The most-watched preteen in 21st-century geopolitics might be trailing behind her father, Kim Jong-un, but the sound of her careful steps on North Korea’s red carpets is shaking up one of the world’s most patriarchal regimes. When a leader who thrives on secrecy begins parading his daughter at missile launches, parades, and diplomatic receptions, the message is clear: a new page is being written in Pyongyang’s dynastic script — one that challenges tradition in a system long ruled by men.
First appearing in November 2022, a girl of about ten walked hand in hand with Kim Jong-un at an intercontinental ballistic missile test. Analysts instantly noticed that these were no casual family photos. The girl, now believed to be around 12 or 13 years old and named Kim Ju Ae, has since been repeatedly featured in state media under increasingly exalted titles: first “beloved,” then “respected” (존경하는), a term previously reserved for members of the sacred ruling family. South Korea’s National Intelligence Service has publicly assessed her as a “probable successor,” noting that her staged appearances and official coverage fit the pattern of political grooming.
That possibility marks a striking break in North Korea’s dynastic tradition. Since 1948, leadership has passed strictly from father to son — Kim Il-sung to Kim Jong-il to Kim Jong-un — all under the myth of the Paekdu bloodline (백두혈통), tracing descent to Mount Paekdu, the supposed cradle of the revolution. A daughter ascending to power would upend that patriarchal line of succession, even as it maintains the same family cult that defines the regime. As one defector told Nikkei Asia, the installation of a female heir would “end the male bloodline tradition,” redefining what the “Kim dynasty” means in practice — though certainly not its authoritarian character.
Complicating the picture is Kim Jong-un’s younger sister, Kim Yo-jong, a political heavyweight and one of the most powerful women ever to emerge from the North Korean elite. She has served as the regime’s chief propagandist, spokesperson for foreign policy fury, and unofficial enforcer of her brother’s will. For years, she was widely viewed as the natural successor if Kim Jong-un were incapacitated. Her influence within the Workers’ Party and her commanding presence at international summits showed that, while women may rarely appear in Pyongyang’s leadership photos, they can still wield immense — if derivative — power. If Kim Ju Ae eventually inherits the mantle, Kim Yo-jong could easily become the “regent aunt,” a stabilizing or even controlling presence behind the throne.
In Korean cultural tradition, hoegye (회계), or lineage, remains sacred. North Korea’s state mythology weaves its rulers into a divine family narrative, blending guerrilla heroism with hereditary legitimacy. By presenting a young girl as the future of that myth, Kim Jong-un is signaling both continuity and modernization — a “princess of Paekdu” who humanizes his image while ensuring the dynasty’s survival. Her appearance at the Russian Embassy in Pyongyang in May 2025 marked her first international outing, reinforcing the impression that the world is being slowly introduced to a fourth-generation Kim.
But skeptics warn against taking the pageantry too literally. North Korea’s power structure is built on seniority, military credentials, and a web of loyalty that a teenager cannot yet command. Some analysts believe Kim Ju Ae’s prominence serves propaganda more than politics — a symbolic reassurance that the dynasty remains stable, rather than a genuine succession signal. Others suggest that she could be an “heir in training,” her public grooming laying the groundwork for legitimacy if her father’s health fails prematurely.
Still, the optics are revolutionary by North Korean standards. In a state obsessed with patriarchal control — of families, of women, of ideology — the sight of a school-aged girl being groomed for power is both jarring and revealing. It suggests that even within the hermit kingdom, gender roles may bend when dynastic survival is at stake. Bloodline trumps ideology, and ideology trumps gender. The real question is whether, if Kim Ju Ae ever becomes “Supreme Leader,” she will command genuine authority or serve as a figurehead while seasoned party elders and her formidable aunt pull the strings.
For now, the young girl with the tidy bob haircut and solemn gaze has already altered the image of the world’s most secretive family. Whether she grows into a ruler or a symbol, Kim Ju Ae embodies the regime’s next act — one where even the heirs of Paekdu must occasionally wear pigtails.
North Korea — the country where irony goes to die and the dynastic drama never ends. Every time I see little Kim Ju Ae clapping at missile launches beside Daddy Dearest, I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or call Child Protection Services. Picture it: a tiny girl with perfect pigtails standing under a shower of fireworks celebrating nuclear power. It’s like The Handmaid’s Tale directed by Wes Anderson — pastel uniforms, goose-stepping soldiers, and a family so obsessed with bloodline that they make the British royals look modest.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t feminism, it’s feudalism with lipstick. The so-called “Princess of Paekdu” isn’t breaking glass ceilings — she’s being used to reinforce the iron bars of the cage. Kim Jong-un, the pudgy patriarch with an ego the size of Mount Paekdu itself, may have discovered that a daughter in the propaganda lineup makes him look “modern.” How very progressive of him — a new North Korea, where women can one day inherit the right to repress other women! Bravo, comrade, bravo.
And then there’s Auntie Kim Yo-jong — oh, the irony of that sisterhood. A woman who could have been a symbol of change but instead became the high priestess of tyranny. She smiles that frost-bitten smile, whispering venom into her brother’s ear, and North Korean women shudder. She’s the regime’s attack dog, the one who signs the edicts, manages the fear, and enforces the silence. If patriarchy in Pyongyang has a female face, it’s hers — and it’s not a comforting one.
Poor Ju Ae. Raised in a bubble of gold and guns, she’s being trained to believe that leading a starving, terrified population is her birthright. But what’s the inheritance here, really? A crumbling country, a paranoid elite, and a family curse dressed up as destiny. Someday, she might sit on that absurdly high throne, crowned not with glory but with guilt. And if she dares to blink, the generals, the aunt, or the ghosts of her ancestors will remind her who truly rules: fear, lineage, and the cult of the father.
So, here’s to you, Princess Paekdu — the world’s youngest monarch-in-waiting of the most miserable kingdom on Earth. I hope one day you escape the palace, learn what freedom tastes like, and tell the truth about the men (and one chilling woman) who built your family’s empire of fear. Until then, darling, keep clapping. Daddy’s watching.