The Trans Representation in ‘Squid Game’ Is Some of Television’s Best

Over the past few years, there has been an increased amount of discourse surrounding what constitutes “good” representation in television. One of the most pressing concerns from the masses is the idea of only LGBTQ+ actors playing queer and transgender characters, a concern that has fizzled out when paired with the reality that many actors would be forced to come out of the closet if this were the case. When Seasons 2 and 3 of the Netflix series Squid Game were announced, it was revealed that there would be the inclusion of a transgender character, Hyun-ju.

This news coincided with the casting report that cisgender actor Park Sung-hoon would play the role, a decision that drew significant criticism from fans. In an interview with TV Guide, writer Hwang Dong-hyuk detailed that despite the fact that he wanted to do “authentic casting of a trans actor,” it was almost impossible in Korea: “There are close to no actors that are openly trans, let alone openly gay.” Despite the harsh realities of Korean queer politics, and the backlash this casting would undeniably receive from western viewers, Hwang boldly proceeded to include Hyun-ju and her story. Park and writer Hwang Dong-hyuk collaborated to create a character who is not only written and portrayed with empathy, but also emerges as one of the series’ most crucial figures. In a show known for its large ensemble cast where individuals can easily fade into the background, the series has developed Hyun-ju into one of its most memorable and complex characters, challenging conventional portrayals of transgender people in modern television.

Like many of the other contestants in Squid Game, Hyun-ju is there because she’s accumulated a large debt. Instead of this debt being from a failed business investment or a gambling addiction like most of the other contestants, her debt is a direct result of her transition. She discusses at length the backlash she faced in her workplace and from her family, and as a result, she has been left with little money to survive. This is why Hyun-ju finds herself in these games, and why for the better part of Season 2, she’s desperate to stay in them.

Unlike other shows, Squid Game notably refrains from making a spectacle of Hyun-ju’s position as the only visible transgender woman in the games. While she encounters stigma in the form of rude glances or badgering questions about her identity, these are portrayed in small moments as her character is introduced, and she’s never overtly treated with malice. Throughout the season, other characters progressively develop an understanding not only of Hyun-ju’s identity, but also who she is as a person. When wanting to use the bathroom along with her new companions, Jang Geum-ja (Kang Ae-shim) and Kim Jun-hee (Jo Yu-ri), the older woman, who up until this point had been confused regarding Hyun-ju’s identity, simply states, “It’s ok, she’s a woman.”

No Ju-han/Netflix

Although it’s a small moment, writer Hwang Jong-hyuk avoids turning this into a dramatic exposition on transgender trauma and current gender-identity bathroom discourse. Here, he’s showing that Hyun-ju has a place amongst the other women in the game, slowly being brought into a new pseudo-family. Within the brutal context of the games, Hyun-Ju has finally managed to forge a family of her own after losing the support and love from her biological one. Despite a fraught initial dynamic, this group blossoms into a deeply supportive and understanding unit, affirming not only her identity but also her unwavering resolve to persist in the deadly competition. These characters are why Seasons 2 and 3 work as well as they do, and when the focus diverges from Gi-hun’s (Lee Jung-jae) journey, attention is compellingly drawn to this heartwarming group of outsiders.

Within this small family unit, Hyun-ju adopts the role of the protective older sister. She is affectionately addressed as “Unnie” (a term used by young women in Korea to address older women) by the group’s youngest member, Kim Young-mi (Kim Si-eun), solidifying her place not only within the group’s dynamic, but also as a woman in the eyes of her peers. Following Young-Mi’s tragic death later in Season 2, Hyun-ju partners with Gi-hun in his mission for vengeance against the game-makers, and it’s revealed that not only did she serve in the military before her transition, she ranked in one of its highest positions. This training quickly proves useful, as she teaches the others how to use their weapons and takes out the most game-makers out of all the characters.

It’s here that Hyun-ju distinguishes herself as one of the most formidable physical forces that the games have ever seen. Yet her strength is not used solely for dominance over the people who put her and her friends in this predicament, but rather as a vital tool for protection. She consistently employs her body as a shield for the most vulnerable individuals she has formed bonds with, namely Geum-ja and Jun-hee. This deeply ingrained protective nature carries through into Season 3, which sees her actively safeguarding the two women as they navigate one of the series’ most challenging games, Hide and Seek.

Instead of depicting Hyun-ju as someone to be pitied, or subjecting her to abuse because of her identity as a transgender woman, Squid Game instead utilizes her to demonstrate how compassion and empathy can endure even the most challenging situations. While the pressure of the games often forces other characters to become their worst selves, Hyun-ju consistently remains loyal to her friends, despite the fact that they’re less physically capable than her and may be ruining her game. Instead of abandoning them, she views herself as their protector and uplifts them when they come in handy in games that require mental strength over physical strength. In a series where characters are frequently pushed to choose between morality and self-preservation, Hyun-ju’s unwavering nature makes her one of its most selfless figures.

It is her inherent selflessness that tragically leads to her demise. Having discovered an escape route from one of the series’ most brutal challenges, she nevertheless returned for Geum-ja and Jun-hee, the latter having just given birth. Bleeding from her leg and winded from a physical altercation with another player, she painstakingly made her way back to her friends’ room, eager to inform them of the exit. This moment of hope is brutally cut short as she is stabbed in the back by Lee Myung-gi (Im Si-wan), the father of Jun-hee’s newborn child. Though a devastating end, it’s one that Hyun-ju would never come to regret.

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While numerous individuals prioritized their own survival and made solo ventures towards the exit, Hyun-ju consistently demonstrated a profound degree of selflessness, thinking of others and their safety long before her own. Unlike the transgender characters that have come before her, Hyun-ju is depicted with a staggering amount of depth, one that in a show with a cast as bloated as Squid Game feels like a miracle. Her identity as a transgender woman is presented not as her sole defining characteristic, but a significant piece of her that makes Hun-ju who she is. Her capacity for empathy is deep, leading to the remarkable bravery that ultimately cost her her life.

The creation and treatment of Hyun-jun feels unprecedented in the age of television we live in. While countless shows tokenize queer and transgender characters and reduce them to one-dimensional caricatures, Squid Game has masterfully crafted a character who is not shackled to tired tropes or restrictive stereotypes. Hyun-jun’s presence on screen doesn’t merely add to the landscape of what representation can look like; it fundamentally alters it. In setting a vital new precedent that dismantles previous ideals of what representation can look like on-screen, Squid Game has gifted audiences with one of modern television’s most complex and engaging transgender characters.

Squid Game, Streaming Now, Netflix