There’s a street in Dongdaemun I used to walk every week. Never really noticed it. Too busy, too crowded, too loud, too much of everything. But then one day, it rained. Not a storm. Just soft, steady, slightly annoying rain. And suddenly, the neon signs looked quieter. The metal carts steamed more. The reflections on the wet asphalt made everything look—different.
That’s the kind of thing Post Seoul was built on. Not the tourist Seoul. Not the billboard Seoul. But the city that reveals itself accidentally. In between rent hikes and redevelopment projects and ramen in the back of a GS25.
We don’t write for algorithms here. If we did, we’d be stuffing words like “SEO-optimized content” or “what to do in Seoul this weekend” all over the page. But that’s not the kind of attention we want.
We want the kind where someone stops halfway through an article and realizes they’ve been to that exact stairwell. That they once got lost in that alley and ended up buying toast from a woman with no signage but the best butter in the world. We want to remind people that this place—this strange, pulsing, absurd, beautiful city—is worth remembering.
Sometimes we talk to local artists. Sometimes we just wander and take pictures of mailboxes. There’s no formula. Some posts are interviews. Others are just thoughts written after a long subway ride, like this piece on Seoul’s slow erasure that still rings true years later.
The city changes fast. You leave for six months, and the building you knew is gone. You stay, and it disappears more slowly—almost politely. But it still disappears.
Post Seoul isn’t trying to stop that. We’re just trying to notice it. To collect the moments before they go. To tell the stories not because they’re big or important, but because they’re real.
If anything, we hope this makes you pay attention a little more. Not just to the stories here—but to your own. The ones sitting in your phone camera roll that never made it to Instagram. The ones you’ll wish you remembered more clearly later.
