The Substitute State: North Korea’s Desperate Imitations

North Korea’s researchers have developed a “bean-based” chocolate, substituting purple beans for cocoa powder, as reported by Choson Sinbo, a pro-Pyongyang newspaper in Japan. This innovation follows other examples of the country creating substitutes for foreign goods, including corn coffee and soybean meat.

At first glance, these substitutions seem like desperate attempts to replicate the outside world within North Korea’s isolated economy. However, upon closer examination, it becomes clear that the regime is making a calculated effort to control and manipulate the flow of consumer culture into the country.

The history of these substitutions reveals a complex interplay between necessity and desire. Injogogi, the soybean-based meat substitute, was initially created as a survival food during the famine years of the 1990s. Over time, it became an integral part of North Korean market food culture. This transformation highlights how the regime has learned to adapt and co-opt external influences, turning them into domestic products that reflect its own values and priorities.

The case of coffee is particularly instructive. While real coffee remains a luxury for many North Koreans, the habit and image of coffee have proliferated throughout the country. Grain-based drinks like corn coffee serve as cheaper substitutes, while North Korean-made instant coffee products have appeared in cities in recent years. These substitutes are not just about caffeine; they’re also about the gesture of drinking coffee, a symbol of modern urban life that has become deeply ingrained in North Korean culture.

The phenomenon of Choco Pie highlights the complexities of desire and politics in North Korea. This South Korean snack became an unlikely icon of consumer culture within North Korea, representing the perceived gap between the two countries’ standard of living. Pyongyang’s response was to create its own alternatives, such as chocolate-coated rice cakes, which attempted to replicate the shape and sweetness of Choco Pie but failed to capture its allure.

North Korea has also been creating substitutes for electronic devices like smartphones and tablets. While state media touts these products as domestic achievements, analysis suggests that they are often manufactured in China or elsewhere, then rebranded as local innovations. This strategy reflects a broader effort by Pyongyang to preserve the outward form of global consumer goods while stripping away the foreign elements that make them valuable.

According to Nam Sung-wook, a professor of North Korean studies at Korea University, these substitutes should be seen not only as signs of hardship but also as political and social signals. “North Korea presents them as proof of self-reliance,” he notes, “but they also reveal the limits of that self-reliance.” Behind each substitute lies a complex interplay between desire and necessity, with North Koreans seeking to participate in global consumer culture while their government struggles to control its flow.

As we observe these developments, it’s essential to recognize that North Korea’s substitutions are not simply desperate attempts to replicate the outside world. They represent a calculated effort by the regime to manage desire itself, to channel the aspirations of its citizens into domestic products that reinforce its own values and priorities. This is a country that has spent decades rejecting the outside world in public while quietly absorbing its shapes, tastes, and symbols.

The implications of these substitutions extend beyond North Korea’s borders. They serve as a reminder of the complexities of consumer culture and its relationship to power, identity, and politics. As we watch this drama unfold, we are also reminded that the desire for global products is not simply a matter of taste but also a reflection of deeper aspirations for connection, modernity, and belonging.

The future will reveal whether North Korea’s substitutions can sustain themselves in the long term or if they will ultimately prove to be fragile facsimiles of a world beyond their control. For now, they offer a stark reminder of the regime’s limitations in managing desire and its own relationship with the outside world.