Why Are People Still Watching Goblin?
Nearly a decade after its original broadcast, Guardian: The Lonely and Great God (Goblin, 2016–2017) continues to attract me. While many television dramas enjoy only a brief moment of popularity before fading into streaming catalogs, Goblin has proven remarkably different. Its soundtrack still appears in record stores in Japan years after its finale. Its filming locations continue to welcome thousands of visitors each year. Its most memorable scenes are endlessly shared across social media, and first-time viewers continue to discover it through Netflix and other global platforms.
What explains this extraordinary longevity? The answer is not simply that Goblin is a beautifully produced fantasy romance. Rather, it succeeds because it tells a deeply Korean story while speaking to universal human emotions. It introduces international audiences to Korean mythology, history, architecture, seasonal traditions, and even subtle cultural values without ever feeling like a lesson.
For many viewers, Goblin is the first drama that demonstrates an important truth about Korean storytelling:
The more deeply a story embraces Korean culture, the more universally it can resonate. As someone who grew up in Korea, I believe this is precisely why Goblin continues to move audiences long after newer dramas have come and gone. Its fantasy may be fictional, but the emotions it portrays are unmistakably real.
A Drama Unlike Any Other
At first glance, Goblin appears to belong to the fantasy genre. An immortal warrior, mysterious bride, A Grim Reaper, Ghosts, Ancient curses, These ingredients might sound familiar to viewers accustomed to Western fantasy. Yet Goblin immediately takes an entirely different path. Its central character is Kim Shin, a legendary military general from Korea's Goryeo Dynasty who is betrayed by the very king he faithfully serves. Instead of finding peace in death, he is condemned to eternal life. The sword embedded in his chest becomes both a symbol of his guilt and a reminder that immortality can be a punishment rather than a blessing.
One of the biggest surprises for international audiences is that the Korean dokkaebi bears almost no resemblance to the Western "goblin."
When English speakers hear the word goblin, they often imagine a small green creature from medieval European folklore—mischievous, ugly, and often associated with greed or violence. The Korean dokkaebi is something entirely different.
Traditional Korean folklore describes dokkaebi as supernatural beings that emerge from ordinary objects imbued with spiritual energy. They enjoy playing tricks on humans, but they are not inherently evil. In many folktales, they reward honesty, punish greed, challenge arrogant people, and occasionally become unlikely companions to travelers. They are mysterious rather than monstrous. This distinction matters because Goblin does not simply borrow a mythical creature—it completely reimagines one of Korea's oldest folk traditions.
Kim Shin is not a monster.
He is a lonely guardian whose supernatural powers exist alongside profound compassion. For many foreign viewers, understanding this cultural background completely changes how the story feels. What initially appears to be fantasy gradually reveals itself as a modern interpretation of Korean folklore.
Why the Jeoseung Saja Feels Different from the Grim Reaper
A fascinating cultural difference in Goblin lies in the character of the Jeoseung Saja (저승사자).
Jeoseung (저승) is the Korean word for the afterlife—the spiritual realm where souls continue their journey after death. Unlike the Christian concepts of Heaven or Hell, Jeoseung is traditionally understood as a place where souls are guided and judged before moving on to the next stage of existence.
The word Jeoseung Saja (저승사자) literally means "Messenger of the Afterlife." In Korean folklore, the Jeoseung Saja is a supernatural guide who escorts the souls of the deceased from the human world to Jeoseung. Rather than causing death, his duty begins only after death has already occurred.
This makes him fundamentally different from the Western Grim Reaper. In Western art and literature, the Grim Reaper is typically portrayed as Death itself—a terrifying skeletal figure carrying a scythe who comes to claim human lives. The Jeoseung Saja, by contrast, is not the embodiment of death but an official messenger responsible for escorting souls and maintaining the orderly administration of the afterlife.
This distinction helps explain why the Jeoseung Saja in Goblin feels so unique. He is mysterious yet compassionate, awkward yet humorous, lonely yet deeply human. Rather than inspiring fear, he reminds viewers that even those who serve death can carry regret, empathy, and an enduring longing for connection.
Why Does Jeoseung Saja Wear a Black Suit and Fedora?
One of the most iconic images in Goblin is the Jeoseung Saja (저승사자) dressed in a tailored black suit and black fedora. While the outfit looks modern and stylish, it is actually rooted in centuries of Korean tradition.
In traditional Korean folklore, the Jeoseung Saja was typically depicted wearing a gat (갓)—a traditional Korean hat made of horsehair and bamboo and worn by scholars and government officials during the Joseon Dynasty. More than a simple hat, the gat symbolized dignity, education, integrity, and official status.
This choice was intentional. The Jeoseung Saja was never imagined as a terrifying monster or the embodiment of death. Instead, he was viewed as an official messenger of the afterlife, carrying out the orderly administration of heaven. Like a government officer delivering an official summons, his role was not to cause death but to escort souls whose time had already come.
Goblin brilliantly reinterprets this traditional image for a modern audience. Instead of dressing the Jeoseung Saja in a gat and hanbok, the drama replaces them with a black fedora and tailored suit. Although the clothing has changed, the character's dignity, authority, and quiet professionalism remain exactly the same.
For Korean viewers, the inspiration is immediately recognizable. For international audiences, it simply appears as a striking and timeless fashion choice. In reality, the black suit and fedora are a modern reinterpretation of the Joseon-era official's attire, transforming centuries-old Korean folklore into one of the most memorable visual symbols in K-drama history.
The Peach Wood Branch: A Traditional Korean Folk Belief
One memorable scene in Goblin shows Sunny swinging a peach tree branch at the Jeoseung Saja, knocking off his traditional black hat and exposing his true identity. Although the moment is played for comedy, it is actually based on a centuries-old Korean folk belief.
In Korean folklore, peach wood has long been believed to possess powerful yang (positive) energy that can drive away ghosts and other supernatural beings. For this reason, peach wood was traditionally used to make protective charms, ritual objects, and ceremonial tools. Because the Jeoseung Saja belongs to the supernatural world, the peach branch symbolically strips away his hidden identity and reveals his true nature.
This scene is a wonderful example of how Goblin transforms a traditional Korean folk belief into a memorable and meaningful moment, allowing international viewers to discover another layer of Korea's rich cultural heritage.
This belief has not completely disappeared from modern Korea. Even today, some people place a peach tree branch in front of a newly purchased car during a traditional ceremony, hoping to ward off bad luck and protect the vehicle from accidents. While this is not a common practice among all Koreans, it remains a living example of how traditional folk beliefs continue to influence everyday life.
Although these customs are less common today, they remain a fascinating example of how ancient Korean folk beliefs continue to survive in modern life.
Samshin Grandma in Goblin Vs. Stork in Dumbo(1941)
One of the most mysterious characters in Goblin is Samshin Grandma (삼신할매).
Many international viewers assume she is simply another magical character created for the drama. In reality, she comes from one of Korea's oldest folk beliefs. “Sam” means “three” and “Shin” means “Deity”
Samshin (삼신) literally means "Three Deities." In Korean folk religion, Samshin is the goddess (or divine spirit) who presides over childbirth, fertility, motherhood, and the protection of newborn children. Traditionally, Koreans believed that Samshin watched over pregnancy, granted children to families, and safeguarded both mothers and infants.
For centuries, Koreans have believed in Samshin, the goddess who watches over pregnancy, childbirth, and the destiny of newborn children. Long before modern hospitals existed, many families prayed to Samshin for a safe delivery and the health of both mother and child. Even today, older generations in Korea still mention Samshin in everyday conversation, especially when talking about childbirth.
Interestingly, many Western cultures have a surprisingly similar tradition.
Instead of a goddess, European folklore tells the story of a stork(황새) delivering babies to their parents. The image became so deeply rooted in Western culture that it appeared in countless children's books, greeting cards, and animated films. One of the most famous examples is Disney's Dumbo (1941), whose opening sequence shows storks flying across the sky carrying babies in white bundles to waiting animal families. According to European folklore, storks became symbols of childbirth because they return every spring, build lasting nests, and care devotedly for their young. Over time, people came to associate them with new life, family, and good fortune. This eventually gave rise to the popular story that storks deliver babies to waiting parents.
In Korea, however, this sacred role belongs not to a bird, but to Samshin Halmeoni, the guardian of pregnancy, childbirth, and newborn children.
Although these traditions look very different, they reflect the same universal human desire: to explain the miracle of birth through stories filled with kindness and hope. The difference lies in how each culture imagines that miracle.
In Korean tradition, Samshin is much more than a messenger. She is believed to oversee not only birth itself but also a person's destiny, relationships, and the invisible connections that shape a lifetime. This idea fits perfectly within Goblin.
Samshin Grandma does not simply help children enter the world. She quietly guides the lives they will eventually live. She arranges meetings, offers second chances, and gently nudges people toward the relationships they are destined to experience. Rather than controlling fate outright, she acts like a patient gardener, planting seeds that may not bloom until years—or even lifetimes—later.
That is why Samshin Grandma is one of the most profoundly Korean characters in Goblin. She represents an ancient belief that life begins not by chance, but with both blessing and purpose.
If you were living in Korea in the past—and even today in some families—becoming pregnant was not seen as something to take for granted. Women who hoped to conceive, as well as expectant mothers, would often pray to Samshin Halmeoni every day. They asked her to bless them with a healthy child, protect the baby throughout pregnancy, and grant the child a happy, prosperous, and meaningful life.
For generations, many Korean households kept a small space dedicated to Samshin, where family members quietly offered sincere prayers for a safe pregnancy and childbirth. These prayers were not simply requests for a baby, but heartfelt wishes that the child would grow up healthy, fortunate, and surrounded by love.
Although most Koreans today rely on modern medicine rather than folk rituals, Samshin Halmeoni remains a beloved cultural symbol of motherhood, birth, and the hope that every child enters the world under a special blessing.
Why the First Snow Means So Much in Korea
If there is one weather event that instantly changes the mood of an entire country, it is the first snowfall of the year (cheotnun, 첫눈).
In many countries, the first snow simply marks the arrival of winter.
In Korea, it carries something far more emotional.
For generations, the first snow has symbolized new beginnings, hope, reunion, and romance. It marks the moment when an ordinary day suddenly becomes memorable. Schools become noisier, offices grow quieter as people look out the windows, and social media fills with photos of the falling snow. No matter how busy life is, the first snow still has the power to make people pause.
This emotional connection has become deeply woven into Korean popular culture.
Countless songs, novels, films, and television dramas use the first snowfall as the perfect setting for a confession of love, a long-awaited reunion, or an unforgettable farewell.
Over time, several romantic beliefs have also become popular.
Many young Koreans say that if you watch the first snowfall with someone you love, your relationship will become a lasting memory. Others hope to confess their feelings on the first snowy day, believing it is an especially meaningful moment to begin a relationship. Couples often promise to meet when the first snow falls, while old friends use it as an excuse to reconnect after many months apart.
These are not ancient religious beliefs or formal traditions. Rather, they are modern cultural customs that have been reinforced by decades of Korean films, dramas, music, and literature.
This is why snow carries such emotional weight in Goblin.
When Kim Shin and Ji Eun-tak stand together beneath gently falling snow, Korean viewers immediately recognize that the scene is about much more than beautiful winter scenery.
The first snow quietly tells the audience that something important is happening.
It suggests hope after loneliness.
A reunion after separation.
A promise that love may return even after it seems impossible.
Perhaps this is why Goblin could never have replaced snow with rain or sunshine. In Korea, the first snow is not just weather—it is a language of emotion.
Did You Know?
Many Korean couples still say, "Let's meet when the first snow falls." Unlike Valentine's Day or Christmas, the first snowfall cannot be scheduled. Its unpredictability makes the meeting feel even more special, turning an ordinary winter day into a cherished memory
Fate Woven Together: The Meaning of Korea's Blue and Red Colors
One of the most memorable visual motifs in Goblin is the recurring use of red. From Ji Eun-tak's iconic red scarf to the striking red crosswalk that resembles a ceremonial red carpet, the color quietly appears at many of the story's most meaningful moments. While never explicitly explained, these recurring images invite viewers to think about destiny, love, and invisible connections.
In Korean tradition, red is far more than a decorative color. Together with blue, it represents one of the oldest symbols of harmony and balance. During traditional Korean weddings, cheongsil hongsil (청실홍실)—literally "the blue thread and the red thread"—symbolizes the union of a bride and groom. The intertwined silk threads express the hope that two separate lives will become one shared destiny.
The colors themselves carry deep cultural meaning. Blue traditionally represents the yin(음) principle, while red represents yang(양). Together they symbolize balance, harmony, and the complementary nature of life. This is why blue and red decorations appear throughout traditional Korean wedding ceremonies, celebrating not only marriage but the harmonious joining of two lives.
Although cheongsil hongsil (청실 Blue thread, 홍실 Red Thread) and the East Asian legend of the Red Thread of Fate come from different traditions, they share the same belief: some relationships are destined to exist.
That idea is beautifully reflected in the Korean word inyeon (인연, “fate” usually translated in English). More than simply meaning fate, inyeon(인연) refers to the invisible connections built through countless encounters across time. It suggests that people meet not by chance, but because their lives have been quietly woven together long before they ever cross paths.
Seen from this perspective, the recurring red imagery in Goblin feels especially meaningful. Ji Eun-tak's red scarf, the red crosswalk, and other subtle visual cues can be seen as reminders of the invisible threads connecting people across lifetimes. Whether intentional symbolism or artistic interpretation, these images resonate deeply with Korean ideas of destiny, making Goblin not just a love story, but a uniquely Korean reflection on how lives become intertwined.
The Magic You Only See the Second Time
Perhaps this is the greatest reward of watching a remarkable film or drama more than once.
The first time, we follow the story. We wonder what will happen next, celebrate the joyful moments, and grieve the heartbreaking ones. We are carried forward by the plot.
The second time, however, we begin to notice something entirely different.
The red scarf that once seemed like a simple fashion choice. The first snowfall that quietly announces hope. The black hat of the Jeoseung Saja. The subtle references to inyeon, Samshin Halmeoni, and centuries-old Korean traditions woven into ordinary conversations and unforgettable scenes.
These details were always there. We simply did not see them because we were too busy following the story.
That is why truly great stories reward a second viewing. Like rereading a favorite book, each return reveals another layer of meaning, another carefully placed symbol, another quiet conversation between the creator and the audience.
Perhaps this is also why Goblin continues to captivate viewers around the world. Beneath its fantasy and romance lies a rich tapestry of Korean history, folklore, philosophy, and emotion. Every revisit uncovers another thread that was there all along, patiently waiting to be discovered.
And perhaps that is the true magic of Goblin.
Not that it tells a story only once—but that it tells a different story each time we return.
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