When the YouTube Algorithm Sends Me Camping in South Korea
We are all slaves to the Algorithm at this point – prisoners of the bubble we’ve created by consistently clicking on Daily Show clips, comic book reviews, and the endless videos of touring comedians doing crowd work.
That said, sometimes the Algorithm gets a little quirky. Sometimes, it offers a history-of-cooking channel. Or a bible-studies guy, or – completely left field – an introduction into the sub-genre of South Korean camping videos. We are here to discuss and celebrate this third option, which has opened up a whole new world for me – and, hopefully, for you.
Close your eyes and imagine…
After an opening montage of clips taken from the video we are about to watch, each one suggesting our intrepid Camper is likely going to die in a terrible flood or blizzard situation, we cut back to the start of the adventure – you can almost hear the voiceover saying: “I bet you’re wondering how I got myself into this mess.” There will be closeups of a rugged, roomy vehicle driving along a one-lane road into the mountains. If the weather is good, then you can be sure that it's about to change in a most dramatic fashion. The rain and/or snow is standing in the wings, waiting for its cue. Terrible weather is the first trope of the YouTube Camping video.
There may be a button on the video you can click and a small sidebar opens showing you what products are on view and how you can buy them. Camping gadget product placement is the second trope. Most likely, the first tech for sale will be a drone for the high-up, overhead shots. How is our camping guide also operating the drone? Excellent question – because they all seem to promise 20 minutes of rugged individualism: one camper versus the worst the skies can throw down on them.
Our lady Camper stops her car on what looks like a perilous cliff edge. She may or may not clear the ground of rain, snow, and ice. This might be the first time you notice the sharp, clear sounds of the video’s third trope: ASMR (Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response) content. The crisp snap of a fastener, the crunch of a boot on the frozen ground – they are front and center in the mix. There will be no dialogue.
Then comes the unpacking. The tents range from one-person deals requiring lots of poles and hard work to massive inflatable types that require only the help of an automatic inflating machine to bring them to the size of a small apartment. By now, the inclement weather should have shown itself. Our Camper then starts the slog of emptying everything from the back of her roomy JEEP or JEEP-like vehicle into the now fully inflated tent.
If you think that there’s way more stuff in that tent than could possibly be carried in the back of one car, slap yourself across the face and remember that there’s definitely no second car with a camera operator and extra stuff just off to the side. The Camper is a Tetris genius.
OK, so now she’s set up her suspiciously spotless two-ring burner, her inflatable sofa, her wood-burning stove, her shelves of cooking utensils, more lights than a Christmas display, and a bed. All gadgets you presume being the product placement that is paying for the video. Gadgets are trope number 4. She has circled the tent, unzipping covers from over the many plastic windows and rolling them into tight little tube shapes to be tucked in somewhere above or below the windows. Whatever the weather, she will look around and be happy with her work.
The final outside task will be to retrieve the dog who has apparently been sitting patiently in the passenger seat of the car all this time. A dog is trope number 5, if you’re counting. If the dog is not explicitly named, presume she is Princess PooPoo. She’ll appear occasionally, looking cute, cocking her head to the side, peeing on her morning walk.
Once Princess PooPoo is safely deposited into the tent, the Camper lady can finally slide off the winter coat she’s worn the whole time, showing the Lara Croft cosplay she’s been rocking this whole time. We pause for a moment at trope 6.
Then, PrincessPooPoo is fed from small metal bowls – sometimes something from a can, sometimes something heated over the stove. Once the Princess is happy, the Camper lady sets up her own burners, propane, and propane accessories to start the pre-dinner snack. And the fun here is to guess what she is eating. She has veg, she has protein, noodles, a thick, viscous sauce. She stirs it all into one pan then eats it like she’s starving. Which she probably is, after the cardio workout she just had. Cooking and eating a meal or three is trope number 7. She’ll camp for 16 hours and eat five meals. People must really like to watch noodles being cooked.
Interspersed between the packing, the coat removal, and the cooking are outside shots of wind blowing snow off trees, rain pounding against the now see-through windows, and high drone shots of the amazingly beautiful landscape. Incredible scenery – ideally tall trees painted entirely white by snow – is trope number 8. Camper lady and Camper dog lie down for a while. The dog is likely playful and the Camper strokes her like a robot stroking the top of a human’s head.
After some more terrifying and dramatic weather shots, it’s time for dinner. You wonder how long they’ve been lying around playing. Dinner goes the same way as the pre-dinner snack. It may also include some booze or a mug of hot chocolate. After dinner, the Camper rests with a Nintendo Switch or a projector and screen and some snacks. Perhaps eight small cakes or a full packet of candy. She falls asleep watching Disney+ or Netflix.
Fade to black.
The next morning, the tent is shaken so the piles of snow are loosened. The Camper then clears a path for the Princess to have a little walk and a pee. This dog is incredible; my three pugs would not set foot on ground as cold and wet as this. Can I swap one of them for Princess PooPoo?
Back in the tent, it’s breakfast time. The Camper is heating water on the stove before making another full and hearty meal. I have no doubt that solo camping is hungry work. After breakfast, the dirty business of packing up all the gadgets and kitchen equipment and the tent itself is glossed over. This is a good editorial decision; packing up is the grim boring part. Soon, the Camper is settling down Princess PooPoo into her bed in the passenger seat, snapping any and all clasps in place very crisply and clearly, before driving back down the one-lane road in what looks to me, nervous driver that I am, as certain-death driving weather.
After the Algorithm fed us some more of these videos, we started looking around for other examples. There are many camping influencers who follow more or less exactly the blueprint above. But others – men and women – take a more practical approach. Sensible clothes, equipment that looks like it’s been through a war or two; no dogs, no inflatable sofas. And subtitles, so we can finally find out what they’re making for dinner.
From my limited experience, US camping influencers tend to skew more male – non-pro Bear Grills fans putting up completely transparent tents by hand, sleeping bag on top of a pile of fir branches, a little, simple metal device that tells us it is now zero degrees. Fahrenheit. I guess I love to watch these people take on the elements and win. I do love the gadgets. I love a tent that inflates to the size of a roomy back yard. But, even so, you’ll never see me roughing it in the lonely American wilderness. Maybe I could be tempted with a camper van. Sheets, wi-fi, an actual toilet and shower. And a dog.
