You know that feeling when you're 30 and you realize you have absolutely no idea what you're doing? Most media treats your twenties like the "messy" years and your thirties like the "settled" years. Then you watch This Is My First Life, and you realize everyone is just winging it.
It’s honest.
Released in 2017, this drama didn't just lean on the typical contract marriage trope we've seen a thousand times. Instead, it dismantled the very idea of what a "home" or a "marriage" is supposed to look like in a late-capitalist society. Yoon Ji-ho (played by Jung So-min) is a struggling screenwriter who finds herself literally homeless. Nam Se-hee (Lee Min-ki) is a socially awkward IT professional who needs a tenant to help pay off his massive mortgage.
They get married for convenience. He wants someone to take out the trash and feed his cat; she wants a roof over her head that doesn't involve sleeping in a studio full of sexist coworkers.
The Realism of the "Housing Crisis" Plot
Most K-dramas use poverty as a temporary aesthetic. The lead is "poor," but they live in a spacious rooftop apartment with a view of the Han River and wear designer coats. This Is My First Life is different. It focuses on the grinding anxiety of rent. Ji-ho’s desperation isn't romanticized. When she realizes her brother’s new wife is moving into their shared apartment, the panic is palpable.
You’ve probably felt that. That specific, sinking realization that you don't actually own your space.
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The drama uses the concept of the "Townhouse" as a character in itself. Se-hee is essentially a slave to his home. He calculates his life in decades of mortgage payments. It’s a bleak, hyper-realistic look at modern adulthood that resonated deeply not just in South Korea—where the "Hell Joseon" sentiment was peaking—but globally.
Why Se-hee and Ji-ho Aren't Your Typical Leads
Se-hee is a weirdo. Let's be real. He’s cold, data-driven, and seems to lack a soul for the first four episodes. But as the story unfolds, you realize his rigidity is a defense mechanism. He isn't some "cold CEO" waiting to be changed by love; he’s a man who has been deeply hurt by the expectations of traditional Korean patriarchal structures.
Ji-ho, on the other hand, is the "N-po generation" personified. This is a term used in Korea to describe a generation that has given up on things like marriage, kids, and home ownership because they simply can't afford them.
Their chemistry isn't explosive. It’s quiet. It’s built on shared dinners and the mutual respect of boundaries. It’s honestly refreshing.
The Three Pairs and Different Perspectives on Love
The show cleverly splits its narrative focus between three lifelong friends, each representing a different struggle with societal expectations.
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- Ji-ho and Se-hee: The contract marriage that questions why we need the "ceremony" of love to survive financially.
- Soo-ji and Sang-gu: My favorite sub-plot. Soo-ji is a high-flying corporate badass who has to deal with constant sexual harassment and the "boys' club" at work. Her relationship with Sang-gu, a sensitive CEO who actually listens, is a masterclass in modern dating dynamics.
- Ho-rang and Won-seok: This is the one that hurts to watch. They’ve been together for seven years. She wants a wedding because she thinks it equates to security. He’s a struggling app developer who can’t give her that. It’s the most "real" depiction of a long-term relationship falling apart under the weight of "what comes next."
There is a scene where Ho-rang looks at a pink sofa. She wants that sofa because it represents a "normal" life. It’s heartbreaking because the sofa is just a piece of furniture, but to her, it's the barrier between being a "girl" and being a "wife."
Breaking the Fourth Wall of Screenwriting
Since Ji-ho is a writer, the drama frequently uses meta-commentary. It critiques the drama industry itself—the long hours, the mistreatment of junior writers, and the formulaic scripts that ignore real human emotion.
Writer Yoon Nan-joong did something brilliant here. She took the most cliché premise—contract marriage—and used it to talk about feminism, trauma, and the dignity of labor.
Remember the scene at the bus stop?
Ji-ho talks about how this is her "first life." It sounds simple, but it’s a profound shift in perspective. We act like we should have all the answers because we are adults, but we’ve never lived this day before. We are all amateurs at living.
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Dealing with the "Problematic" Subplots
No show is perfect. Some viewers find the resolution of the "sexual assault" storyline involving Ji-ho’s coworker to be a bit rushed or unsatisfying. It reflects a reality where justice isn't always poetic, which fits the show's tone, but it can be a tough pill to swallow for those looking for escapism.
Similarly, Se-hee’s past relationship is a heavy weight on the final episodes. Some argue the "Noble Idiocy" trope creeps in toward the end. I’d argue it’s less about being a martyr and more about Ji-ho needing to reclaim her autonomy before committing to a "real" marriage. She didn't want to just transition from a "tenant" to a "wife" without finding herself first.
Actionable Takeaways for Your Next Rewatch
If you’re planning to dive back into This Is My First Life, or watching it for the first time, keep these themes in mind to get the most out of it:
- Watch the Cat: The cat’s name change (from "Cat" to "Woori") is the most significant character arc in the show. It tracks Se-hee’s emotional defrosting better than any dialogue.
- Contextualize the "Room": Pay attention to how characters occupy space. Ji-ho feels most "at home" in the small gaps, like the hallway or the kitchen table. It’s a metaphor for how marginalized people find space in a world that doesn't want them.
- The Power of No: Notice how often Ji-ho says "no" in the latter half of the series. It’s her superpower. In a culture that demands "Yes" to elders and bosses, her "no" is revolutionary.
- Check the Poetry: The drama references real literature, like the poem Visitors by Jung Hyun-jong. Reading the full poem gives a much deeper meaning to the scene where Se-hee admits that "bringing someone into your life is actually a tremendous thing."
Stop looking for the "grand romance." This show isn't about the wedding; it’s about the breakfast the morning after. It’s about the quiet comfort of knowing someone else is in the house while you sleep.
For anyone feeling behind in life, this drama is a hug. It tells you that your pace is fine. You’re allowed to fail. You’re allowed to restart. After all, this is everyone's first life. You aren't supposed to know the ending yet.
Next Steps for the J-Drama/K-Drama Fan
If you loved the dry humor and "slice of life" realism here, your next move should be checking out Because This Is My First Life's spiritual successor, Run On, which handles dialogue with similar wit. Alternatively, look into the works of writer Park Hae-young (specifically My Liberation Notes) if you want to stay in that "existential dread mixed with hope" headspace.