These days, one name keeps coming up as Korea’s most comforting screen presence: Park Bo-gum. With the premiere of tvN’s new variety show Bogum Magical, he isn’t dazzling viewers with flashy tricks or sharp humor he’s doing something far rarer.
He’s showing up with sincerity.

Premiering on January 30, Bogum Magical trades high-stakes games for gentle human connection. Set in a quiet rural town, the show follows Park Bo-gum, along with fellow actors Lee Sang-yi and Kwak Dong-yeon, as they run a small barbershop for local residents.
The result feels less like a variety show and more like a warm, slow-cooked meal. Conversations with villagers unfold naturally, free of punchlines or pressure. The calm rhythm, often compared by viewers to the soothing atmosphere of Animal Crossing, offers something Korean entertainment has been missing: unfiltered calm.

What makes the show’s emotional core especially strong is how much preparation Park Bo-gum put into it.
Already holding a barber’s license, he pushed himself further by attempting to earn a full cosmetology certification mastering perms, styling, and techniques well beyond what the program required. He studied and trained for nearly a year, juggling the process alongside his packed acting schedule.
And then he failed.
Rather than hiding it, Bogum Magical opens by showing that disappointment plainly. No dramatic music. No excuses. Just quiet acceptance. That moment alone reframed the show for many viewers: this wasn’t about success, but about effort.

Industry insiders point out that the show’s strength lies in its ordinariness. Simple acts — sharing kimchi with a grandmother, offering free nail art, exchanging small talk — become the emotional highlights.
It echoes why programs like You Quiz on the Block resonated so deeply: audiences are tired of noise. What they want now is kindness without performance.
The numbers back it up. Episode 1 recorded a 2.8% nationwide rating (Nielsen Korea, paid households), an impressive figure for a new variety show in a fiercely competitive time slot.
It stood shoulder-to-shoulder with long-running programs like Fun-Staurant and comfortably outperformed others airing the same night. For a show built on gentleness rather than spectacle, that’s no small feat.
Cultural critic Kim Sung-soo sums it up best: Park Bo-gum’s appeal lies in contrast. His flawless visuals coexist with moments of clumsiness — cutting too carefully, focusing so hard he almost hurts himself. That gap between perfection and vulnerability sparks a protective instinct in viewers.
It’s why Bogum Magical works. His sincerity doesn’t feel curated. It feels lived.
Bogum Magical may not dominate headlines with shocking twists, but it’s steadily building something stronger: trust. In an era of overstimulation, Park Bo-gum’s gentle persistence even through failure feels radical.
If the first episode is any indication, this “magic” isn’t loud.
It’s steady.
And it’s only beginning.