Dictating Womanhood: North Korea’s Strict Control Over Women’s Bodies and Lives
In the isolated and tightly controlled society of North Korea, the daily lives of women are governed by a set of rules and customs that can seem shocking to the outside world. Far beyond the political propaganda and the cult of personality surrounding the ruling Kim dynasty, women navigate a labyrinth of state-enforced traditions, restrictions on personal appearance, and deeply ingrained social expectations that dictate nearly every aspect of their existence from the moment they come of age.
One of the most visible forms of control is found in the strict dress code. The government explicitly bans certain clothing items deemed too Western or capitalistic. For years, women were prohibited from wearing trousers, a restriction that only began to loosen slightly in recent years for factory workers and some professionals, yet even now, jeans are seen as a symbol of American imperialism and can invite severe criticism from neighborhood watch units. Skirts must hit the knee or fall below it, and anything sheer, tight, or showing the shoulders is absolutely forbidden. The only permitted footwear in many contexts remains subdued, often practical flats, as high heels are generally discouraged and associated with decadence.
Perhaps the most intimate regulation involves hairstyles. The state issues a list of approved cuts, and women are expected to choose from this selection. These sanctioned styles are notably conservative, with simple, short-to-medium length looks dominating the list. While married women are permitted to have slightly permed waves, unmarried women are pushed toward neat bobs or straight styles without excessive flair. Dyeing hair in unusual colors is unthinkable; even subtle highlights are rarely seen. In a nation where every portrait of the beloved leaders must be treated with reverence, a style that suggests individuality or foreign influence can be interpreted as a quiet act of defiance.
North Korean women also face a reality where modern menstrual products are a luxury. Sanitary pads have historically been manufactured in limited quantities by the state, often of poor quality and available only on the black market at high prices. Many women are forced to resort to reusable cotton cloths or homemade solutions. In factories, female workers have been known to receive a small monthly ration, but for rural women, the struggle is even more pronounced. This lack of access is not just an inconvenience; it shapes daily mobility and the ability to participate in public life during menstrual cycles, yet the topic remains entirely taboo in official discourse.
The state’s intervention extends to the most personal of milestones: marriage and motherhood. While not an enforced custom in legal terms, social pressure to bear children is immense. Unmarried women past a certain age can face suspicion, and a single life is almost unheard of. Upon becoming a wife, a woman’s duty to her husband and the state is paramount. She is expected to maintain the household with military-like efficiency, often while also working long shifts. In the home, they perform the ritual of keeping the portraits of Kim Il-sung, Kim Jong-il, and now Kim Jong-un immaculately clean using special cloths provided for the purpose. Failure to maintain these images, even through an accident, can result in serious repercussions.
The cult of personality demands daily acts of public loyalty. Women must wear the official badge showing the country’s leaders pinned over their hearts at all times when outside the home. This is not a choice but an obligation, and the badge must be cared for as the most precious possession. During national celebrations and mourning periods, women are required to participate in mass dances or processions and to display a prescribed level of grief or joy, knowing that any sign of insincerity observed by informants can lead to a steep fall in social credit and even punishment.
Beauty standards are equally controlled by the state. Cosmetics are not outlawed, but they must project a “socialist femininity.” Makeup, when available, tends to be faint and natural-looking, and the most desired skin is considered fair and untouched by the sun, an aesthetic that ironically stands in contrast to a society that idealizes the laboring class. The market for beauty products is small and often limited to elite women in the capital. For the average woman, simple soap and a modest cream are the extent of a routine that is never meant to attract individual attention.
Adding to these deep-seated customs is the bizzare fashion statement that became synonymous with North Korean women in the 1990s and 2000s: the so-called “crab hair” style, where the hair was rolled into tight, odd clusters. This look, though now gradually fading in Pyongyang as younger generations seek slightly softer shapes, remains a visual legacy of the state’s aesthetic direction. Meanwhile, anything associated with South Korean fashion or music is a contraband obsession. A woman caught with a K-pop video or a foreign hairstyle tutorial faces the prospect of forced labor or worse, making the simple act of curiosity a dangerous breach of custom.
Even in the country’s rapidly expanding informal markets, where women have become the primary breadwinners in many families, the rules follow them. They must pay bribes and maintain connections with officials to protect their stall, turning economic survival into a delicate performance of deference. These market women, though powerful in their household economies, must still bow to the ideological demands of the system, never challenging the narrative that guides their lives.
From the cut of their hair to the cloth they use during their period, North Korean women endure a system where personal choice is replaced with mandated custom. Each of these strange rituals and rules is a thread in a larger tapestry of absolute control, ensuring that every woman remains a visible symbol of the regime’s order.
