In South Korea, work doesn’t always end when the office lights go off. For many employees, especially in large companies, the real test of loyalty, hierarchy, and belonging begins after hours, around a table cluttered with grilled meat, clinking glasses, and green bottles of soju. This ritual, known as hoesik (회식, company dinner or after-work gathering), has long been framed as harmless team bonding. But for women employees, hoesik often sits at the uncomfortable intersection of corporate expectations, gender norms, and alcohol-fuelled power dynamics.
Traditionally, hoesik is meant to reinforce jeong (정, emotional bonding) and uiri (의리, loyalty). Junior staff are expected to attend, sit through long meals, pour drinks for seniors, and participate in rounds of alcohol that can stretch late into the night. Officially, participation is voluntary. Unofficially, absence can be read as a lack of commitment, ambition, or team spirit. For women in male-dominated workplaces, the pressure to show up is often compounded by the pressure to behave “correctly” once there.
Alcohol plays a central role. Soju and beer, often mixed into somaek (소맥), lubricate conversation and flatten hierarchies—at least in theory. In practice, hierarchy remains rigid. Senior men typically control the rhythm of the evening, deciding when to pour, toast, or move to a second venue. Younger employees, including women, are expected to follow. Refusing a drink outright can be socially awkward, especially when a superior insists with a smile and the phrase han jan deo (한 잔 더, just one more glass).
For women, drinking at hoesik comes with a double bind. Drinking too little can mark them as aloof or “not a team player.” Drinking too much risks reputational damage in a workplace culture that still holds women to stricter standards of respectability. Many women navigate this by mastering subtle strategies: nursing a beer instead of shots, sipping without emptying the glass, or quietly switching to water while maintaining the appearance of participation. These tactics are widely understood but rarely acknowledged.
The gendered discomfort of hoesik is not only about alcohol. Late-night gatherings blur professional boundaries, and some women report unwanted comments, invasive questions about marriage or dating, or pressure to sing at noraebang (노래방, karaoke rooms) after dinner. While overt sexual harassment is increasingly condemned, the gray zones remain: jokes that go too far, physical closeness excused as drunken friendliness, or the expectation that women should remain pleasant and accommodating regardless of discomfort.
Korean language itself reflects the careful dance women perform. Polite refusals are wrapped in soft explanations: oneureun momi an joayo (오늘은 몸이 안 좋아요, I’m not feeling well today), yak meogeoyo (약 먹어요, I’m on medication), or naeil iljeongi isseoyo (내일 일정이 있어요, I have an important schedule tomorrow). These phrases protect harmony while setting limits, allowing women to decline without openly challenging authority. The emphasis is less on personal choice than on situational necessity.
Legal and cultural shifts have begun to reshape hoesik. Forcing employees to drink is illegal, and the #MeToo movement has heightened awareness of power abuse in social settings linked to work. Younger workers, both men and women, increasingly question the value of mandatory late-night drinking, especially as long working hours and burnout dominate public debate. Some companies now shorten hoesik, emphasize food over alcohol, or replace drinking with daytime team activities. The pandemic further accelerated this trend, proving that teamwork could survive without weekly soju marathons.
Yet change is uneven. In conservative industries or older corporate cultures, women still calculate risks carefully. Attending hoesik may be seen as necessary for networking and visibility, particularly in environments where informal relationships influence promotions. Declining too often can mean missing out on information shared only after hours. For foreign women working in Korea, the challenge can be even sharper, as cultural expectations collide with different norms around drinking, gender, and consent.
Today’s hoesik exists in tension between tradition and transformation. It remains a powerful symbol of Korean corporate life, one that reveals how inclusion is negotiated not just in meeting rooms but over shared plates and poured drinks. For women employees, navigating hoesik is less about enjoying alcohol than about managing perception, safety, and professional survival. The ritual may be loosening its grip, but until workplace equality is fully realized, the after-work table will continue to be a site where gendered expectations quietly, persistently play out.
I have nothing against food, alcohol, or people laughing together after work. I’ve eaten my way through more office dinners across Asia than I care to remember. But hoesik—that sacred Korean ritual of “voluntary” after-work bonding—has a special talent: it turns grown, competent women into decorative furniture wedged between drunk men with loosened ties and fragile egos.
Let’s be honest. Hoesik isn’t really about bonding. It’s about testing obedience. About proving you can endure discomfort with a smile. About showing that your body, your time, your liver, and your evening all belong—temporarily but very clearly—to the company. For men, especially senior men, it’s release. For women, it’s performance.
I’ve watched young female employees clutch beer glasses they don’t want, carefully sipping so the glass never empties, because an empty glass is an invitation. I’ve seen older women—competent, battle-hardened professionals—calculate exits like military maneuvers: one drink, polite laughter, gratitude expressed, escape before karaoke. This isn’t socialising. This is strategy.
And the double standard is exhausting. Drink too little and you’re cold, distant, not a team player. Drink too much and suddenly you’re unprofessional, embarrassing, “that kind of woman.” Smile through invasive questions about marriage, babies, your body, your weekends. Don’t smile too much. Don’t frown. Don’t leave too early. Don’t stay too late. Be present. Be invisible.
What irritates me most is how this whole circus is still defended as “culture.” Culture is not immutable. Culture changes when enough people admit something is rotten. Forcing intimacy through alcohol is not tradition—it’s laziness. It’s management outsourcing leadership to soju bottles. If your team only connects when drunk, your workplace has bigger problems than bonding.
Yes, things are changing. Younger workers push back. Some companies shorten dinners, make them optional, replace alcohol with actual activities. Good. But women shouldn’t have to wait for generational change to breathe freely at work. Equality doesn’t stop at the office door. It certainly doesn’t dissolve at 9 p.m. over grilled pork and somaek.
So here’s Auntie’s position, poured neat: any “bonding” that relies on pressure, hierarchy, and alcohol is not bonding—it’s control. And women are tired of paying the price for men’s idea of fun. If togetherness requires discomfort, maybe it’s time to drink less and think more.
Auntie has had enough. And tonight, she’s skipping the second round.