and kindness the young woman willingly shows her.

By having both a character like Young-mi who is immediately accepting and a character like Geum-ja who needs to unlearn some stereotypes, I believe the show terrifically portrays that acceptance takes different forms and that learning a person’s story leads to genuine connection in the end. In my last post, I talked about how Taash’s struggles never feel especially well portrayed and that we couldn’t really get to know Taash as a character; instead of feeling genuine sympathy for them or interest in their story, the game instead used them as a prop and their identity as an attempt to speedrun representation, rather than actually working at it the way Squid Game endeavored to do with Hyun-ju.

All that being said, even though I love the character, I can also acknowledge some of the potential issues that are present within her character and storyline. For instance, when Gi-hun leads several of the players in armed rebellion, Hyun-ju’s previous military experience allows her to step up and command the other players in this quest. While it’s awesome to see her get to be so bad ass, it can be argued that having Hyun-ju fall back into the more stereotypically “masculine” role of soldier – the thing she had been doing before she began transitioning – could be viewed negatively.

Image description: Hyun-ju teaches the other players how to use the heavy firepower they need to attack the game's guards

However, I think the story shows us that these roles are not so easily defined and it’s not a given that the men in the games will be ready for this fight nor that fighting and being ready for gunplay is what make them men. Therefore, Hyun-ju picking up a gun and using her old knowledge doesn’t seem to me like a way of making her resume her previous lifestyle or attributes, but rather using these things that were once a source of struggle and making them into a strength, something which I’ll discuss more later. Instead, I believe it further adds to the idea that Hyun-ju is brave and doesn’t shy away from doing what needs to be done, all of which make her a character worthy of admiration and one that I believe should be studied if we want to see how better representation can be accomplished.

As you can probably tell, I think Hyun-ju has a lot of standout moments throughout the season, but one of my favorites is when she describes herself as “not yet finished,” as I find that phrasing very meaningful. While she means this in the literal sense, talking about how she’s only transitioned part of the way and is trying to get the money she needs to finish the process, I really do believe this can describe her character arc too. In reality, Hyun-ju’s story is literally not yet finished as we await what season three will bring us and how the story will choose to wrap up her character, and thus I can’t discuss the full scope of her story. However, what I can discuss demonstrates a lot of growth, even in the short few episodes in which she appears (so far). And, no matter what happens to her, I think she demonstrates a terrific type of representation that I’ve rarely seen in media.

What Does Hyun-ju Represent?

In my post about Taash, I mentioned that representation as a concept primarily deals with how a group or identity is presented to an audience. Using this definition, I believe that Hyun-ju is good representation because she presents a well-rounded, complex character with a valuable, moving story. You don’t have to be a queer person to be moved by the prejudice Hyun-ju faces in her day-to-day life and to see that struggle play out in the games. Season two’s plot point of letting the players vote after each game adds an extra pathos to Hyun-ju as we realize her circumstances must be dire enough that she keeps willingly opting to play again despite the risk.

Of course, her struggles do become even more profound for those of us who identify as queer identities or who struggle with prejudice in our own lives. For some people, it’s all too easy to feel the pain Hyun-ju clearly has when she describes how everyone in her life turned their backs on her following her coming out as transgender. Even for those of us who are lucky to be surrounded by acceptance, we doubtless can empathize with the dual situation she finds herself in, where being her true self feels like both a gift and a curse.

But what does Hyun-ju represent when it comes to transgender representation and how trans folks want to see themselves portrayed? Just like with Taash’s portrayal of non-binary identities, that won’t have one blanket answer as different people will doubtless have different ideas about the successes and failures of Hyun-ju’s portrayal. However, I did find an interesting video by a trans content creator who discusses the things the show got right in their portrayal. Like me, he loves the complexity Hyun-ju was allowed to have as well as her relationship with characters like Geum-ja, highlighting how Geum-ja sticking up for her shows us vitally important scenes such as when she advocates that Hyun-ju should be allowed to come to the ladies’ bathroom. He also highlights and discusses one of the biggest controversies surrounding Hyun-ju’s character: the fact that she is played by a cisgender male actor, Park Sung-hoon.

Many people saw this and objected to the casting of a non-transgender actor to play a transgender role, but the video’s creator discusses how this makes sense given the context of Korean society, where many queer identities are not openly accepted. In fact, series creator Hwang Dong-hyuk said the team wanted to get an openly transgender actor to play the role and that there were virtually none they could find to play the part. “It was near impossible to find someone who we could cast authentically,” he explained in an interview, noting, “unfortunately in the Korean society currently, the LGBTQ community is rather still marginalized and more neglected.”

Image description: Hyun-ju is portrayed by actor Park Sung-hoon

When it comes to casting transgender characters, having a cisgendered man play a character who is transitioning from male to female can make it seem like transgenderism is just a sort of playacting, which is why I appreciate that the narrative makes it clear Hyun-ju is in the process of transitioning to make her identity and intentions abundantly clear. Of course, there are some people online who still insist on calling Hyun-ju “he” – something which likely would have occurred even if a trans actor had played her – but the show also makes it clear that Hyun-ju should be respected as a woman and should be called such, making this attitude a personal failing on the part of these people rather than on the narrative. Additionally, having a male actor in the role does also mean that some people who are fans of the actor seem to be ignoring Hyun-ju in favor of looking at him as an actor instead of her as a character, something which might be sadly inevitable.

However, Park Sung-hoon seems like he went out of his way to portray Hyun-ju in as respectful a way as possible. In interviews, he uses terminology such as “MTF transgender woman” and describes Hyun-ju’s surgeries as “gender confirming,” all of which are important and valuable terms to use. Although it’s a sincere shame that a transgender actor couldn’t portray the character, I feel Park Sung-hoon did a great job not just portraying Hyun-ju, but making sure she could be respected and could serve as good representation for others. In that way, I’d like to think that Hyun-ju can be a good basis for future trans representation, not just in Korea, but beyond.

What Hyun-ju Can Teach Us About Representation

Hyun-ju shows us that a character’s personal identity is a vital part of who they are, what they do, and what drives them, but that good storytelling doesn’t end there. Visually, we of course can see who Hyun-ju is in every scene, but the show never limits her to just these obvious facts. Rather, it allows her to be brave and selfless, even as she occasionally makes selfish decisions. It allows her to make these selfish decisions, but shows us the reasons why she’s done these things, leading us to feel sympathy for her, even if we have no idea what it’s like to be in her personal situation. It allows her to make friends and forge bonds that will be tragic to see break if that’s indeed what happens, giving an extra layer of pathos to everything she does and everything she stands for.

It’s not just that Hyun-ju is a transgender character struggling in a cruel world, but that she’s a person trying to balance what is ultimately good for her and what is good for the other people around her. That story is already fascinating in and of itself; when you add in all the rich storytelling potential and visibility her character gives to people who otherwise have no voice, it becomes even more poignant. Therefore, when I think of what lessons I’d like to see other creators take from Hyun-ju, that is the primary one that comes to mind. Just like Hyun-ju is both great transgender representation and a great character, I would love to see aspec characters who go through a similar arc, growing through the act of not only being themselves and being accepted, but through learning from and teaching those around them.

Image description: Hyun-ju meeting Young-mi for the first time

Something I mention all the time when I discuss aspec representation and aspec-adjacent characters in media is how important the characters surrounding them are. Too often, characters with aspec tendencies are surrounded by people who doubt them and try to get them to change, either through prejudice, dismissal, or outright coercion. This often holds a mirror up to the real-life attitudes of the media’s creators or their fans, whether those attitudes are merely a blindspot that prevents them from seeing the validity of these identities or actual bias against them. Through everything from out-of-date humor to heavily ingrained tropes, media often uses other characters to keep aspec-adjacent characters from ever actually becoming canonically aspec.

To me, Hyun-ju proves what it’s like when a character with a queer and/or minority identity is affirmed and uplifted by other characters, not torn down by them, and I’d like to see this template be mirrored for more queer characters in future. When it comes to aspec representation, I’d like to see fewer instances of characters that openly mock or try to change the aspec-adjacent characters around them and instead choose to see and accept them as they truly are. I would love to see an aspec character surrounded with the types of people Hyun-ju is surrounded with – from the pure-hearted acceptance she receives from Young-mi, to the way she and Geum-ja are able to bond as people and break down barriers, even to the way she is received by the rest of Gi-hun’s group and comes to be relied upon.

Having all of these characters together in the same piece of media not only shows and acknowledges the different attitudes Hyun-ju faces, but allows her identity to shine even when it’s not the main focal point of the story. It serves as proof that people can break down barriers, overcome divisions, and treat others with acceptance and kindness, all of which are valuable lessons. While Hyun-ju of course faces prejudice both in and out of the games, the friends she makes within the game’s harsh world are the exact type of group I’d like to see surrounding other queer characters in media, including aspec characters. Through them, I believe we can see the stories of these characters lifted up rather than being torn down, which is exactly what we need to begin making strides towards better representation and acceptance.

Final Thoughts

When it comes to queer representation, it is very difficult to say one character has merit over another; after all, every queer identity is desperate for representation, and every character will doubtless be important to someone. For that reason, it was very hard to compare and contrast two characters as different as Taash and Hyun-ju, but I hope I was able to illustrate, at least in some small way, the reasons why I think Hyun-ju’s writing succeeds where Taash’s fails. Again, this is not a failing of the characters themselves, nor is it calling either character bad or saying that their inclusion in the story has no value. Rather, these are problems with writing quality alone. Both characters are deeply important to the stories they appear in and their identities are deeply important to them; it’s only in the application of these things that we truly see the differences emerge.

There are ups and downs to both forms of representation we see in these two pieces of media. Taash shows us an example of creators who get to put themselves into their work, something I’ve wanted for a long time, and what it feels like to achieve some semblance of catharsis through art; but they also show us what can happen when character growth and storyline are sacrificed for representation only. Meanwhile, Hyun-ju’s character may at times be limited by the standards of her creator’s society and the circumstances therein, but she overall demonstrates what representation can be and what it can do, not just for the character themselves, but for the story and for the arcs of the characters around them.

While both characters have merit, I can’t deny that I would rather see representation for my own identity follow Hyun-ju’s path more than Taash’s. This is in no small part because I think Squid Game does a better job of making us understand Hyun-ju’s story, and the idea of sympathizing with her is even demonstrated by the other characters. Therefore, despite the fact that most people live a very different life than she does, we too are encouraged to sympathize with her, and it is entirely possible to draw valuable lessons from Hyun-ju and her struggles, both that relate to our own lives and that make us see the struggles of other people – especially other trans folks – in a new light.

This is something that it never feels like we really get for Taash. As I said in my first post, I honor and respect Taash’s anger, something which does feel justified at times and something I often have in relation to my own identity too. But the hostility Taash shows the other characters, often for no reason, makes it difficult to want to spend more time with their character, which I think is a shame and does a disservice to them. Queer anger is valid and should be explored, but I believe that – at least for a character like Taash – the queer struggle should be explored alongside the anger. Again, while that is there, it is also deliberately sidestepped.

For instance, Taash’s mother tells them “you must struggle with what you are,” and Taash rejects this as a hollow platitude implying that the struggle never ends. Instead of trying to understand and unpack the meaning behind it, Taash takes the idea as a dismissal instead of a truism. We all struggle with what we are – no matter what our identities may be – and especially in media, a character’s struggle is what makes the audience become attached to them and their journey. Therefore, Taash’s rejection of this feels strangely meta or self-aware, and the game rejecting the idea of actually portraying this struggle feels inauthentic; in fact, a more uncharitable interpretation might say it’s simply lazier, which is why I find Squid Game’s portrayal of these struggles so much more effective.

In fact, I believe the idea of struggling with what you are is actually surprisingly present in season two of Squid Game. It seems to me like a huge part of the story centers on drawing from the trauma of the past and making it into strength in the present. In Hyun-ju’s case, she talks about the hardships she faced when coming out as transgender, including being forced to resign from the military; but later, when the players find themselves in need of the ability to fight back, it’s Hyun-ju’s experience that allows her to become an effective leader for the team. Literally, the thing that caused her to struggle has become her source of strength and it is only through struggling with who and what she is that she is able to face this seemingly impossible task.

As I said earlier, I have no way of knowing how Hyun-ju’s story will end and she may not survive the struggle that is currently before her – something which is technically also possible for Taash, depending on player choices in the game. But regardless of outcome, her story has been deeply valuable and moving. As Squid Game comes to an end with season three and Dragon Age seems to have come to a conclusion with the fourth game, the representation these two characters give us may be some of the last for these two franchises. And yet, I believe learning from their struggles and their triumphs is something that will impact representation well past the confines of these stories for a long time to come, and I hope that leads to even better things in the future.