LE SSERAFIM, ILLIT, and KATSEYE Turn Internet Hate Into Their Greatest Weapon
There is a line in Game of Thrones that has always stayed with me. Tyrion Lannister tells Jon Snow to never let people know that their words can hurt you because they’ll simply keep using them against you. Instead, make those words your own.
That, to me, is exactly what this music video accomplishes.
Rather than denying years of criticism, LE SSERAFIM, ILLIT, and KATSEYE embrace it. They transform old controversies into visual symbols. They revisit internet discourse, mock it, and repeatedly force the audience to confront its own behavior. More importantly, they reverse the relationship between idols and spectators. Throughout the video, it isn’t the artists being watched. It’s the audience.
The message feels surprisingly mature. Instead of trying to convince people to stop hating, the girls seem to acknowledge that the criticism will never completely disappear. The healthier response, then, is to remove its power.
That is what makes the concept so effective.
Ironically, every hateful post generated after the video’s release only reinforces its message. Every viral criticism becomes another example of the very cycle the music video is talking about. The more people obsess over them, the more visible they become.
A Story That Never Ends
I believe the music video is structured as a loop.
The final scene, where the girls sit calmly while everything around them burns before a police car arrives, doesn’t actually end the story. It begins the story.
My interpretation is that they escape in the truck while being pursued by the police. When the camera pulls back, Sakura is visibly bleeding, suggesting the chase has already taken its toll. Then comes a sudden jolt, almost as if Yunjin slams on the brakes, sending the narrative back to the beginning where everyone appears perfectly fine.
The story simply starts over.
That cyclical structure mirrors the experience of online hate. Just when one controversy fades, another begins. The chase never really stops.
A Quiet Show of Solidarity
One of the first things we see is LE SSERAFIM watching ILLIT perform.
To me, this isn’t accidental.
Eunchae blowing a kiss toward ILLIT feels less like a random interaction and more like a statement of solidarity. Despite the constant comparisons and attempts to pit girl groups against one another, the video presents them as supporting each other instead.
Eventually Yunjin drives away, almost as if saying, “We’ll always have your back, but now we have our own battles to fight.”
Those battles arrive almost immediately when another vehicle crashes into them.
I don’t think this collision is random within the story. It represents the reality that every time these artists begin moving forward, there is another attempt to stop them.
“Algorithm Bulletproof”
One detail that immediately stood out to me was the phrase “algorithm bulletproof.”
I think it intentionally echoes BTS.
No K-pop act has experienced the scale and longevity of online hate that BTS has endured throughout their career. Whether intentional or not, the phrase feels like a quiet acknowledgment that surviving constant public scrutiny has become almost a rite of passage for globally successful artists.
Turning the Camera Around
The graveyard sequence is one of the strongest sections of the video.
The camera initially adopts the perspective of the dead person. The audience becomes the subject rather than the observer.
Then the photographers appear.
Throughout the video, cameras consistently represent online spectators who document every mistake, every rumor, and every painful moment before broadcasting it across social media for entertainment.
Yet the expected victim refuses to play that role. Chaewon simply flips her hair.
Instead of looking defeated, she almost seems amused, as if saying, “You thought I was finished? I’m still here.”
Even the imagery of engraving criticism onto a tombstone feels like acceptance rather than surrender. After hearing the same narratives repeatedly, they’ve become meaningless.
Dead Narratives Kept Alive
Kazuha lying beside what resembles a corpse continues this idea.
The graveyard itself appears to symbolize controversies that should already be over. These stories have died countless times, yet people insist on resurrecting them.
The rose she carries becomes important.
Flowers placed at graves preserve someone’s memory. Here, the flower seems to represent internet users who continue revisiting long-debunked narratives simply to keep them alive.
When Kazuha throws the rose toward the camera while asking viewers to “heart” it, she isn’t talking about love. She’s using “heart” as a social media action.
Go ahead.
Like it.
Share it.
Spread it again.
The moment she throws the flower, the pigeon flies away.
To me, that represents how quickly these online mobs disappear once they’re confronted directly.
“Your Imagination Got Me Going Viral”
This may be my favorite lyric in the song,”Your imagination got me going viral.”
It perfectly summarizes how many online controversies begin with nothing. Rumors become headlines. Speculation becomes accepted truth. Fan theories evolve into accusations.
Ironically, those invented narratives often generate enormous attention.
The police car continues following them because the surveillance never really ends.
ILLIT Knows You’re Watching
The police officers throughout the video represent the haters.
What makes the ILLIT sequence interesting is that the members aren’t portrayed as unaware victims. They know they’re being watched and where those people who are watching are.
That is why they storm into the office. This means they know who are behind the keyboard.
Even the performance on top of office desks carries symbolism. Desks represent where anonymous users spend hours spreading rumors and criticism. ILLIT reclaims that space by literally performing on it.
The Golden Tooth and Manufactured Narratives
The golden tooth initially appears valuable. Later, however, I think it functions as a red herring. The haters treat it as something important simply because they’ve decided it is.
That mirrors how internet discourse often works. People isolate one tiny detail, assign enormous significance to it, and suddenly it becomes the center of an entirely fabricated controversy.
The tooth itself isn’t important. The obsession surrounding it is.
Being the Main Character in Someone Else’s Story
Another clever scene features Minju entering a dental office.
She isn’t the patient. She walks into the room expecting to be a bystander before suddenly discovering herself on the screen.
That instantly reminded me of how frequently discussions about other artists somehow become conversations about LE SSERAFIM, ILLIT, or KATSEYE.
A different group releases music. Instead of discussing that comeback, people immediately begin comparing it to these three groups. The irony is obvious. Even when they aren’t supposed to be the center of attention, they somehow become it anyway.
Criticism as Self-Parody
Several moments throughout the music video openly parody criticisms directed at individual members. The helium sequence appears to reference recurring comments about high-pitched or squeaky vocals. Rather than avoiding those criticisms, the members exaggerate them.
Wonhee hanging from the ceiling may symbolize something similar. The version of her sitting in the chair isn’t actually her. It’s the version created by internet discourse. A fictional character constructed from rumors and assumptions.
The real Wonhee exists outside that narrative.
The Impossible Standard of Perfection
The KATSEYE section introduces another layer.
The phrase “Cleanliness is next to godliness” immediately establishes impossible expectations. Female idols are expected to remain flawless—not just visually, but morally. The beauty queen wearing a halo instead of a crown reinforces that expectation. She’s expected to be saintly.
Then someone cuts the supporting rope. The illusion collapses. Even when idols try to satisfy impossible standards, someone is always ready to sabotage them.
I also found it significant that the word “God” literally falls on her. The haters are playing God. They decide who deserves success, forgiveness, and destruction.
“I’m Just Dancing”
Daniela’s sequence feels deeply personal. She has often been criticized for overdancing. Instead of changing herself, the video answers with remarkable confidence.
This is how I dance. I’m the main dancer. I’m supposed to stand out.
Even the now-famous tongue movement becomes an act of defiance. If people hate it, she’ll do it again. Eventually, what people mocked becomes part of her identity.
The Plastic Bag Worth $1,000
My favorite visual in the entire music video is the plastic shopping bag. It isn’t luxury. Quite the oppsotive. It’s cheap and disposable.
That’s exactly how critics often describe manufactured pop groups.
Yet the price tag reads $1,000.
That is brilliant satire. The message isn’t that the artists actually believe they’re worthless. The point is that this is how critics describe them. Ironically, it is those very criticisms that continue increasing their visibility and cultural value. The more attention the hate receives, the more valuable the artists become.
A Red Herring Creates Chaos
Lara eventually throws the pendant toward the camera, triggering a massive electrical short circuit. Chaos erupts.
I think the object itself doesn’t matter. The important part is how something insignificant becomes inflated into a massive controversy. That is exactly how internet outrage often operates.
Something immaterial is sensationalized because that will fill people’s need to rage.
“Your Digital Footprint Is Looking Insane”
Lara delivers another memorable moment.
The use of corn imagery appears to reference how internet users often substitute “corn” for explicit words to avoid automated moderation.
Here, however, I don’t think the reference is sexual. I think it’s about hate consumption.
Some people spend extraordinary amounts of time consuming content they supposedly dislike. As Lara points out, their digital footprint tells the real story.
If your online activity revolves entirely around one artist, maybe obsession is a more accurate description than hatred.
Dancing Through the Fire
The final sequence perfectly summarizes the video’s philosophy.
The girls dance while surrounded by flames. Instead of trying to extinguish the fire, they perform inside it. Then they calmly sit together making s’mores while everything continues burning around them.
The police eventually return. The chase begins again. Which takes us back to the beginning. The cycle never ends. And perhaps that’s the point.
The music video isn’t trying to convince us that online hate will disappear. It assumes the opposite. The criticism will continue. The rumors will return. The discourse will restart.
The only thing the artists can control is their response.
Rather than allowing hate to define them, LE SSERAFIM, ILLIT, and KATSEYE turn it into part of their own story.
Whether every symbol was intentionally placed by the creative team is impossible to know. This is, of course, my interpretation.
But if there’s one idea the music video consistently returns to, it’s this – you cannot stop people from watching.
Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is make them realize they’ve been the ones on display all along.
