Interviews are always stressful. Schools and jobs are on the line, and you have to show the best version of yourself in that exact moment. I have had my own share of interviews over the years. I still vividly remember every detail of my very first one for the Foreign Ministry, back in March 1992, right out of college.
Here is the thing: among various sources of stress that day, what stood out most was the attire. What should I wear? What shoes? What tie color? As a young man fresh out of college, I had no experience or guidance. For one thing, I couldn’t stand out conspicuously — possibly a major misstep in the Korean cultural context. For another, I needed to look neat and polished. Striking that balance was a difficult task, as you can imagine.
This attire dilemma has applied to many other job interviews I have had since then, both in Korea and abroad. Different organizations in different countries have always made me wonder what outfit and colors would suit me best for the occasion. Perhaps some choices worked, and some didn’t.
More often than not, I now sit on the other side of the table — as an interviewer for job vacancies and school admissions. Instantly, I can see the long preparation and exhausting mental gymnastics the interviewees have gone through just to appear smart, sharp and engaged that morning.
My own observation: While applicants differ wildly in backgrounds, personalities and speaking styles, they show striking similarities in one area — their attire and shoes. The suits are almost uniformly black or dark gray, paired with white shirts or blouses and toned-down ties and essentials. Of course, I have yet to see sneakers or jeans. There is no "official" dress code or attire regulation, but the culture has simply settled that way. I suspect the interview scene across other Korean institutions is not much different.
Indeed, this practical uniformity reflects the tested and accepted practice of the Korean job market. In interviews, maybe applicants generally do not want to stand out. They want to belong to the group, hoping to prove their merit through the substance of the interview rather than clothes, shoes or accessories. And this interview culture has been entrenched for decades now. Come to think of it, that is exactly what went through my mind when I prepared for my first interview 34 years ago.
Then, a stone was thrown into this calm pond. On Sept. 10, the Ministry of Personnel Management issued a new policy that drew unexpected nationwide attention. Starting this October, the agency is banning dress shoes and ties for government job interviews. Specifically, formal suits are advised against, and ties and dress shoes are prohibited. Instead, candidates are encouraged to wear casual attire like shirts, knits, slacks, chinos or jeans, paired with sneakers or boat shoes. The underlying logic is simple and commendable: The ministry wants to reduce the financial burden on applicants who may have to buy, rent or borrow formal wear just for a single interview.
But I am not quite sure whether this policy will actually lessen the burden. If anything, it imposes a new, ambiguous riddle on the already anxious minds of applicants: What specific “casual” clothes and shoes look "appropriate" that day? For instance, young people will now likely agonize over new questions: Can I wear a brand-name shirt, or is it too flashy? Do these shoes count as formal or casual? (In fact, there are many hybrid styles these days.) Can I wear a sports jacket? (The ministry notice is silent on this.)
If the outcome is negative, they will probably scratch their heads, wondering if the attire choice for the day was to blame. It would add an unnecessary layer of anxiety to an already grueling process.
Furthermore, a more critical issue might arise: Wouldn’t the new casual dress code inadvertently and unwittingly expose the socioeconomic backgrounds of the candidates? Arguably, formal suits may have served as a de facto equalizer on this score. Without them, personal attire may reveal financial situations and individual circumstances much more loudly, potentially leading to unintended ostentation. Any signaling of this nature, or any indication in this direction, would be devastatingly dangerous in Korea’s hyper-competitive job market and ultrasensitive social dynamics.
If this happens, it would defeat the very objective of the policy shift in the first place — to level the playing field. It would become an unfortunate example of a well-meaning policy bringing about the exact opposite effect.
Perhaps the best approach is to leave well enough alone. Young applicants and students have figured out and successfully navigated this unwritten dress code for decades. Overthinking and overregulating the interview scene would only yield messy, incongruent results. What they need is more jobs, not more job market regulations. As the old proverb goes, worry often gives a small thing a big shadow.
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Lee Jae-min
Lee Jae-min is a professor of law at Seoul National University. The views expressed here are the writer’s own. — Ed.
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