It’s 7:30pm on a Thursday, sometime around 2012. I’ve just walked out of the office after another long day — not because the work required it, but because leaving before your boss was still one of those unwritten rules nobody questioned. My team leader is already on the phone with the restaurant. “Samgyeopsal place, the usual one.” Nobody asks if you want to go. You just go.
By 8pm, the grill is sizzling and the first round of soju is poured. By 10pm, we’re at a hof (호프, Korean-style beer bar) for round two. By midnight, someone has suggested noraebang (노래방, karaoke), and now I’m watching my department head belt out a 1990s ballad with a passion he never shows in meetings.
That was hoesik (회식) — the Korean company dinner tradition that every article about Korean work culture loves to describe as “mandatory after-work drinking.” And honestly? Back then, that description wasn’t far off.
But here’s the thing nobody seems to update: that version of hoesik is mostly gone.
What Hoesik Used to Look Like
Whatever you’ve read about Korean work culture, you probably picture hoesik something like this — a junior employee pouring soju for their boss with two hands, everyone drinking until they can barely stand, and the implicit threat that saying “no” means you’re not a team player.
And honestly — I can’t say that’s entirely made up. In the early 2010s and before, hoesik really was like that. Those were the days of deep overtime culture. Leaving the office at 7 or 8pm was normal, and once you were out, the evening was just beginning.
Round one was dinner — usually a gogijip (고깃집, Korean BBQ restaurant). Round two was more drinks at a different spot. Round three might be noraebang. Getting home before midnight was rare. The unspoken rules were simple: show up, drink, bond. Refusing was basically saying you didn’t care about the team.
But here’s the part that outsiders usually miss — it wasn’t all bad. There was a genuine sense of eussya-eussya (으쌰으쌰) energy — a “we’re all in this together” vibe. After a stressful few weeks on a project, sitting around a grill with your coworkers, complaining about the same problems and laughing at the same inside jokes — it really did bring people closer. After a few drinks, the hierarchy loosened up. Your team leader became a person, not a title.
I don’t miss the forced drinking or the midnight karaoke sessions. But I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t something real about those nights.
What Changed (And Why)
The change didn’t happen overnight. It was more like a slow tide going out. A few things pushed it:
The 52-hour workweek law kicked in around 2018, and suddenly companies had to actually care about how many hours people were working. When people started leaving at 6pm instead of 8pm, the natural setup for those marathon drinking sessions just disappeared. Hard to justify three rounds of soju when you’ve been home since 6:30.
The MZ generation — that’s the Korean term for millennials and Gen Z combined — entered the workforce with a completely different attitude. They value work-life balance, they protect their personal time, and they’re not afraid to say “I have plans” when they don’t feel like going to a team dinner. The older generation sometimes calls them selfish for this — and gets labeled kkondae (꼰대, a condescending older person stuck in outdated ways) in return. But honestly? They just drew boundaries that my generation didn’t know we were allowed to draw.
The Me Too movement in 2017-2018 also played a role. A lot of the uncomfortable aspects of hoesik — the pressure to drink, the inappropriate behavior that sometimes came with it — suddenly had a name and consequences. Companies started being more careful about what “team bonding” actually looked like.
I watched all of this happen in real time. The three-round, midnight-ending hoesik didn’t die in a single moment. It just gradually became something most people stopped doing.
What Hoesik Looks Like in 2026
So has hoesik disappeared? Not at all. It’s just different now.
My team does hoesik about once a month. The location is almost always a gogijip (고깃집) — Koreans and their meat, that hasn’t changed. Sometimes we’ll do a chamchijip (참치집, tuna sashimi restaurant) for variety, but samgyeopsal (삼겹살, pork belly) or galbi (갈비, beef ribs) is the default.
Here’s the biggest difference from the old days: when round one ends, about half the team just goes home. No guilt, no dirty looks, no consequences. The people who want to keep going find a place for round two, and that’s fine too. There’s no “come on, everyone has to go!” pressure anymore. It’s genuinely optional now.
And here’s something that might surprise you if all you know about hoesik comes from the internet: not everyone drinks. I’m serious. In my department, roughly half the people don’t drink alcohol at all during hoesik. Some have a glass of wine or a highball. Some drink water or soda the entire time. Nobody cares. Nobody pressures them.
I know this contradicts the image of Korean company dinners as mandatory soju-fests. But that’s exactly why I’m writing this — because the reality has changed, and most English-language content about hoesik hasn’t caught up.
Lunch hoesik is another thing that’s become common. When it’s hard to find a time that works for everyone’s evening schedules, or the budget is tight, the team just does a nicer-than-usual lunch together. Usually around 20,000 to 30,000 won per person. No drinking (it’s lunch), no reason to stay out late, and everyone’s back at their desk by 2pm. Some younger employees actually prefer this format.
As for people who can’t make it — if someone says “I can’t go, I have something,” the response is usually just “Oh okay, got it.” That’s it. No marks on your performance review, no side-eye from the team leader. Fifteen years ago this would’ve been unthinkable, but now it’s just… normal.
My Take (From the Guy Who Handles the Budget)
Full disclosure: I’m the guy who manages the hoesik budget for my team. So I’m at every single one. But even if I weren’t the budget person, I’d go — I genuinely enjoy it. I like drinking. I like eating meat with coworkers. I like the conversations that happen when people loosen up after a long day.
As someone who’s experienced both eras, here’s my honest take: the old hoesik had something to it — that eussya-eussya energy, the feeling of “we’re all in this together.” But it came at a cost. People who didn’t want to drink felt trapped. People with families waiting at home felt guilty for leaving early. The “bonding” was sometimes built on someone else’s discomfort.
The new hoesik has lost some of that intensity, sure. But what it gained is better: choice. You go because you want to, not because you have to. You drink if you feel like it, or you don’t. You stay for round two, or you go home to your kid.
I think that’s a trade worth making.
The foreigners who ask me “is it true you HAVE to drink at Korean company dinners?” are working off information that’s about a decade out of date. Hoesik hasn’t disappeared — my team still gathers every month, the grill still sizzles, the soju still flows for those who want it. But the coercion? That’s the part that’s mostly gone.
And honestly, the meat tastes better when everyone at the table actually wants to be there.
Related Posts:
- A Day in the Life of a Korean Office Worker
- What Koreans Actually Do After Work (coming soon)