As the Korean Netflix series continues to take the world by storm, it’s been met with mixed reactions on its home turf.

From Coffee Prince to Jewel in the Palace to Crash Landing on You and countless other titles, Korean dramas have captivated international audiences for decades. But none have ever achieved the ubiquity of Squid Game, which shot to Netflix’s number one spot in 90 countries within 10 days of its release this September. A few weeks later, it became the streaming platform’s most-watched series, overtaking Bridgerton.

You’d think, given all this, that Squid Game would be well-received on its home turf too—especially since South Korea is the birthplace of scary shows like Sweet Home and Kingdom, as well as shocking, suspenseful films such as Alive, Train to Busan, Parasite, and Park Chan-wook’s Vengeance Trilogy. But the truth is more complicated than that. As it turns out, South Korean viewers are sharply divided over the show.

Interestingly, the same qualities that made Squid Game an instant hit with non-Korean audiences may help explain the relatively lukewarm response from South Korea. In a country where numerous residents have been exposed to Japanese films and manga as well as Korean webtoons, the survival-game genre feels all too familiar. Squid Game detractors have also lambasted the K-drama for being overly graphic, with some expressing regret at having watched the series at all. Pia Youn, a tutor based in Busan, says that while she enjoyed the series, many of her friends “didn’t like the content because it was too violent for their tastes,” adding that she thought the show’s depiction of the evil, selfish side of human nature “was really repulsive to some Koreans.”

Other local viewers have complained that Squid Game’s plot felt rather predictable, with scenarios and characters that were reminiscent of other K-dramas: a protagonist who isn’t smart and doesn’t have much but still wins in the end because of his kindheartedness; a sibling who sets out in search of his long-lost brother, only to find him right when he’s about to die; two lifelong friends who fight each other to the death, but end up breaking into tears and reconciling at the last minute. Younger Koreans, especially those in their 20s, have denounced some of the show’s scenes and dialogue for being misogynistic (with some even calling for a boycott of the series) and have criticized the show’s portrayal of North Korean defectors, migrant workers, and the elderly as outdated—arguing that Squid Game did not reflect the progress that South Korea had made in its treatment of these marginalized groups since 2008, when the script was conceived.

Many also take issue with the emotionally charged scenes in the show, viewing them as excessively sentimental and melodramatic—a characteristic known as shinpa in Korean, which is often interpreted to mean “tearjerker.” Some international viewers have cited “Gganbu,” the show’s emotional sixth episode, as their favorite. But many Koreans, who felt its scenes were too weepy and over the top, panned it as a classic example of shinpa: “K-shinpa is what foreigners love the most. Meanwhile, we [Koreans] who are used to K-shinpa find it cringeworthy and have been criticizing it,” said one commenter on an online forum.

That said, Dal Yong Jin, a communications professor at Simon Fraser University, explains that some Koreans—especially older generations—liked the show’s shinpa aspect. “Shinpa actually helps the success of the series, both nationally and globally,” he tells me in an email. “For Koreans who are in their upper 40s, 50s, and 60s, this is a focal point [that attracts them], and for global audiences, this kind of shinpa is relatively new and even exotic.… However, younger generations [of Koreans] who did not experience severe historical moments like the Korean War, the Vietnam War, and the 1997 IMF crisis, and live with digital technologies don’t understand [this].”

Koreans recognize the element of shinpa, as well as some of the show’s scenes, lines, and character dynamics (much of which are responsible for creating shinpa in the first place), as K-drama clichés. But according to Yoo Kyung-sun of the Korean daily Kyunghyang Shinmun, some local critics have written that “for overseas audiences, these attributes actually made Squid Game feel like a ‘fresh and original thriller,’” and turned out to be selling points for the show outside of Korea.

Yet despite the mixed reviews from the Korean public and tepid responses from local critics, even the Korean press couldn’t seem to stop writing about Squid Game this fall, obsessing over why the show was doing so well internationally. Headlines such as “How can domestic reactions be so divided over Squid Game, which has conquered international audiences?” and “Why on earth is Squid Game more popular overseas than in Korea?” have been plastered across Korean news sites.

“Korean news sites and YouTube videos are saying, ‘Why is the world crazy about Squid Game?’ instead of ‘This is a really good show,’” says Youn, the Busan–based tutor—who, like many other Koreans, decided to watch Squid Game only after news reports of the show’s overseas popularity piqued her curiosity.

Stephanie Kim, a 31-year-old researcher at Seoul National University Hospital, agrees: “I think many Koreans were generally surprised that non-Koreans, especially non-East Asians, could relate to Korean social issues and values.”

Some Korean journalists and TV critics are puzzled by the show’s enthusiastic international reviews, with reporters like Han So-bum of the newspaper Hankook Ilbo observing that Old Boy, Parasite, and Squid Game probably represent the kind of films and TV shows that Westerners have come to expect from Korea. Some reporters, such as Ko Kyung-suk of Hankook Ilbo and Nam Jung-hyun of the news agency Newsis, have questioned why other K-dramas (like the domestic smash hit D.P., also on Netflix) haven’t resonated with global audiences to the same degree, and have offered their own analyses and observations.

But we should probably take these negative reactions with a grain of salt, even if some of them are coming from Korean pop-culture experts. Many Koreans seem to have a strange tendency to experience “tall poppy syndrome” when someone or something from their country enjoys enormous popularity—be it BTS or Squid Game—and seem to relish downplaying their success. Personally, I know many Koreans who liked Squid Game, even if their opinions haven’t found their way online. The show certainly has legions of fans in its home country; it debuted in Korea as the number two show on Netflix, and took the top spot just a day later (thanks, in part, to a significant domestic marketing push).

Maybe some elements of the show don’t appeal to Squid Game’s native country—but many Koreans, especially those who are middle-aged and older, grew up playing the children’s games depicted in the show, and have appreciated the deep sense of nostalgia it stirs in them. They’ve been simultaneously pleased and shocked to see their favorite games transformed into instruments of murder, with some remarking that phrases that were commonly uttered in these games—like “You’re dead”—hit home for them like never before. The show taught even domestic audiences about unfamiliar aspects of their own culture, for example by introducing them to the actual squid game—which many younger Koreans had never played—and explaining the real meaning behind the word “gganbu,” which locals often associate with the name of a Korean fried chicken chain.

Furthermore, in a country with soaring housing prices and household debt, widening income inequality, and high rates of youth unemployment, Koreans also felt that they could relate to the show’s premise, contributing to its domestic success. Korean parents, many of whom are prone to sacrificing themselves for their children and their families—sometimes even going into debt to do so—have seen themselves in Seong Gi-hun, the show’s main protagonist.

On Korean social media channels, local audiences seemed to be split between two extremes. Those who love Squid Game are often labeled “insiders,” or inssa (those who follow the latest trends and are part of the “in crowd”), while those who have criticized the show are cast as “outsiders,” or assa. For many Koreans, however, the pressure to watch the show has been simply too great, even if they’re certain the genre isn’t their cup of tea. Ahn Tae-young, an 18-year-old Korean high school student who prefers romantic comedies, says he didn’t like Squid Game, but felt he had to finish it since his friends often talked about the show. “I wanted to join that conversation. I didn’t want to be an outsider,” he says.

Whether or not they enjoyed Squid Game, South Koreans could probably agree on one reason the series might have found greater success abroad than in its home country: Simply put, there are just too many exciting Korean shows to watch.

Despite being a tiny country with a population of about 50 million, South Korea produces tons of K-dramas every year—more than 100 were reportedly aired in 2020 alone. That’s in addition to the plethora of documentaries, variety shows, and music-inspired TV programs (whether related to K-pop, K-indie, trot, or a mix of musical styles) that are also aired. Manhwa (the Korean equivalent of manga) and webtoons are also highly popular across age groups. 

All this means that, unless the content is stellar and strikes a chord with audiences nationwide, it’s often hard to really stand out in the South Korean market—and even then, top-notch material can get lost in the shuffle as soon as the next hit show captures the country’s imagination. Because of this surfeit of quality content, Koreans become amused or even dumbfounded when they see a particular film or TV show do extremely well overseas—the questions they tend to ask are, “Why Parasite?” or “Why Squid Game?”

The unprecedented success of Squid Game has, though, sparked some unique concerns from both Korean and international fans who worry that K-dramas, which are appealing in part because they rarely feature violence and sex, are becoming increasingly violent and explicit. Some K-drama fans in the U.S., where viewership of K-dramas on Netflix increased by over 200% between 2019 and 2021, have echoed this sentiment. “I also worry that with the popularity of these more violent dramas, [this] will mean less rom-coms,” says Elle Houston, a Los Angeles–based writer who runs the Instagram account kdramasarethebest101.

But K-drama fans probably need not worry. South Korea is still making dramas across a wide range of genres—including romantic comedies, which remain popular among Korean and international audiences alike. In early October, Squid Game was dethroned from the top spot on Netflix in Korea by the romcom Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, which quickly became the most talked-about show in that country. The show also landed in Netflix’s Top 10 in about 20 other countries, from Australia to India to Japan and Egypt, according to data from streaming-analytics platform FlixPatrol shared by The Korea Times. More recently, another romantic K-drama, The King’s Affection, reached number one on Netflix in Korea, according to FlixPatrol.

So while Squid Game may indeed inspire a greater number of horror, thriller, and sci-fi K-dramas, the continued demand for more traditional genres suggests that we can also expect a wider diversity of K-dramas in the future—one in which viewers will be certain to find plenty of shows that suit their own tastes.

This article originally appeared in Vanity Fair.