Our New Film ‘Seoul Sanctuaries’ Explores The Art of Slowing Down in Seoul

In Seoul, rest isn’t something that comes naturally. South Korea's capital is the epicentre of a culture that is built on speed, competitiveness and drive, where a strict and rigorous work ethic is instilled from a young age. But it was in this city that photographer Simjae found his peace. “Over time, I realised that what mattered wasn't moving faster but deciding what was worth paying attention to,” he says. This was a radical notion in a hyperexpanding, fast-paced city - but Simjae found his sanctuaries with his friends, and in certain places that refused to join the rush and dared to stay still.

Seoul Sanctuaries is a collaboration with Stone Island that explores the places and routines where locals go to break from the urban hustle: a concept that reflects the brand's ethos of close observation and attention to detail. In this film, we explore the art of slowing down in a city that never stops, taking the time needed to go that much further, rather than getting caught up in the chaos of the quick fix.

Simjae is a photographer, creative director, archivist and, above all, an observer. His work comes from capturing everyday moments, in places that have played a quietly constant, yet stoic role, in everyday lives.

Originally hailing from the quieter city of Changwon, Simjae was struck by Seoul’s intensity when he first arrived in the city: inspired, but also intimidated: “I missed having time that didn't need a purpose. Back in Changwon, it felt natural to meet friends or simply wander around the neighbourhood without making plans,” he says. “When I first arrived in Seoul, I felt like every hour had to justify itself.”

We spoke to Simjae to further explore his relationship to the slower rhythms of his city:

What's your earliest memory of arriving in Seoul?

“When I first moved to Seoul from Changwon, everything felt incredibly fast. People walked quickly, buildings and storefronts seemed to change overnight, and it felt as though everyone already knew exactly where they were going. I remember constantly thinking that I had to find my own place within that rhythm.

In Changwon, there is no subway or express bus. We just ride bikes or some city buses, but in Seoul everything is so fast: lots of lights, lots of stations.”

Were you intimidated by the city when you moved there?

“At first, I believed keeping up with the city's pace was the only way to survive here. I was a student, very young, and I didn't know many people, so I felt a lot of fear about whether I might make it there. But over time, I realised that what mattered wasn't moving faster but deciding what was worth paying attention to, and what was worth holding onto.”

What did you miss about your hometown?

“I missed having time that didn't need a purpose. Back in Changwon, it felt natural to meet friends or simply wander around the neighbourhood without making plans. When I first arrived in Seoul, I felt like every hour had to justify itself.”

How did you catch up with Seoul?

“Subconsciously. I find comfort in friends, with DJs, skateboarding, creative fields; in sharing passion. Even if it's not about money, it's about creating things and that's what drives me still today.

As places like the printing shops, film labs and old restaurants in Chungmuro began to remember me, Seoul gradually started to feel smaller. Rather than the whole city becoming home, I think I slowly found small places within it that felt like home.”

Korea has a notoriously fast-paced work culture, and Seoul being the epicentre of that — what's that like?

“Living in Seoul is living with the expectation of a very corporate society; it is the nature of Korea itself. Everyone feels that anxiety.”

How did you form a creative community that went against that expectation?

“In school, you don't get many chances to share different interests, but once I was in Seoul I was able to meet different creatives and naturally started forming a community. That only happened because we shared each other's experiences and interests. That's why I like photography: to capture them visually.”

Why do you think Korea has such a complicated relationship with rest?

“In Korea everything is one-dimensional: you go into crammed school and study. It really limits the level of creativity this country can produce after collegiate level. It basically comes down to survival instinct. They know being in a creative field you may not make a good living, there's not a lot of opportunities. Even if you're a top college student you may or may not get a good job.

There's no such thing as rest or sanctuaries for these students. It's not just Seoul, it applies to the bigger cities around Korea too. You're not programmed to feel like you deserve rest. After you graduate, you feel like this is the norm.”

Is rest sometimes something people create for one another?

“I think so. Sometimes rest is as simple as telling someone to sit down for a while, or sharing a meal together. Everyone in Seoul is busy, so making time to simply be with someone can become its own form of caring for one another.”

Seoul is a city that is constantly changing, caught at the crossroads of hyper-expansion. What can the old Seoul tell us about Seoul that the new cannot?

“It reveals the way people have actually lived in and used the city. Old spaces are filled with repairs, adaptations and traces of necessity rather than perfectly finished design.
When you look closely, you realise Seoul wasn't built solely through planning. It was shaped through the repeated routines and everyday lives of the people who have lived here.”

Have you photographed parts of the city that no longer exist?

“Yes. Buildings that have since been demolished. Shops that have closed. Even photographs of people who are no longer with us. When I took those photographs, I never imagined they would become the last record of those moments. That's why I believe it's important to document ordinary days. You never really know which everyday moment will become irreplaceable.

I want my photographs to remind people that Seoul hasn't always been a busy or distant city.”

What has slowing down and finding your sanctuaries in the city taught you?

“I've learned that staying with something for a long time is far more difficult than growing quickly.

The craftspeople in Chungmuro may repeat the same work every day, but that doesn't mean every day is the same. They continue adapting to change while holding onto their own standards. I've learned a great deal from watching that balance.

Seoul isn't a city made only by what's new. It's a place where old skills, old objects, and people's memories continue to meet new ideas and create something that keeps evolving.”

Do you think slowing down is ever a form of resistance?

“Perhaps. In an environment that constantly asks us to react quickly and keep producing something new, choosing to spend a long time looking at one thing can become a different kind of choice. For me, collecting Stone Island archive pieces and shooting on film come from the same mindset. It's not about living in the past, but it's also about not rushing past something.”

Where, in this enormous and restless city, do you feel most at peace?

“I feel most at peace wherever I can spend time with people I care about, without needing a reason. Sometimes that's Hugan Books. Sometimes it's a bathhouse, an old coffee shop, or somewhere by the river.

In the end, sanctuary isn't a particular building. For me, it's the people and the moments that allow me to slow down and simply be myself.”