What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim [ Guide]: Hidden Korean Meanings & Must-Know Facts

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Why “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” Still Obsesses K‑drama Fans in 2025

When Koreans talk about modern office rom-coms, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” almost always appears in the first three titles mentioned. Even though it first aired in 2018 on tvN, this drama keeps resurfacing in Korean social media trends, global streaming rankings, and meme culture. As a Korean viewer who watched it live in 2018 and has seen it return again and again on platforms like Netflix and Viki, I can say that “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” is more than just a cute romance. It has become a reference point, a shorthand in Korea for a certain style of glossy, feel-good storytelling.

“What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” matters because it captures a fantasy that is surprisingly specific to Korean corporate life: the overworked, hyper-competent secretary and the chaebol vice chairman who looks perfect on the outside but is emotionally stunted inside. The series translated a very Korean office hierarchy and chaebol family politics into something globally understandable without losing its local flavor. That’s one reason it still converts casual viewers into hardcore K‑drama fans.

In the last few years, I’ve noticed that younger Korean fans (especially university students) often discover Park Seo‑joon through newer works, then circle back to “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” and call it his “ultimate rom-com role.” On TikTok and Instagram Reels, clips of Lee Young‑joon’s narcissistic lines and Kim Mi‑so’s iconic resignation speech still rack up millions of views. In early 2025, Korean portal sites like Naver and Daum still run listicles ranking “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” among the top “healing office romances,” and it frequently reenters OTT platform “most-watched classic K‑drama” lists.

For global audiences, the drama is often remembered for swoon-worthy scenes and Park Seo‑joon and Park Min‑young’s chemistry. But in Korea, the conversation is more layered: we talk about how it softened the image of chaebol heirs, how it reflected changing attitudes toward women leaving stable jobs, and how it set the standard for webtoon-based rom-coms. Understanding why “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” became such a benchmark helps you see not just the drama itself, but also how Korean romance storytelling has evolved over the last decade.

Snapshot: Key Things That Define “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim”

To understand why “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” became so influential, it helps to zoom in on its core elements:

Webtoon-to-drama success
Adapted from the popular web novel and webtoon by Jung Kyung‑yoon, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” proved in 2018 that webtoon-based office romances could become mainstream TV hits without heavy makjang (extreme melodrama).
The ultimate narcissist boss
Lee Young‑joon (Park Seo‑joon) is one of Korea’s most iconic “narcissist male leads.” His third-person speech, exaggerated self-love, and ridiculous confidence became catchphrases and meme material.
Competent secretary as heroine
Kim Mi‑so (Park Min‑young) is the prototype of the “perfect secretary” in Korean drama: ultra-organized, emotionally intelligent, and indispensable to her chaebol boss. She helped shift female leads from “clumsy Candy” types to highly professional women.
Trauma wrapped in rom‑com
Behind the fluff, the shared childhood kidnapping trauma between Young‑joon and Mi‑so added psychological depth and drove the mystery arc that kept Korean viewers tuning in weekly.
Chemistry that felt almost “too real”
The intense on-screen chemistry sparked endless dating rumors in Korea. Even now, many Korean fans refer to their kiss scenes as some of the most technically well-executed in rom-com history.
Fashion and office aesthetics
From Mi‑so’s pencil skirts to Young‑joon’s tailored suits, the drama influenced office fashion trends and “secretary styling” searches on Korean shopping sites.
Evergreen meme source
Young‑joon’s “I’m perfect, so you don’t have to worry” type lines and his framed portrait wall still circulate in Korean online communities whenever people joke about narcissism or overconfidence.

These elements together make “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” not just a romance, but a cultural blueprint for later K‑drama rom-coms.

From Web Novel to Cultural Phenomenon: Korean Context Behind “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim”

To really understand “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” from a Korean perspective, you have to start with its origin as a web novel and webtoon. The original novel by Jung Kyung‑yoon was serialized online and then adapted into a webtoon on KakaoPage, where it gained a strong female readership in their 20s and 30s. At that time (mid‑2010s), Korean digital platforms were overflowing with chaebol-boss romances, but this story stood out for its witty banter, strong heroine, and blend of trauma and comedy.

When tvN announced the drama adaptation in early 2018, Korean netizens were skeptical at first. Many webtoon fans feared miscasting. But once Park Seo‑joon and Park Min‑young were confirmed, reaction on Korean portals like Naver turned largely positive, with comments praising their visual match and acting credibility in office roles. By the time the drama premiered on June 6, 2018, anticipation was high.

“What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” aired on tvN, not a public broadcast channel, yet it achieved impressive ratings. The final episode (Episode 16) recorded average nationwide ratings around 8.7% according to Nielsen Korea, which is strong for a cable romantic comedy. In the competitive 2018 lineup, it consistently ranked among the top cable dramas in its time slot.

Korean media outlets like Soompi coverage and domestic portals highlighted how ratings climbed steadily as the romance deepened. While some early viewers criticized the kidnapping plot as overly dramatic, most stayed for the character dynamics. The drama’s OST, including GFRIEND’s “Wanna Be” and Kim Na‑young’s “The Sun, The Moon, The Stars,” topped digital charts and became popular wedding video background music in Korea.

From a cultural standpoint, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” arrived at a moment when Korean society was re-examining workplace hierarchy and gender roles. The #MeToo movement had reached Korea in 2018, and there was active discussion about power abuse in offices. Interestingly, the drama chose to portray an idealized, almost fantasy version of the office: no sexual harassment, a kind-of strict but ultimately considerate boss, and a supportive secretary who is respected for her competence. Many Korean viewers saw it as pure escapism, a “what if office life were this safe and romantic” scenario.

In the last 30–90 days, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” has quietly resurfaced in Korean online communities for a few reasons:

Park Seo‑joon’s continued global rise, especially through Hollywood and Netflix projects, leads new international fans back to his earlier works. On Korean forums, people often rank this drama alongside “Fight for My Way” as his best rom-com era.
Park Min‑young’s more recent dramas, including “Love in Contract” and “Marry My Husband,” have reminded viewers of her “office romance queen” status, with many articles comparing her newer characters to Kim Mi‑so.
On TikTok and YouTube Shorts, Korean and global fans keep editing iconic scenes: Mi‑so’s resignation, the library kiss, the “tie scene,” and Young‑joon’s self-compliment monologues. These clips sometimes push the show back into trending sections on platforms like Netflix in specific regions.

Major platforms like Netflix and Viki still actively promote “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” as a gateway rom-com. Meanwhile, Korean entertainment news sites such as Naver Entertainment and Korea Economic Daily Entertainment periodically use still cuts from the drama in articles about “legendary K‑drama couples.”

Another important cultural layer is how the drama normalized webtoon-based office romances on TV. After its success, more adaptations like “Business Proposal,” “True Beauty,” and “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim”–style boss-secretary dynamics appeared. In Korean industry discussions, producers often refer to this drama as proof that “clean, bright, webtoon-style rom-coms” can outperform darker, riskier plots in terms of rewatch value and overseas sales.

In short, the history of “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” is not just about one hit drama. It’s about how Korean digital storytelling (webtoons, web novels) moved into mainstream TV, and how one series defined the visual and emotional grammar of the modern chaebol office rom-com for years to come.

Inside the Story: Plot, Characters, and Emotional Architecture of “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim”

From the outside, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” sounds like a simple boss-secretary romance. But from a Korean viewer’s perspective, the drama’s staying power comes from how it layers character arcs, trauma, and office culture details into that basic premise.

The central plot begins with a shock to Lee Young‑joon’s perfectly controlled world. He is the vice chairman of Yoomyung Group, a classic K‑drama chaebol heir: handsome, rich, impeccably dressed, and extremely self-absorbed. For nine years, Kim Mi‑so has managed every aspect of his life and work, from scheduling to emotional babysitting. One day, she calmly announces her resignation because she wants to live her own life, pursue marriage, and reclaim her identity beyond being “Secretary Kim.”

In Korean culture, a long-serving secretary in a chaebol group is often seen as almost family, or at least as a “shadow partner” in work. So Mi‑so’s resignation is a huge emotional betrayal to Young‑joon, who has taken her loyalty for granted. His desperate attempts to keep her—offering a raise, benefits, even a proposal—drive the early episodes’ comedy. Korean viewers especially loved how the drama exaggerated the gap between his arrogance and her polite but firm determination.

As the story unfolds, we learn that Young‑joon and Mi‑so share a childhood kidnapping incident. Mi‑so has repressed some memories and believes she was saved by Young‑joon’s older brother, Lee Sung‑yeon, now a famous author. But the truth is more complicated: Young‑joon was the kidnapped child with her, and he has carried guilt and trauma ever since. This twist is important culturally, because Korean dramas often use childhood trauma to justify emotionally distant male leads. Here, though, the trauma is shared and becomes a healing process for both.

The drama’s structure alternates between:

Office comedy: Rivalries among employees, ridiculous tasks, misunderstandings about the boss-secretary relationship, and side romances (e.g., Park Yoo‑sik’s divorced life and advice).
Romantic progression: From boss and secretary to emotional equals, through confessions, dates, family introductions, and eventually marriage.
Trauma resolution: Flashbacks, confrontation with the mother of the kidnapper, and reconciliation between Young‑joon and his brother.

What makes this blend work in Korea is that it reflects familiar social realities while softening them. For example, Young‑joon’s narcissism is obviously exaggerated, but many Koreans joke that some chaebol heirs and high-ranking executives act similarly entitled. Mi‑so’s hyper-competence and long working hours reflect real issues in Korean office culture—such as unpaid emotional labor and the expectation that secretaries anticipate their boss’s needs.

Character-wise, Koreans often point out:

Lee Young‑joon: A twist on the typical cold chaebol. Instead of being purely stoic, he is dramatic, expressive, and hilariously self-obsessed. His growth is not about becoming kind (he is already not cruel), but about learning humility and empathy.
Kim Mi‑so: A very Korean kind of heroine—respectful and polite, but quietly assertive. She doesn’t shout or rebel dramatically, yet her decision to resign and prioritize herself was seen as empowering in a society where women often stay in stable but draining jobs.
Park Yoo‑sik: The divorced friend and colleague who offers absurdly sincere advice. Many Korean viewers loved him because he represented a softer, more emotionally open type of male friend, contrasting with Young‑joon’s stiffness.
Supporting office staff: Their gossip, misunderstandings, and “company dinner” scenes (hoesik) mirror real Korean office culture, but in a lighter, sanitized way.

The drama’s emotional architecture is carefully calibrated: every intense or heavy moment is followed by comedic relief, and every romantic high point is earned through gradual trust-building. The famous library kiss, for example, comes after Mi‑so has fully accepted Young‑joon not as her boss but as a man with vulnerabilities. That pacing is one reason Korean fans rewatch specific episodes; the build-up feels satisfying rather than rushed.

Overall, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” works because it takes archetypes that Koreans know very well—the chaebol heir, the long-suffering secretary, the trauma-laden childhood—and arranges them in a way that feels both familiar and refreshingly playful.

What Koreans Notice: Hidden Cultural Nuances in “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim”

When global fans watch “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim,” they usually focus on the romance, comedy, and visuals. Korean viewers enjoy those too, but we also pick up on smaller cultural details that may not be obvious with subtitles.

First, the relationship between a chaebol vice chairman and his secretary carries a specific weight in Korea. In large conglomerates, a vice chairman’s secretary is often expected to be on call almost 24/7, managing not just work but sometimes personal matters. When Mi‑so handles Young‑joon’s family events, clothes, and even his emotional state, Korean viewers recognize this as an exaggerated but rooted reflection of reality. Her nine-year tenure signals deep trust; resigning after so long is almost like a divorce. That’s why Koreans understood why Young‑joon panicked so dramatically.

Second, the way Mi‑so speaks to Young‑joon is very Korean. She uses formal speech, honorifics, and professional titles even when they become romantically involved. In Korea, many couples who start as boss and subordinate gradually relax their speech, but in the drama, they maintain a balance: she still calls him “Vice Chairman” in office settings, reflecting Korea’s strong boundary between public and private hierarchy. Korean fans often discuss how their speech patterns subtly shift over the series—from stiffly formal to softer, warmer tones—showing emotional intimacy without breaking workplace decorum.

Third, the depiction of hoesik (company dinners) and office gossip feels familiar to Korean workers. Scenes where colleagues speculate about the boss-secretary relationship echo real concerns about “gapjil” (abuse of power) and favoritism. However, the drama carefully avoids showing any serious misconduct. For instance, when Young‑joon and Mi‑so’s relationship becomes known, the company HR response is mostly gentle teasing rather than disciplinary action. Korean viewers recognize this as fantasy; in reality, such relationships can be complicated and sometimes frowned upon, especially when there is a big power gap.

Another nuance is Mi‑so’s family situation. As the youngest daughter who sacrificed her youth to pay off her family’s debt, she represents a very Korean archetype of filial duty. Many Korean women in their 20s and 30s relate to the pressure of supporting parents and siblings, delaying their own dreams. Her decision to finally live for herself—traveling, dating, considering marriage—is culturally resonant. Korean commentators often pointed out that this storyline aligned with growing public conversations about “filial piety fatigue” and burnout among young adults.

The kidnapping trauma is also framed in a distinctly Korean way. The guilt that Young‑joon’s parents feel, the way they treat Sung‑yeon as fragile, and the pressure on Young‑joon to be the “perfect son” reflect Confucian family expectations. The idea that one child’s suffering warps the entire family dynamic is something Korean viewers immediately understand. The drama’s resolution—where truth is revealed, misunderstandings cleared, and everyone cries together—matches the emotional catharsis style common in Korean family dramas.

Even the fashion has cultural layers. Mi‑so’s blouses and pencil skirts sparked “Secretary Kim look” trends on Korean shopping malls like Zigzag and 11st. Korean office workers commented on how her outfits balanced modesty and style: high necklines, knee-length skirts, but with feminine colors and subtle details. Young‑joon’s three-piece suits, pocket squares, and perfect hair set a new standard for “chaebol styling,” influencing later dramas and real-life corporate fashion.

Lastly, from a Korean industry perspective, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” is remembered as the drama that cemented Park Min‑young’s reputation as the “queen of office rom-coms.” Her ability to deliver nuanced facial expressions and natural office behavior (like bowing slightly when entering, managing documents smoothly) is frequently discussed in Korean acting forums. Many Korean viewers say that without Park Min‑young’s grounded performance, the drama’s more absurd elements would have felt cartoonish.

All these cultural nuances mean that when Koreans rewatch “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim,” we’re not just revisiting a love story; we’re revisiting a particular fantasy version of corporate Korea, family duty, and emotional healing that still hits close to home.

Measuring the Impact: How “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” Stacks Up Against Other K‑dramas

In Korean drama circles, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” is often used as a benchmark when discussing rom-coms. To understand its impact, it helps to compare it with other major titles and look at specific aspects like ratings, tropes, and global reach.

Aspect	What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim	Comparable K‑dramas
Source material	Web novel & webtoon adaptation	Business Proposal (webtoon), True Beauty (webtoon)
Main setting	Corporate office, chaebol group	Business Proposal (conglomerate), Her Private Life (museum)
Male lead archetype	Narcissistic chaebol vice chairman	Cold CEO (Business Proposal), tsundere boss (Secretary Kim imitators)
Female lead archetype	Hyper-competent secretary	Fake-date employee (Business Proposal), fangirl curator (Her Private Life)
Average cable rating peak	Around 8.7% on tvN	Business Proposal ~11.4% (SBS), Strong Woman Do Bong‑soon ~9.7% (JTBC)
Global recognition	Steady long-term favorite on Netflix/Viki	Crash Landing on You (global phenomenon), Business Proposal (OTT viral hit)

In terms of domestic ratings, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” did very well for a cable rom-com, though not record-breaking. But its real strength is its long tail: years after airing, it still appears in “Top 10 K‑dramas to start with” lists on international blogs and YouTube channels. Korean producers pay attention to this kind of sustained overseas interest because it indicates strong rewatch value and licensing potential.

One clear impact is how it redefined the chaebol romance. Before this drama, many chaebol leads were stoic, borderline cruel, or emotionally unavailable. Young‑joon, by contrast, is emotionally expressive, hilariously vain, and openly adoring once he falls in love. This softer, more comedic chaebol template influenced later dramas. You can see echoes of his character in male leads who are rich but quirky rather than cold.

Another impact is on office rom-com structure. After “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim,” many dramas copied its mix of:

Clean, bright office aesthetics
Strong secondary couple or side characters for comic relief
Trauma or mystery subplot tied to childhood
Fashion-forward styling that viewers can emulate

Korean netizens often joke that some later shows feel like “Secretary Kim clones,” especially when they feature a long-suffering female employee and an eccentric CEO.

On a global level, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” became one of the gateway K‑dramas for non-Asian audiences around 2019–2021, when Netflix expanded its K‑drama catalog. International fans often mention it alongside “Crash Landing on You” and “Itaewon Class” as early favorites. On platforms like MyDramaList, it consistently ranks high in rom-com categories, with thousands of reviews praising its “light but not shallow” tone.

From the Korean industry side, this global response confirmed that:

Webtoon-style visuals (bright colors, clean framing) work well for international viewers.
Relatively low-stakes, character-driven stories can travel just as well as high-concept dramas.
Strong chemistry between leads can outweigh plot criticisms.

Financially, while exact numbers are not publicly disclosed, Korean entertainment analysts have noted that “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” performed strongly in overseas licensing, especially in Southeast Asia, Japan, and later in North America via streaming. It also boosted brand value for both leads, leading to more CFs (commercials) and premium casting offers.

Culturally, within Korea, the drama contributed to softening the image of chaebol heirs in media. Although real-world chaebol scandals continue, the popularity of characters like Young‑joon creates a parallel fantasy of the considerate, loyal, slightly ridiculous rich boyfriend. This has sparked debates in Korean opinion columns about whether such portrayals romanticize inequality, but most viewers treat it as harmless escapism.

In summary, compared to other works, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” may not be the most globally explosive K‑drama, but it is one of the most structurally influential rom-coms of the late 2010s, shaping both domestic production trends and international expectations of what a “classic K‑rom-com” feels like.

Why “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” Matters in Korean Society

Within Korean culture, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” is more than a love story—it’s a mirror (albeit a soft-focused one) of shifting attitudes toward work, love, and self-worth.

First, the drama resonated strongly with office workers. In 2018, Korea was already debating work-life balance, long hours, and burnout. Government policies like the 52-hour workweek were being discussed and gradually implemented. Against this backdrop, Mi‑so’s decision to resign from a stable, prestigious job after nine years felt both shocking and aspirational. Korean viewers, especially women in their late 20s and 30s, talked online about how they wished they had the courage (and financial stability) to do the same.

The drama frames Mi‑so’s resignation not as irresponsibility, but as self-respect. She has fulfilled her filial duties, paid off family debt, and now wants to live for herself. This narrative aligned with a growing cultural shift in Korea where younger generations prioritize personal happiness over traditional expectations of sacrifice for family and company. Articles in Korean media at the time discussed “Mi‑so syndrome,” referring to young professionals reconsidering their loyalty to companies that see them as replaceable.

Second, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” contributed to normalizing therapy-like emotional conversations in mainstream entertainment. Young‑joon’s trauma and panic attacks, his need to confront childhood memories, and the couple’s honest discussions about fear and guilt all presented mental health struggles in a sympathetic light. While the drama doesn’t explicitly show clinical therapy, the healing arc encouraged more open talk about trauma among viewers. Korean online forums had many posts where people shared their own experiences with childhood fear or family pressure, using the drama as a starting point.

Third, the drama subtly challenged gender stereotypes while still staying within conservative boundaries. Mi‑so is extremely feminine in appearance and behavior, yet she holds significant power in the relationship. She sets boundaries, makes key decisions (resigning, accepting or rejecting proposals), and doesn’t hesitate to point out Young‑joon’s flaws. Korean viewers appreciated that she wasn’t portrayed as a damsel in distress, but also wasn’t forced into a “strong woman must be cold” stereotype. She could be soft-spoken and still have agency.

At the same time, the drama preserves certain traditional values: marriage is presented as the ultimate happy ending, parental approval matters, and the couple’s relationship is monogamous and loyal. This balance between modern independence and conventional family ideals made the drama widely acceptable to different age groups in Korea—from teens to middle-aged ajummas.

Another cultural impact is on language and humor. Young‑joon’s third-person speech and narcissistic lines entered everyday Korean slang. People jokingly mimic his style when bragging about themselves: “Because [Name] is perfect, you don’t have to worry.” Memes based on his framed portrait wall or his dramatic reactions to Mi‑so’s resignation circulated on Korean community sites like DC Inside and Pann. Even now, when a new drama features an arrogant male lead, Korean commenters often say, “He’s trying to be Lee Young‑joon.”

Finally, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” played a role in solidifying the “healing rom-com” trend. After years of heavy makjang dramas with affairs, revenge, and terminal illnesses, many Korean viewers were craving lighter content that still had emotional depth. This drama hit that sweet spot: enough trauma to tug at the heart, but plenty of comedy and sweetness to leave you relaxed. It became a go-to recommendation for people feeling stressed or burned out.

In that sense, its cultural significance lies not only in what it shows, but in when it appeared—a time when Korea was renegotiating its relationship with work, mental health, and romance. “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” offered a comforting fantasy where love heals old wounds, work becomes meaningful, and even the most narcissistic boss can learn to bow his head and say, “I was wrong.”

Global Curiosities Answered: FAQs About “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim”

1. Is “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” based on a true story or real Korean office culture?

“What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” is not based on a true story, but it borrows heavily from recognizable elements of Korean office culture and chaebol structures. The original story comes from a web novel, later turned into a webtoon, and then adapted for TV. However, Koreans watching the drama immediately recognize certain realistic details: the strict hierarchy, the importance of titles like “Vice Chairman,” the late-night work, and the unspoken expectation that a secretary manages both professional and personal tasks for an executive.

That said, the drama is a highly romanticized and sanitized version of real corporate life. In actual Korean conglomerates, the power imbalance between a vice chairman and a secretary would be a serious HR concern if a romantic relationship developed. There would likely be gossip, potential complaints, and even job transfers. The drama avoids these darker sides, presenting colleagues who mostly tease and support the couple. So while the setting feels familiar to Korean viewers, we treat it as fantasy. It’s less “this is how Korean offices are” and more “this is how we wish they could be: stylish, respectful, and full of romance.”

2. Why did Kim Mi‑so decide to resign after nine years, and how did Korean viewers react?

Kim Mi‑so’s resignation is the catalyst of “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” and carries deep cultural meaning. After nine years of serving Lee Young‑joon, she feels she has lost her identity outside of being “Secretary Kim.” She has spent her twenties paying off her family’s debts and supporting her father and sisters, sacrificing her own dreams. Now that the debt is cleared, she wants to live for herself—travel, date, and maybe marry someone she truly loves.

In Korea, staying in a stable job for nearly a decade, especially in a chaebol group, is considered a big achievement. Quitting such a job can be seen as risky or even irresponsible by older generations. However, younger Korean viewers largely supported Mi‑so’s decision. Online discussions at the time were full of comments like, “I wish I had her courage,” and “I’m tired of being loyal to a company that isn’t loyal to me.” Many women in their 20s and 30s related to her sense of burnout and desire for self-discovery. Her resignation speech became iconic because it expressed a growing sentiment in Korea: life is more than work and family obligations; personal happiness matters too.

3. Are relationships like Lee Young‑joon and Kim Mi‑so’s common or acceptable in Korea?

Romantic relationships between a high-ranking executive and a subordinate, especially a direct secretary, are not unheard of in Korea, but they are complicated and often discouraged. In real corporate settings, such relationships can raise concerns about favoritism, power abuse, and consent. HR departments in large companies usually have guidelines or at least unwritten rules about reporting relationships, and couples sometimes keep things secret to avoid gossip or career damage.

“What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” treats the relationship as pure and consensual, focusing on their long-term emotional bond and shared trauma. Korean viewers understand that this is a fantasy. The drama sidesteps real-world complications by showing a supportive work environment and a vice chairman who is, despite his narcissism, fundamentally ethical and respectful. In reality, many Koreans would advise caution in such a situation, especially for the subordinate, because of the power imbalance.

That said, the fantasy remains popular. The idea that your demanding boss secretly cherishes you and will change for you is a powerful romantic trope. Koreans enjoy it in fiction while recognizing its potential problems in real life. So the answer is: it’s not common or simple, but as a drama concept, it’s very appealing and widely accepted as escapism.

4. Why do Koreans rate Park Seo‑joon and Park Min‑young’s chemistry in this drama so highly?

From a Korean perspective, the chemistry in “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” works on multiple levels: visual, physical, and emotional. Visually, Park Seo‑joon and Park Min‑young match the idealized image of a chaebol couple—tall, well-dressed, and elegant. Their styling is meticulously coordinated, from suit colors to Mi‑so’s blouses, creating a sense that they belong together in the same polished world.

Physically, their body language is natural and comfortable. Koreans noticed small details: the way Young‑joon subtly leans down to Mi‑so’s height, how Mi‑so adjusts his tie or touches his arm without awkwardness, and the gradual increase in skinship (physical affection) as the relationship progresses. Famous scenes like the library kiss and the tie scene were praised in Korean forums for being passionate yet tasteful, with careful camera angles and well-rehearsed movements.

Emotionally, both actors are skilled at conveying micro-expressions—tiny shifts in the eyes or mouth that show vulnerability beneath confident exteriors. Korean viewers felt that the characters truly understood each other’s pain and growth, not just their attraction. This combination led to intense dating rumors in Korea, which fans half-jokingly fueled because the chemistry felt “too real.” Even years later, many Korean fans still call them one of the top rom-com pairings, and newer office romances are often compared to their standard.

5. Is “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” still worth watching in 2025, or does it feel outdated?

From a Korean viewer’s standpoint, “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” holds up surprisingly well in 2025, though some aspects feel slightly dated. The production quality—lighting, set design, costumes—still looks clean and modern. Because it leans into a somewhat timeless, webtoon-like aesthetic rather than ultra-trendy visuals, it hasn’t aged as quickly as some fashion-heavy dramas.

Story-wise, the core themes remain relevant: work-life balance, self-worth, family duty, and healing from trauma. Many younger Koreans discovering it now still relate to Mi‑so’s burnout and Young‑joon’s pressure to be perfect. However, a few elements may feel old-fashioned: the heavy emphasis on marriage as the ultimate goal, the lack of explicit discussion about HR issues in workplace romance, and the very idealized portrayal of corporate culture.

For global viewers in 2025, it’s still an excellent introduction to K‑rom-coms. It’s lighter than many newer, darker series, making it a good “comfort watch.” In Korea, it’s now often recommended as a “classic office rom-com,” similar to how people abroad recommend older Hollywood rom-coms. So yes, it’s still worth watching, especially if you’re interested in understanding how modern K‑drama romance evolved. Just keep in mind that it reflects 2018 sensibilities more than 2025’s increasingly nuanced discussions about power and gender.

6. How faithful is the drama to the original webtoon, and what did Koreans think about the changes?

The drama version of “What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim” is generally considered a faithful adaptation in Korea, capturing the main plot, character dynamics, and tone of the original webtoon and web novel. Key story beats—Mi‑so’s resignation, Young‑joon’s narcissism, the shared childhood trauma, and the romantic development—are preserved. However, the drama expands several elements to fit a 16-episode structure.

Korean fans of the webtoon noticed that the drama fleshed out side characters more, especially office colleagues and Park Yoo‑sik. These additions were mostly welcomed because they provided extra comedy and warmth. Some scenes were toned down or adjusted to fit broadcast standards and to avoid making the trauma plot too dark for a rom-com. The balance between humor and pain was a major discussion point among Korean viewers; many praised the drama for not letting the kidnapping backstory overwhelm the romance.

There were also debates about casting before the show aired. Some webtoon fans worried Park Seo‑joon might be too likable to play an extreme narcissist, but once they saw his exaggerated comedic acting, most agreed he embodied Lee Young‑joon well. Park Min‑young was almost universally praised as “the real-life Kim Mi‑so,” matching the webtoon’s visuals and vibe closely. Overall, Korean audiences considered it one of the more successful webtoon adaptations, and it helped convince producers that faithful but slightly expanded adaptations could satisfy both original fans and new viewers.