K-pop is having a golden moment.

The signs have been there since the start of the summer, with groups such as Stray Kids, Itzy, Enhypen and Ateez driving sweaty swarms of American K-pop fans to stadiums from Los Angeles to D.C.

Then two of the genre’s international trailblazers reunited. The girl group Blackpink, whose four members dispersed to pursue high-profile solo projects over the past couple years, are back on tour together and promoting new music. The boy-band septet BTS wasted no time reconvening after the last of its members completed their mandatory military service in June, and have told fans that they are already at work on new music.

Still, it was possible to ignore or be altogether unaware of the K-frenzy, the names and faces of its various stars fusing into one giant mass of finger hearts, synchronized dance routines and poreless skin.

The hottest sound of the summer? K-pop.

Since its June 20 release on Netflix, the animated musical film about a trio of young women slaying demons through song has become a global smash, topping Netflix charts in 93 countries and amassing more than 33 million views.

Billboard Magazine declared the movie and its soundtrack “the true 2025 music phenomenon” pop fans have been waiting for, with fictional groups Huntr/x (pronounced “Huntrix”) and the Saja Boys surpassing their real K-pop counterparts’ on U.S. Spotify charts. (This month, Netflix confirmed it would submit the song “Golden” for Oscars consideration under best original song.)

Driving the film’s success is its faithful representation of K-pop culture (and, by extension, South Korea’s). Not only has that proved widely resonant with audiences, it comes at a crucial moment for the expanding industry, exemplifying and making legible K-pop’s appeal while also amplifying it.

“KPop Demon Hunters” follows three young women (Zoey, Mira and Rumi) who make up the girl group Huntr/x. They are “idols” (the term used to describe the members of these groups) with a higher purpose: Sure, they can somersault through the air and slay demons with very sharp — and very sparkly — weapons, but their most powerful tool is their music. It’s their songs that unite people and create a force field protecting them against evil.

That is, until a group of soul-stealing demons posing as a boy band called the Saja Boys emerges with their own arsenal of bops, looking to undermine Huntr/x’s influence on music charts and in the hearts of their fans.

In a case of life imitating art, the film, its songs and its characters have become sensations on social media, inspiring dance challenges, covers, DJ sets, all manner of reaction videos — and demands for a sequel.

Lisa of BlackPink performs at the Coachella Music Festival in April.

For co-directors Maggie Kang and Chris Appelhans, both K-pop fans themselves, the seven-year project was something of a love letter to the culture — “it’s just legitimately the best pop music in the world,” said Appelhans, a former musician.

The soundtrack, then, couldn’t be anything less than magical. “A big part of the movie is the idea of music really giving you those butterflies, and that energy being an actual superpower,” Kang added. “And so we didn’t okay a song unless it gave us those feels.”

But there’s more to K-pop music than the songs, which may be why an animated, fantastical, genre-bending movie has been such an effective entry point. Because K-pop is not as much a musical genre as it is a musical culture, one with its own unique ecosystem, sensibilities and values.

For Kang, it was important that the film be grounded in Korean culture and history early on.

“Shamanism is something that every culture has, so it’s easy to understand,” Kang said. “That also gave us the opportunity to kind of make it feel like this could be real, like this could a real thing that idols can be doing.” And it has been. Seasoned K-pop fans are used to groups leaning into mythical and dark aesthetics: Sexy vampires and supernatural beings from the underworld run amok in boy bands.

But Kang also made sure to include a nod to different eras of Korean music that continue to influence today’s K-pop — a short montage that roots K-pop, maligned by many outsiders as a formulaic art form, in a deeper tradition.

Fans wait to see BTS's Jungkook and Jimin being discharged from their mandatory military service last month.

The film also expresses contemporary K-pop culture in myriad, vivid details that are immediately recognizable to fans. As with real K-pop groups, each member has a clear responsibility within the group. Mira is the lead dancer and “visual” (responsibilities including being an absolute stunner). Zoey is the songwriter and lead rapper, and Rumi, the lead vocalist.

There are cups of ramyeon branded with the idols’ faces. There are fan signs and mildly humiliating variety show appearances. There are intricate costumes and dance challenges and massive award shows that are, essentially, a string of mini-concerts with some prizes thrown in (the Grammys would never). The groups’ fans are young girls — and aunties in track suits, and a trio of weeping, burly men.

There’s particular delight in rendering the sharp contrasts — that unique blend of awe-inspiring and adorable — that have defined the modern idol. Angelic-looking Baby Saja, whose thin frame and pastel sweaters betray his deep voice and commanding stage presence. Or the no-nonsense Mira, who slices through demons while wearing leather and sequins but favors a nightgown in the shape of a giant teddy bear face at home.

Those details had an immediate impact with audiences.

“Within the first two, three days” of the film’s release, Appelhans said, “Maggie and I were texting, like, people are just treating these three women as K-pop idols. They are not thinking about them as animated characters or any kind of fabrication.”

At a recent Blackpink concert in Los Angeles, Paul Youngbin Kim was amazed — but not necessarily surprised — by the diversity in ages represented. A professor of psychology at Seattle Pacific University and a lifelong K-pop fan, it was Kim’s idea to go to the concert, not his middle-school-age daughter’s. There appeared to be many other dads in the crowd, Kim said, and elderly fans, and young children, and everything in between.

Kim was struck by the camaraderie he witnessed on the stage, as well: When they weren’t belting their hits or moving crisply in-sync, Blackpink’s members hugged and kissed each other, their affection seemingly radiating from the Jumbotrons. It reminded him of 정 (jeong) — “A Korean construct,” Kim said, “that doesn’t have an exact equivalent to English.”

“But I like to think of it as this sense of really tight bond between friends, between family, that Koreans really pride themselves in having,” he said. The way Blackpink interacted with each other, the multigenerational crowd of jubilant fans, it all seemed to exemplify jeong.

At K-pop’s core is this “relational, communal aspect,” Kim said. “And I think it strongly captures Korean people and their sense of interdependence and social harmony and connectedness.” The idea that there might be one star around whom the entire group revolves is antithetical to its ethos.

That sense of connectedness — and carefully curated chaos — has for decades pulled fans down thousands of internet rabbit holes, each leading them to a distinct wonderland created by the artists and their massive online fandoms. There’s light sticks and lore, fan chants and photo cards, colorful hair and insanely technical choreography.

For fans in the United States, where K-pop is still treated as an oddity — or simply children’s fare — among mainstream media, the feeling of escaping down a rabbit hole can be even more intense. The stadium tours have given these fans welcome validation. Gone are the blank stares of co-workers and family members who think BTS are just Korean Backstreet Boys with harder choreo; here are your people.

Gabriella Morales was all in on “KPop Demon Hunters” once she saw the promotional images — three girls embodying “girl power” or “for lack of a better term, very badass,” she said. The day the film came out, Morales watched it and was “hooked within the very first few minutes,” she said. She watched it again. And again. And again.

An artist and ardent anime fan, Morales didn’t have a strong connection to K-pop before seeing the movie. “The language barrier was probably the biggest thing,” Morales said. “When I listen to a song … I want to sing along with it.”

Her passionate evangelism of the film on her TikTok has spurred more K-pop content to show up on her feed. Certain groups now feel more familiar: “I now know more names,” she said. But the turning point for Morales may be the community — namely, the Korean-speaking K-pop fans who romanize Korean characters into words that Morales (and others) can pronounce.

“There’s this whole entire group of people that actually do that, so that way we can sing the songs,” Morales said. “We can sing along with the actual music. And I find that really, really awesome and cool.”

Co-directors Kang and Appelhans are still baffled at how “meta” the response to the film has been. Huntr/x and Saja Boys are dueling at the top of the charts, and fans are covering their songs and doing their dances on TikTok, magnifying the film’s influence.

Those fans also, it turns out, include actual K-pop idols.

Among them are Wonho, formerly of Monsta X, who has cosplayed as Abby, a character named for his Hawaiian roll-like abdominal muscles — and for whom he may have served as inspiration. And BTS vocalist Jungkook teared up at the film’s ending while on a recent live stream. (“You fool,” he told one of the characters, “You could have fought together.”)

“It’s the ultimate compliment,” Appelhans said of their engagement with the film, noting that it reflects that “mix of awesomeness and humility” that makes K-pop artists so endearing, “That these guys are willing to, like, ugly cry watching an iPad because that’s who they are.”

“I love that they have that kind generosity. There’s not a ton in it for them,” he added. “It’s just a thing they like.”

Kang said it felt like they were “welcoming us into that family.”

“And really, that’s another sign that we’re legitimate,” she said. “We did. We set out to make a K-pop group, and we happened to make two. So it’s really validating.”