Do you know how The Glory differs from Lovely Runner? According to one YouTuber, the latter shows no signs of bitching, while the former thrives on it. Long considered a crucial weapon in the female defense arsenal, bitching has played a significant role in TV drama narratives. But can it survive in an era dominated by easily digestible short-form videos on platforms like TikTok?
In The Glory (2022–2023), Dong-eun, played by Song Hye-kyo, delivers her lines like sharpened daggers, laced with cruelty, entitlement, and an almost effortless condescension. Her words, more than her actions, establish her dominance, making her a quintessential example of the sharp-tongued heroine in Korean dramas.
The series revolves around Dong-eun, who endured horrific bullying in high school. With no one to support or protect her, she dropped out and took a job at a textile factory. While working long hours during the day and studying at night, she managed to enter university and eventually became an elementary school teacher where one of her students happens to be the daughter of her former tormentor, Yeon-jin.
Having secured a foothold there, she methodically lays the groundwork for her long-awaited revenge.
Rather than a grounded drama that seeks to illuminate the personal and social realities of school bullying, The Glory leans more toward revenge horror with elements of a crime thriller. The scenes of Dong-eun being burned with a hair straightener are disturbingly graphic, and the punishment inflicted on her bullies unfolds with a swiftness and precision that strains credibility.
Bitching is More Than Just Words
Towards the end of executing her meticulous revenge plan, Dong-eun frames her chief tormentor, Yeon-jin, for two murders. One is the death of a schoolgirl Yeon-jin bullied and pushed off a rooftop; the other involves an accomplice in the bullying whom Yeon-jin did not directly kill. Yeon-jin is unaware that she actually killed the man during a heated argument, when she struck him with a blunt object. The irony is that Yeon-jin is imprisoned for a murder she didn’t commit, believing herself guilty of the second crime.
Dong-eun visits Yeon-jin in prison and cryptically tells her, “This is going to be your hell because there’s something you don’t know.” Yeon-jin, frantic, screams in response, cursing, “What is it that I don’t know?” Dong-eun responds calmly, revealing, “I am angry and bitter too. All I could have is a criminal punishment,” implying that legal justice is not enough for what Yeon-jin did to her.
In the end, it becomes clear that Dong-eun sought her own form of justice: Yeon-jin’s suffering mirrors her own. She wants Yeon-jin to experience the same pain, to be trapped in a dead-end, abandoned, full of remorse and self-hatred.
Dong-eun’s desire for her own sense of justice encapsulates what bitching is about. Another example of her sharp words, which aim to clarify the rules of her world, is her comment that an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth sound like too much of a fair play. Her words are so acidic that they almost have a sweet ring, reminiscent of words of wisdom. Whether or not they can affect reality, her words clearly expose what is wrong with the current situation and indicate what the next move should be. Bitching, in this sense, functions as a statement, a criticism, and a judgment.
Bitching in the Age of Tiktok
Dong-eun has several excellent predecessors when it comes to the ability to kill with words. Among them, Eun-jae from Temptation of Wife (2008) stands out in recent memory, particularly for her acute sense of right and wrong. As a devoted wife to a frivolous man who believes he has found a better match for his financial prospects, Eun-jae falls into the trap of a forced divorce and eventual murder. However, after surviving such horrific hardships, Eun-jae returns, transformed, with a changed appearance and vengeance in her heart.
Bitching is often regarded as a dying art, as the need to resort to one’s own form of justice diminishes with a legal system that works well, leaving fewer cases ambiguous enough to spark personal vendettas. Yet, the real threat to this old art of balancing personal justice through verbal skills seems to come from short-form media content on platforms like TikTok, where physical presence often outweighs verbal expression. A ten-second dance is enough to persuade viewers to click for more, subscribe, or purchase featured products. The art of bitching is relegated to the backroom, as words—once used in intricate structures to soothe or wound—fade into the background, overshadowed by bodies.