Low fertility, we are finally here, baby! (yes, that pun was intended. I will see myself out now.) This is a long one, grab a snack.
I have been putting off writing about this topic since the start of this Substack, simply because it seems to get so much attention. What more could I add to the long list of hot takes from the last year alone? From the New Yorker, New York Times, The Atlantic; to think pieces, books (seriously, so many books), academic publications, and debates. There is no other topic in demography that has been politicized to the extent low fertility has. Governments and political factions around the world are using declining birth rates to justify policies promoting childbearing (pronatalism), often linked to national identity, economic stability, and the restriction of reproductive rights (particularly of ethnic/racial minorities.)
For over a century, global population discourse has swung between fears of overpopulation and depopulation, with both extremes consistently positioning women’s bodies as the primary site of state intervention. Whether through twentieth-century programs family planning programs or modern pronatalist movements seeking to increase birthrates, women have been the focus for (and sometimes held responsible for) the economic or existential consequences of demographic trends. Some researchers have summed up failed policy responses centered on women’s bodies as, ‘governments [have been] implementing policies seeking to find “demographic solutions” to “demographic problems,” which rarely succeed and often miss the point.’ Indeed, these have historically compromised women’s autonomy and failed to acknowledge that childbearing is a product of complex social structures and gender equity rather than a mere numerical lever for policy. It’s easier to police women’s bodies than actually figure out ways to shift underlying structures that make childbearing and rearing untenable for many. So the crux of the low fertility panic for many, is both philosophical and practical: should we do something about declining fertility, and what actually works?
Some nuances to the fertility decline story
Fertility has been declining in every continent for decades (roughly the 1950s, but earlier in some cases), much much before a lot of media fuss about it (ask a demographer). Beyond sensational headlines, I want to say 2 things.
The first is that the pace of fertility decline is the more interesting story, not the fact of decline itself. There is an old adage that countries should get rich before getting old. Essentially referring to the prep time that countries need to face the effects of a shrinking workforce etc. What we are actually seeing in many countries in recent decades, is that the speed of fertility decline is speeding up the timeline for when there are significant proportions of aging populations, thus leaving little to no time to prepare. Just look at the two figures below - the first shows the pace of fertility decline for select countries to go from 6 children to 3 children per woman. On one end, it took the UK 95 years. On the other, you have Iran, which took 10 years. The reasons and contexts for these changes are all unique and different and fascinating (topic for another day.)
Source: Our World in Data
The second is that most discussions of fertility decline refer to “period” fertility rates - essentially snapshots in time (per year for instance) which may not actually reflect “cohort” fertility - or completed fertility by the end of one’s reproductive journey. Many people may just be postponing having babies. Others still may have fewer than they initially wanted, not quite the image of “childless cat ladies.” Consider this from the U.S:
Source: Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health (2026)
That said, with my tail between my legs, I will state that I use the period TFR for this write-up. It is the standard, widely reported metric because it provides a snapshot of current fertility levels without waiting for a group of women to finish their childbearing years.
Global Trends and Why South Korea?
Far from being a localized phenomenon, low fertility is visible from the United States to Europe, Latin America, and Asia. Indeed, ⅔ of the world’s population (figure below) lives in countries where the Total Fertility Rate (TFR) is below 2.1 children per woman. This number is referred to as replacement level of fertility (i.e. Couples would need to have an average of about two children who will then replace them in the population. Some children will die before they grow up to have their own two children. These deaths mean that replacement-level fertility requires a TFR slightly above 2.)
Source: Population Reference Bureau (2025)
South Korea is a fascinating case study in the causes, consequences, and policy responses to low fertility. It is the country which has had the lowest fertility in the world at 0.72 children per woman according to UN estimates in 2023, seen a slight uptick in 2024 to 0.75 (more on that later), and has leaders calling this ultra-low fertility a national emergency. To understand what is happening in Korea today is to understand a complex interplay between hyper-competitive capitalism, shifting gender dynamics, and a reordering of priorities - offering insight and caution into what may be to come for the rest of the “depopulating” world.
Source: Think Global Health (2024)
Why is everyone in a tizzy about low fertility in Korea anyway?
This is the most straightforward part of the low fertility narrative. Low fertility has shifted from a demographic forecast to an immediate structural crisis in the country (and others around the world.) The country officially became a “super-aged” society in late 2024, with over 20% of the population aged 65 or older. Much like we saw in Japan (Week 6), this creates a shrinking labor force that must support an expanding elderly population, threatening to bankrupt the national pension system and cause the economy to contract by 2040. Beyond economics, the crisis compromises national security and social stability (and more). The military has already faced a 20% force reduction due to a lack of draft-eligible men (remember similarities with Week 4, Singapore?), while rural areas face extinction as schools and businesses close. Parents, particularly in cities, are engaged in a hyper-competitive education and tutoring system (I gasped at this sentence from this article, “elementary school pre-med tracks”) to stand out in a shrinking but hyper-competitive job market, and the country’s young and old face a loneliness crisis. These societal changes, and economic and demographic shifts happened rather quickly. From the BBC:
The change South Korea has undergone is seismic: in a generation, it has gone from a war-torn agrarian society to a developed economy. A few decades ago, it was common to see large families with six to eight children, living under the same roof. But years of migration to cities have shrunk families and turned places like Seoul into sprawling metropolises. Unaffordable housing, rising costs and gruelling working hours have led more and more young people to reject marriage or parenthood, or both. On the other end is an ageing population that feels neglected by children who are racing to keep up.
Indeed, until 1980, Korea was a recipient of U.S. foreign assistance, and was one of the first countries to transform into a donor country itself. The Korea International Cooperation Agency (KOICA) and USAID worked together around the world on topics ranging from education, global health and economic security. You know I couldn’t resist bringing it back to what we lost when we lost USAID. Thank you for allowing me this digression. Onwards.
Causes of fertility decline in Korea
Globally, fertility decline is driven by a complex interplay of long-term developmental progress and modern socioeconomic barriers. Historically, the shift began with lower child mortality and expanded access to family planning, which allowed families to focus on fewer, healthier children. This was further reinforced by increasing levels of female education and workforce participation, alongside rapid urbanization.
In more recent years, however, the decline to below-replacement levels in many regions - particularly across high-income countries - is fueled by real constraints and possibly shifts in priorities. This model suggests that the drop in TFR is not caused by a single factor, such as income or housing costs, but by an interaction of changing social norms, increased intensity of parenting, and an expanded set of modern consumption and lifestyle options that compete with the central importance of parenthood. While many people still desire children, many things from inflexible work environments, frustrating dating markets, unequal gender roles, and the difficulty of balancing work and family life frequently lead people to adjust their intentions and have fewer children than they originally planned.
All this is true for Korea as well, and then some. Below is a non-exhaustive list of some of the unique causes that stand out to me - perhaps you will have others.
Hagwons and Hoesik
South Korea’s hyper-competitive university entrance system forces parents into a quality over quantity trade-off, where parents have fewer children while investing more in their human capital. In 2023, approximately 80% of primary and secondary school students participated in private tutoring (hagwons), with the average family spending roughly 10% of their disposable income on these services. Because academic success is relative, a status externality emerges: when one family increases their investment in an elite academy, it diminishes the relative standing of all other children. This forces every parent (regardless of their own wealth) to increase their spending just to maintain their child’s position in the social hierarchy, a cycle often referred to as “education fever.”
Panel B is really stark here - Poor families in Korea are substantially more likely to have no children. This may challenge your assumption that poorer families likely have more children (the relationship is more complicated than simply linear), but the point here is that the cost of educating your child(ren) is a major reason for low fertility in Korea. From the same paper (table below), poorer families spend a higher percentage of income on private education at most stages.
Source: Kim, Tertilt and Yum AER (2024)
So, when a single child requires such an intensive financial and emotional investment to remain competitive, the prospect of a second or third child becomes economically irrational. I get it.
The hagwon system has created a feedback loop that defies traditional government intervention. While the South Korean government offers childcare subsidies to encourage births, these funds are frequently redirected by parents straight into the private education market. As long as the hyper-competitive university entrance system remains the primary gateway to high-status jobs, the hagwon will continue to act as a tax on fertility; pricing larger families out of existence in the pursuit of a better life for the next generation.
This intense investment is seen as necessary to ensure a child can enter a top-tier university and secure a lucrative job in a labor market characterized by severe dualism, with massive wealth and security gaps between elite “regular” jobs at major conglomerates and “non-regular” positions at smaller firms. As a result, the share of working-age Koreans who are over-qualified for their jobs is among the highest in the OECD, and the share of employees with qualifications that are mismatched to the job they actually do is almost 50%, which is the highest in the OECD.
Many years later, when these children enter the workforce, the competition and pressure only intensifies. The Korean labor market is defined by long hours and significant precarity for young workers. Employees in South Korea clocked an average of 1,901 hours in 2024—149 hours more than the OECD average. The expectation for after-hours social gatherings (hoesik) and the intense competition for promotion make it nearly impossible for many workers, particularly women, to find a manageable balance between career and family. It all creates an environment where the risks of childbirth are perceived as potentially ruinous for a woman’s career and financial security.
Housing as a deterrent
The International Monetary Fund (IMF) has identified soaring housing prices and household debt as primary drivers of the demographic slump. As of early 2024, median-income families in South Korea were estimated to spend about 63% of their household income on loan repayments for a median-priced home. In the Seoul Metropolitan Area, where the most prestigious jobs and educational institutions are concentrated, this ratio climbs to a staggering 151% for the larger living spaces required to raise a child. According to the Bank of Korea, for many young Koreans, homeownership is an unattainable goal, and the financial burden of a mortgage leaves no room for the expenses of childcare.
New data confirms that for every 1% rise in median home prices, the fertility rate suffers a corresponding drop the following year. This economic pressure has bifurcated the population based on property ownership. The effect of rising property values actually encourages fertility among long-term homeowners who have seen their equity grow, but it acts as a total deterrent for housing outsiders. Renters, trapped by the soaring costs of the jeonse (lump-sum deposit) system, are 65% less likely to get married, 55% less likely to become first-time parents than those who own their homes.
In response, the state has moved from simple subsidies to radical, property-based social engineering. The Seoul Metropolitan Government has launched the Mirinae Home (My Home in Advance) initiative, an aggressive pronatalist housing policy that explicitly links square footage to reproductive milestones. Under this scheme, newlyweds can access long-term rental housing with an option to buy; if they have two children, they are granted the right to purchase the unit up to 20% below the market price. Yet, these interventions face an uphill battle against the extreme centralization of the country. With the most prestigious jobs and hagwon (private cram schools) concentrated in Seoul, the demand for space in the capital remains inelastic. For many young Koreans, the choice is between a career in the capital without a family, or a family in the periphery without a career.
The Gender Gap
What sets South Korea’s demographic crisis apart from other high-income nations is the intensely gendered nature of the conflict. I don’t just mean the massive gender wage gap, although at 32%, it is the highest in the OECD. Nobel laureate Claudia Goldin states there is a profound mismatch between the rapid pace of the country’s economic development and the slower evolution of its social traditions. She explains that while Korean women have gained significant autonomy through education and professional careers, the domestic sphere remains rooted in patriarchal traditions. This creates a double burden where women are expected to succeed in the workforce while still performing the vast majority of unpaid household labor and childcare. In fact, her data shows that Korea has one of the largest gaps in daily household labor between men and women among developed nations, which directly correlates with its record-low fertility.
The decline in fertility is not merely a byproduct of economic pressure, but it is a manifestation of a battle in which marriage and child-rearing have become highly politicized. One of the most visible expressions of this tension is the 4B movement—a radical feminist ideology that emerged in the late 2010s. The “4B” refers to four nos: bihon (no marriage), bichulsan (no childbirth), biyeonae (no dating), and bisekseu (no sex with men). For proponents, the movement is a declaration of autonomy and a practical survival strategy in a society where women face alarming rates of gender-based violence, discrimination in the workplace, and the expectation of fulfilling traditional roles as “baby-making machines”.
The movement is rooted in a rejection of the patriarchal family structure, which many Korean feminists see as the source of women’s disenfranchisement. Roughly one in four Korean women report facing intense workplace discrimination, with some reporting that their employers explicitly forbid dating, marriage, or pregnancy. In this context, the 4B movement is an act of collective power, signaling to the government and the broader society that women will no longer participate in systems that exploit their reproductive labor.
This feminist advocacy has triggered a significant pushback, particularly among young men who feel threatened by changing social dynamics. (On a side note, Ekim and I watched Inside the Manosphere over the weekend, and I can’t stop thinking about it.) Nearly 80% of South Korean men in their 20s report feeling that they are victims of gender discrimination. This resentment was expertly utilized by President Yoon Suk-yeol, who during his campaign claimed that “structural sexism no longer exists” and blamed feminism for making it “difficult for men and women to date”. Under the Yoon presidency, gender equality has become a taboo topic, with the Ministry of Gender Equality being rebranded and its focus shifted strictly to “family” and “children.” This political polarization further entrenches the demographic crisis, as it ignores the gendered root causes of why women are refusing to have children.
K-Drama (does art imitate life or vice versa?)
As a fan of all things K (food, people, skincare, drama, pop), I was really curious about the role that some of these global exports have played in reflecting these causes and consequences of low fertility. If you were trained in social science in the 00s, you probably learned all about Brazilian telenovelas and televisions and the impact they had on divorce, fertility, female empowerment, and so on. Given that Korea is still a traditional society in many ways - marriage - although rates are declining - is still where childbearing overwhelmingly occurs, I wondered how this was being portrayed on screen.
K-dramas have historically promoted traditional gender roles and family ideals. However, recent trends in media reflect the shifting societal attitudes toward marriage, children, men (I love the idea of a “soft boy”) and the single life. The reality show “I Live Alone” (Na Honja Sanda) has been a major cultural force in normalizing singlehood since its debut in 2013. Their tagline is both hilarious and a little sad, “Do You Live Alone? So Do Some of Your Favorite Stars. With the number of single-person households ever increasing, 1/3 of Korean celebrities are living alone, too.” By showcasing the daily routines, private joys, and occasional loneliness of celebrities living solo, the show has provided a chic window into domestic autonomy. It possibly reinforces the idea that a fulfilling life can be lived outside of the marital home. Modern K-dramas are increasingly moving away from idealized romances to portray the stark realities of contemporary life. The upcoming series “Our Golden Days” specifically explores the struggle of young adults with job insecurity and housing costs, highlighting the many barriers to family formation and childbearing in the country.
These narratives serve two functions: they empathize with a generation that feels burdened by tradition, and they provide information on alternative lifestyle paths that were once unthinkable. The global rise of K-culture through platforms like Netflix has only amplified these themes, as international audiences increasingly relate to the themes of economic precarity and challenging patriarchal norms.
Policy responses and their effectiveness in Korea
A fundamental debate has emerged among scholars and policymakers: Should governments strive to “solve” low fertility, or should society accept it and learn to adapt to this inevitable shrinking. I’m in the adapt camp, and think that solutions have to be multisectoral in nature, embrace immigration, and not take the form of one-off cash/baby bonuses or medals and the like.
Globally, governments have tinkered with various programs to raise birth rates. While many governments increasingly aim to raise birth rates, the primary drivers of low fertility—such as incompatibility between professional careers and family life, gender inequalities, and economic uncertainty—are complex and often deep-rooted. The effectiveness of policy interventions varies; high-quality, accessible childcare is consistently linked to sustained higher fertility rates, while the impact of parental leave and one-time financial incentives is often short-lived or limited to specific demographic groups (see figure below): Research has found that while you may see a temporary bump owing to some incentives, this does not translate into long-term fertility rebounds, likely because the cost of raising a child is far more than a on-off small cash transfer at birth.
Souce: The Guardian (2024)
The Korean government’s 2024 plan prioritizes three core areas: expanding paid parental leave to 18 months, increasing the monthly allowance for parents of infants to 1 million KRW, and providing specialized “Newborn Home” loans that lower interest rates for families with young children (mentioned earlier). By moving beyond simple cash transfers to address the structural motherhood penalty and high housing costs, the administration aims to stabilize the working-age population, which is projected to shrink by nearly half by 2070.
The effectiveness of these measures remains a subject of intense debate among demographers and international observers. While the government has spent over $200 billion since 2006 to boost the birth rate, the fertility rate has continued its record-breaking slide. Critics and organizations like the OECD suggest that financial subsidies alone cannot overcome the culture of hyper-competition and the exorbitant costs of hagwons that discourage child-rearing.
Early indicators from late 2025 and 2026 suggest a slight stabilization in marriage rates following the introduction of the new housing incentives, but experts maintain that a true reversal requires a deeper cultural shift toward gender equality in the workplace and a move away from the traditional breadwinner family model. I keep returning to that workplace question, and the relationship between fertility and female labor force employment. In 1980, the relationship between female employment and fertility in OECD countries was negative. However, in recent years, countries with higher employment rates for women tend to have higher fertility rates. Essentially policies that made it easier for women to combine employment and family have resulted in a positive relationship between fertility and female employment. In both graphs, Korea stands as an outlier.
Source: KEI (2023)
A priority for governments to support their people to have the number of children they desire, has to reconcile with the workplace.
Changing workplace norms can also be slow due to cultural and institutional resistance. Therefore, the government should take the lead in instituting behavioral changes to shift peoples’ norms and attitudes. The ultimate goal should be to promote a healthy work-life balance for all workers and create a social environment where work and family are not mutually exclusive. As an important step toward this goal, parents should be able to freely choose amongst various options such as reduced work hours, flexible hybrid or work-from-home schedules, and family medical leave to reconcile workplace and parenting responsibilities. For parents to use these policies without fear of penalty or discrimination, the government must redesign them to provide clearer guidelines for implementation and evaluation.
Source: Georgetown Journal of International Affairs (2024)
Good news, but for how long?
2026 started off with very good news for Korea - provisional data released by the Ministry of Data and Statistics in February indicates the largest annual increase in births in FIFTEEN years. In 2025, the number of babies born in South Korea grew to 254,500, representing a 7% increase from the previous year. This rise pushed the total fertility rate to 0.80, recovering to the 0.8 threshold for the first time in four years. While government officials have celebrated this as a potential turning point, demographers caution that this rebound is driven by specific cohort mechanics rather than a fundamental societal shift. So there are two things (at least) happening here, and honestly it is thrilling in the nerdiest way possible. The first is the “second echo boom generation”: the 3.6 million children born between 1991 and 1995, a period when the South Korean government effectively ended its restrictive family planning policies. This enlarged cohort is now in its early 30s, the age at which birth rates are currently highest in Korean society. The number of women aged 30-34 rose by 9% between 2020 and 2025, creating a significant momentum effect. Second, the recovery in marriage rates after a slump during the pandemic, has begun to filter into birth statistics. Marriage registrations surged by 15% in 2024. Because childbearing remains intensely tied to marriage, this surge has naturally resulted in an increase in newborns 12 to 24 months later. Births within the first two years of marriage increased by 10% in 2025, suggesting that older couples who married late are catching up.
The 2026 data shouldn’t be read as a turning point for births, but perhaps as the starting line for the post-growth era. The question isn’t whether we can force the needle back to 2.1, but whether we have the political imagination to build a society that is dignified, equitable, and functional at 0.8. If there is a hot take to add to the mountain of discourse, it’s this: Low fertility isn’t a “demographic problem” to be solved; it is a rational response to an irrational social contract. When the state treats childbearing as a numerical lever, it fails. When it treats it as a byproduct (as in Korea’s case, of) gender equity, housing sanity, and workplace humanity, it stands a chance.
The Food!
Korean food is hands down our favorite - to eat out, or cook at home - outside of Indian and Turkish. No, really; our daughter’s nickname is Kimchi. We wanted to make something we hadn’t before, and as lovers of all the jigae and canned fish, we made Chamchi-kimchi-jjigae (Kimchi stew with tuna) and ate that with purple rice. It was a big hit (and deceptively easy to make); yet, the kids ranked it third after (STORE BOUGHT!!) anchovy and squid side dishes. Ungrateful. Ekim made 2 salads: cucumber and scallion. Both divine.
Eymir researched religion and soccer (a big fan of Son), and Kimaya researched nature (Mugunghwa is the national flower, symbolizing resilience). Kimaya was the DJ as our resident K-pop expert. We listenend to BTS and Blackpink!
This is such a well written, wholesome article! Feels so good to read your articles :-) it is a feast to the brain to read your newsletters!