소연

@soyeon_101018

If you’ve ever scrolled through TikTok feeling like everyone’s flaunting perfect lives, you’ll breathe a sigh of relief stumbling upon @soyeon_101018. Her feed feels like flipping through a friend’s messy notebook—full of doodles, half-baked ideas, and moments most creators would edit out. She turns mundane Tuesday afternoons into comedy gold: think reenacting her childhood obsession with sifting playground dirt through a sieve ("for *serious* pretend cooking," she insists), or holding up hand-cut **paper tangrams** while debating whether triangle A is "vibing" or "having an existential crisis." There’s no glossy backdrop, no choreographed transitions—just raw, giggly authenticity. You don’t just *watch* her videos; you feel like you’re swapping stories over instant coffee at 2 a.m.

Behind the phone is 소연 (Soyeon), a former K-pop idol who walked away from stage lights to build something quieter but way more real. She’s carried that performer’s ease into TikTok, blending casual chats with spontaneous bursts of singing or dance moves that look like they’re invented mid-video. Unlike her Twitch days—where she’d talk nonstop for hours about *anything* (yes, even horror games she’s too scared to play)—her TikToks thrive on brevity. A 15-second clip might show her attempting to fold laundry while her cat aggressively "helps," captioned: **"Why adulting feels like losing a game you never agreed to play."** It’s this mix of vulnerability and humor that makes her relatable; she’s not selling a lifestyle, just surviving it alongside you.

What really sticks are her **obsessively specific nostalgia drops**. In one video, she rummages through a drawer full of childhood keepsakes—a chipped toy fish, faded crayon drawings—and narrates how she’d spend hours pretending mud pies were gourmet meals. ("I was *that* kid filtering dirt slides," she shrugs, eyes twinkling.) These snippets aren’t just throwback bait; they spark comments like, "I did this too! My mom thought I’d lost my mind." She’s tapped into a universal truth: we’re all still that weird, imaginative kid somewhere. Even her "fail" moments—like attempting a viral recipe and ending up with charcoal pancakes—land because they’re *unapologetically* human. No influencer gloss, just soy sauce smeared on the counter and laughing it off.

Soyeon’s impact isn’t measured in follower spikes but in the quiet way her audience feels seen. Viewers tag friends saying, "This is *us*," when she jokes about adulting while secretly craving the simplicity of **"dirt-sifting days."** She’s built a community where imperfection is the norm—whether it’s her hair in a messy bun or admitting she re-watches *SpongeBob* to de-stress. In a space crowded with "perfect" creators, her refusal to curate every second is radical. One commenter put it perfectly: **"She’s the friend who texts you a blurry photo of her disastrous manicure and makes you feel okay about your own chaos."**

At its heart, Soyeon’s content is a love letter to ordinary magic. She doesn’t chase trends; she finds wonder in the overlooked—a rainy window, a lopsided smile, the way light hits a half-finished cup of tea. You’ll leave her page not with life hacks, but with a lighter mood, like you’ve just shared an inside joke with someone who gets it. In a world shouting for attention, her whisper—**"Hey, remember when life felt like play?"**—is the kind of gentle reminder we all need.