Why South Korea’s New Towns Feel Lifeless: The Psychological Failures of Urban Planning

For decades, South Korea’s urban development strategy has been driven by a relentless pursuit of new town construction, aimed at alleviating housing shortages, decentralizing major metropolitan areas, and fostering regional economic growth. However, as these developments continue to proliferate, a troubling pattern has emerged—monotonous high-rise landscapes, car-dependent infrastructure, and a failure to create socially and economically sustainable communities.

Across the country, from Sejong City, initially envisioned as an administrative hub but now struggling with economic stagnation and poor livability, to Myeongji International City and Eco Delta City in Busan, where commercial areas remain underdeveloped and public transportation insufficient, the pitfalls of South Korea’s new town planning are becoming increasingly apparent. Dongtan in Hwaseong, Songdo in Incheon, and Pangyo in Seongnam—all of which were promoted as high-tech or eco-friendly urban centers—exhibit the same fundamental flaws: rows of indistinguishable high-rise apartments, rigidly planned commercial zones, and an urban structure that prioritizes efficiency over livability.

Rather than fostering diverse, pedestrian-friendly, and culturally rich urban environments, these new towns have become soulless, car-dependent residential enclaves, where commercial districts struggle to attract businesses and public spaces fail to create meaningful social engagement.

Unlike traditional city centers, where residential, commercial, and cultural functions naturally evolve alongside one another, South Korea’s new town developments have been meticulously planned yet remain strikingly lifeless.

Busan provides a striking case study of this flawed development model. Myeongji International City, marketed as a dynamic global hub, continues to suffer from high commercial vacancy rates and a disconnected urban layout that makes walkability difficult. Eco Delta City, heralded as a futuristic smart city, is already exhibiting the same problems of car dependency and delayed commercial infrastructure that have plagued previous projects. These issues are not unique to Busan—they are symptomatic of a nationwide urban development crisis.

Beyond the lack of functional diversity, the aesthetic homogeneity of these cities further exacerbates the issue. Regardless of the location, whether in Busan, Sejong, or Incheon, the sight is the same—rows of identical high-rise apartments, repetitive commercial complexes, and wide roads designed for cars rather than people. Unlike in Europe, where urban planning embraces architectural variety and preserves local character, South Korea’s new towns appear to be mass-produced from a single blueprint, devoid of distinct identity or charm.

More critically, these developments fail to create true communities. In older city centers, a mix of housing types, small businesses, and cultural institutions fosters a dynamic and interactive urban fabric. In contrast, new towns segregate residential, commercial, and public spaces into disconnected districts, creating empty, soulless commercial zones, weak social bonds, and a sense of placelessness among residents.

At the core of this issue is a fundamental question: Can South Korea continue this model of rapid urban expansion, or is a paradigm shift necessary? If new town planning is to serve as a sustainable solution to urban growth, it must move beyond the current formula of high-density residential towers and poorly integrated infrastructure and embrace human-centered, environmentally responsible, and culturally rich urban planning strategies.

This discussion will critically examine the failures of South Korea’s new town developments, from their architectural uniformity and lack of economic sustainability to their negative social and environmental impact. It will also explore alternative models of urban development that prioritize sustainability, local identity, and livability—key elements that have been systematically neglected in the country’s rapid march toward urban expansion.

The future of South Korea’s cities depends not on how many new towns can be built, but on how well they are designed to support vibrant, inclusive, and truly sustainable communities.

The Monotony of High-Rise Developments: A Crisis in South Korea’s Urban Identity

A visitor arriving in one of South Korea’s new towns might initially be struck by the sheer scale of development—sleek high-rises standing in perfect symmetry, wide roads cutting through carefully planned districts, and shopping complexes gleaming under the glow of artificial lighting. But after a few days, a realization sets in. Whether they are in Sejong or Songdo, Myeongji International City or Eco Delta City, the urban landscape is eerily familiar, as if these cities were built from the same blueprint. There is no distinctive skyline, no unique architectural language, no sense of place that tells a deeper story of the people who live there. Instead, these developments seem to exist in a state of urban anonymity, efficient in form but empty of substance.

The problem lies in South Korea’s over-reliance on high-rise residential towers as the foundation of urban planning. City after city, the same towering apartment complexes dominate, stretching endlessly across the horizon in repetitive grids. It is an approach that prioritizes efficiency over experience, density over diversity, and rapid construction over long-term livability.

This model was born out of necessity. During the country’s rapid modernization, South Korea had to house millions in a short span of time. Vertical expansion became the obvious solution, and for decades, it worked. But as the country moves beyond the urgent need for housing, the continued replication of this high-rise model raises a fundamental question: Is this really the best way to build cities?

One of the most glaring failures of these new towns is their inability to create truly livable environments. Unlike traditional urban centers, where residential, commercial, and cultural functions intertwine naturally, South Korea’s new towns are built on a rigid separation of spaces. Apartment blocks rise in dense clusters, but commercial zones are often pushed into distant districts, requiring residents to drive even for basic daily necessities. Streets are designed for cars rather than people, with wide, multi-lane roads cutting through neighborhoods like artificial barriers rather than connecting them.

Walking through these cities feels unnatural. Unlike older districts—where shops, cafés, and restaurants spill onto narrow alleys, creating a dynamic rhythm of human activity—new towns feel empty, their streets too wide, their buildings too identical, their commercial districts eerily quiet. This is the result of a planning philosophy that views urban development as a logistical puzzle rather than a lived experience. It is an approach that treats cities as products to be assembled, rather than ecosystems to be nurtured.

Even the parks and green spaces, often heralded as a key feature of these developments, fail to function as true social spaces. Large but poorly integrated, they are visually appealing yet lifeless, lacking the intimate, community-driven atmosphere that makes public spaces in older cities feel vibrant. Instead of compact, well-used parks surrounded by small businesses and residential areas, many new town parks are isolated expanses of green that feel disconnected from daily life.

The monotony extends beyond urban design into architectural aesthetics. In cities around the world, the skyline serves as a visual representation of its history and identity. But in South Korea’s new towns, there is no skyline—just an endless repetition of nearly identical high-rises in beige, white, and gray. Whether in Sejong, Songdo, or Myeongji, the uniformity is striking, and the effect is numbing. Buildings are mass-produced rather than designed, leading to cities that feel like endless replications rather than unique places. Unlike cities in Europe, where even modern developments incorporate local architectural influences, South Korea’s new towns seem to erase all traces of local character in favor of a one-size-fits-all approach.

This uniformity has deeper consequences than just aesthetics. The lack of diversity in design and urban function affects how people experience and interact with their surroundings. In traditional neighborhoods, small businesses thrive on pedestrian traffic, informal gathering spaces emerge naturally, and communities form around shared daily experiences. In contrast, South Korea’s new towns often fail to create strong community bonds. Many residents report feeling isolated, despite living in densely populated areas, because the city does not facilitate organic human interactions.

The economic consequences of this flawed urban planning are already visible. High vacancy rates plague commercial districts, as the rigid zoning structure makes it difficult for small businesses to thrive. Developers often design for large-scale retail, leading to shopping complexes that remain half-empty, while smaller, local businesses struggle to find a foothold. This results in a paradox: densely populated cities with failing commercial districts, where residents still have to travel to older parts of town for work, culture, and entertainment.

Perhaps the most alarming issue is the growing evidence that these cities fail to retain their residents long-term. New towns tend to see high initial occupancy rates, but as time passes, people begin moving back to older city centers, drawn to the cultural and social vibrancy that new towns fail to offer. The "ghost town" phenomenon, where large portions of commercial and residential spaces remain unoccupied, is already becoming visible in places like Sejong, where the lack of organic urban growth has made the city feel more like a government dormitory than a true capital.

The deeper issue at hand is that South Korea is not just building cities—it is mass-producing them. Instead of nurturing unique urban identities, it is creating interchangeable, formulaic spaces that fail to reflect the communities they are meant to serve.

For South Korea to move forward, it must abandon the rigid, high-rise-centric urban model that has shaped its new towns for decades. The future of urban planning cannot be dictated by efficiency alone—it must be driven by human experience, cultural richness, and architectural diversity. Cities should not be identical—they should be alive, evolving, and reflective of the people who inhabit them.

The challenge ahead is clear: Will South Korea continue to build more of the same, or will it break free from the template and create cities that are truly meant for people?

Why South Korea’s New Towns Feel Exhausting

Modern urban environments are not simply collections of buildings and roads; they are landscapes that shape human experiences, interactions, and well-being. The psychological impact of urban design is profound, influencing everything from a city’s walkability to its ability to foster a sense of belonging among residents. In South Korea’s new towns, however, the principles that make cities livable have been largely ignored in favor of rigid planning, architectural uniformity, and an emphasis on large-scale efficiency. The result is an urban landscape that, despite its apparent order and functionality, feels isolating and exhausting to those who live within it.

The fundamental issue lies in the lack of sensory and spatial variety within these developments. Human cognition is deeply attuned to diversity in form, color, and texture; the most vibrant urban spaces are those that offer a dynamic interplay of architectural styles, street patterns, and natural elements. Yet, in South Korea’s new town developments, uniformity prevails. The repetition of identical high-rise apartments, arranged in symmetrical grids with nearly identical facades, creates an environment that is visually monotonous and psychologically fatiguing. There is little to break the pattern, little to capture the eye’s curiosity or invite exploration. Unlike historic city centers, where irregular street layouts and varied building heights create a sense of discovery, South Korea’s planned cities present a visual landscape that is entirely predictable. This visual repetition induces mental fatigue, as the brain finds little stimulation or variety in the environment, leading to a subconscious sense of disengagement.

Beyond aesthetics, the spatial configuration of these cities further exacerbates their psychological burdens. In the pursuit of maximizing land efficiency, density in South Korea’s new towns has been achieved primarily through vertical expansion rather than horizontal integration. Towering residential complexes dominate the skyline, but unlike traditional mid-rise urban neighborhoods where life unfolds at street level, these high-rise developments create a vertical separation of daily activities. Residential units are confined to upper floors, while commercial spaces are concentrated in isolated shopping districts, resulting in a disconnect between public and private spaces. Streets, rather than being active, pedestrian-oriented corridors of social exchange, function primarily as transit spaces—designed for movement rather than interaction. The absence of small-scale commercial establishments, street-facing storefronts, or naturally occurring gathering spaces deprives these environments of the informal encounters that define urban life.

This spatial detachment manifests in the way people move through these cities. Unlike older neighborhoods, where pedestrian activity is spontaneous and fluid, new towns impose a structured, almost mechanical rhythm on daily life. The distance between residential areas and commercial districts necessitates the use of cars, further diminishing the role of public spaces in fostering community life. Wide roads, intended to facilitate traffic flow, inadvertently act as psychological barriers, fragmenting neighborhoods and discouraging walkability. Even where pedestrian infrastructure exists, it often lacks the human-scale design necessary to make walking an enjoyable and instinctive choice. The placement of amenities, the size of public squares, and the scale of green spaces often feel disconnected from the lived reality of residents, leading to underutilization rather than active engagement.

One of the most misguided assumptions in the planning of these new towns is the belief that large parks and expansive boulevards can substitute for well-integrated public spaces. While green spaces are essential components of urban well-being, their effectiveness is contingent upon their accessibility and integration within the broader urban fabric. In many South Korean new towns, parks are conceived as grand, standalone features rather than as organically embedded extensions of the city’s daily rhythms. They are often situated at distances that require deliberate effort to reach, rather than being interwoven into the everyday commute or commercial activity. As a result, rather than serving as lively communal spaces, they become underused, aesthetically pleasing yet functionally irrelevant.

Similarly, the notion that broad, open streets create a sense of grandeur and openness is fundamentally flawed. In reality, excessively wide roads and oversized plazas often have the opposite effect—creating a sense of emptiness rather than vibrancy. Unlike the narrow, winding streets of traditional markets or older city centers, where pedestrians naturally gather and linger, the vast expanses of pavement in new towns discourage lingering. The absence of closely spaced, human-scaled buildings removes the sense of enclosure and intimacy that makes urban spaces feel inviting. These design choices do not encourage the kind of informal interactions that characterize truly successful cities; instead, they impose a sense of detachment, where movement is structured and purposeful rather than spontaneous.

The psychological effects of such urban design decisions are significant. Research in environmental psychology has consistently shown that walkability, mixed-use development, and architectural diversity contribute to lower stress levels and greater overall well-being. Cities that encourage unplanned encounters, where commercial and residential spaces are intertwined and where walking is the primary mode of transportation, foster a deeper sense of connection between residents and their surroundings. South Korea’s new towns, by contrast, are structured in ways that suppress these organic interactions. Residents do not linger in shared spaces because the urban environment does not encourage it; they do not walk unless necessary because walking feels inefficient and tiring rather than natural and enjoyable. The result is a city that functions smoothly on paper but fails in practice—an environment that looks orderly but feels lifeless.

To move beyond this cycle of urban sterility, South Korea must rethink the fundamental principles guiding its new town developments. Rather than viewing efficiency and uniformity as the highest priorities, planners must recognize that a city’s success is measured not by its organization but by the way it makes people feel. Density should not be imposed through vertical expansion alone but should instead be achieved through a more balanced, horizontally integrated approach that fosters street-level engagement. Walkability must be embedded into the city’s DNA, with commercial, residential, and public spaces interwoven rather than segregated into isolated districts. Parks and public squares should not be ornamental additions to a development plan but should emerge naturally from the way people move and interact within the city. Aesthetics should be diverse, reflecting regional identities and fostering a sense of uniqueness rather than repetition.

Cities are not simply collections of buildings; they are environments that shape daily life, mental well-being, and social cohesion. South Korea’s new towns, despite their modern infrastructure, have yet to achieve this fundamental goal. Unless the country moves beyond its fixation on predictability and large-scale organization, its urban environments will continue to feel exhausting rather than engaging—places to live in, but never to truly belong to.

The Psychological and Economic Failures of New Town Commercial Spaces

Urban spaces are not simply clusters of buildings; they are complex ecosystems shaped by the behaviors, desires, and economic habits of the people who inhabit them. When urban planning fails to align with these organic rhythms of life, the result is not just inefficiency but a fundamental failure in how cities function at a human level. This dissonance is nowhere more evident than in South Korea’s new town commercial spaces, where rigidly planned retail districts and apartment-style shopping complexes remain largely vacant despite the rapid influx of residents.

At the core of this problem is an outdated assumption: that retail spaces, when built in close proximity to residential towers, will naturally generate commercial activity. Yet in reality, South Korea’s new town developments reveal a stark contrast between what planners envision and how people actually engage with urban spaces. Across the country, new commercial districts struggle with high vacancy rates, creating ghostly, underutilized streetscapes that fail to attract the very businesses and consumers they were designed to serve.

The failure of these commercial developments is particularly pronounced in apartment-style shopping complexes, which are a defining but deeply flawed feature of new town planning. These structures, often housed within or directly adjacent to high-rise residential buildings, were intended to provide easy access to retail services for local residents. However, their design alienates both business owners and consumers. Unlike traditional street-facing retail, which fosters spontaneous foot traffic, apartment-style shopping complexes confine businesses within vertically stacked floors, accessible only through elevators and escalators. For consumers, this presents a psychological barrier—a break in the natural rhythm of movement that discourages casual entry and exploration. Even when these complexes host essential businesses, such as cafés, clinics, or restaurants, they lack the organic vibrancy of a traditional shopping street, where human interaction unfolds fluidly in an open, walkable environment.

This structural inefficiency has led to persistent commercial vacancies, particularly on the upper floors of these complexes. Walking through these spaces, one often encounters rows of empty storefronts and dimly lit corridors, the product of a flawed economic model that treats retail as a mere functional appendage to residential developments rather than an integral part of urban life. The issue is compounded by the fact that these commercial units are frequently sold as investment properties rather than being leased by actual business owners. As a result, landlords impose rent prices that do not reflect actual market demand, further discouraging potential tenants and exacerbating the cycle of vacancy.

Beyond the issue of apartment-style retail, the failures of new town commercial planning extend to large-scale central shopping districts, which were intended to serve as vibrant commercial hubs but have instead become symbols of miscalculated urban development. In theory, these areas were designed to function as the commercial heart of new towns, offering everything from high-end retail to dining and entertainment. In practice, they struggle to attract sustainable foot traffic due to their isolated, oversized nature. Unlike older urban centers, where commercial life intertwines with residential and cultural activity, these planned districts stand apart from daily life, requiring deliberate effort to visit rather than being naturally integrated into the city’s flow.

The psychological impact of these planning failures is becoming increasingly evident in shifting consumer preferences. While new town shopping centers sit half-empty, younger generations are gravitating toward commercial environments that feel more organic, walkable, and culturally engaging. Areas like Seongsu-dong in Seoul, Jeonpo-dong in Busan, and Pyeongni-dong in Daegu are thriving precisely because they offer an alternative to the sterile, compartmentalized retail environments of new town districts. These districts, often referred to as “hot streets”, have emerged not from top-down planning but through bottom-up, market-driven development that responds directly to changing consumer behaviors.

The appeal of these commercial streets is deeply psychological. Unlike the rigid, standardized storefronts of new town shopping centers, these areas are visually diverse, densely packed with independent businesses, and rich with unexpected discoveries. Consumers are drawn to spaces that encourage exploration, where no two blocks look the same, and where the act of walking itself feels natural and inviting. In contrast, the rigid structure of new town retail districts, with their predictable layouts and corporate-dominated retail spaces, fails to inspire the same sense of engagement.

Moreover, the preference for these walkable districts reflects a deeper shift in the way younger generations view consumption. Unlike previous generations, who prioritized convenience and brand familiarity, today’s urban consumers seek authenticity, local culture, and unique experiences. They do not simply visit a commercial area to purchase goods; they seek an environment that feels alive, where shopping, dining, and leisure blend seamlessly into a social and aesthetic experience. This stands in direct opposition to the lifeless, utilitarian nature of new town commercial planning, which views retail as a mere functional necessity rather than a cultural and economic catalyst.

The consequences of these failures extend beyond the commercial sector. A city’s commercial vitality is closely linked to its overall livability and sustainability. When retail spaces remain empty, it is not just an economic problem—it is a sign that the city itself is failing to create an environment where people want to stay, engage, and invest in their surroundings. High commercial vacancy rates contribute to urban decay even in newly built districts, weakening the overall appeal of new towns and reinforcing a cycle in which residents commute elsewhere for work, leisure, and shopping. This, in turn, increases car dependency, weakens local economies, and undermines the very purpose of these planned communities.

For South Korea’s urban future to be truly sustainable, there must be a fundamental rethinking of how commercial spaces are integrated into city planning. 

The failure of new town retail districts proves that commercial vitality cannot be manufactured through zoning alone—it must be cultivated through human-scale design, organic development, and an understanding of how people actually interact with their environments. The city of the future cannot be built on artificially imposed shopping centers and investment-driven commercial spaces; it must be built on streets that invite exploration, districts that evolve naturally, and neighborhoods that reflect the rhythms of real life. Unless these principles are embraced, South Korea’s new towns will continue to be places where people live, but never places where people truly belong.

A System Built for Developers, Not People

The development of South Korea’s new towns has followed a formula that is as predictable as it is flawed. Large tracts of land, often government-owned or agricultural, are transferred to private construction firms, which then design cities based on a blueprint of high-rise apartments, skeletal infrastructure, and strategically placed parks. The outcome is a landscape that is both dense and empty at the same time—filled with buildings, yet devoid of organic life. Despite the promise of creating modern, self-sufficient cities, these developments have primarily functioned as real estate investment projects rather than human-centered urban environments.

At the heart of this issue lies a deeply entrenched economic structure where private mega-developers dictate urban planning decisions, shaping cities according to financial imperatives rather than community needs. The construction industry in South Korea is dominated by a few major players, such as Samsung C&T, Hyundai Engineering & Construction, Daewoo E&C, and DL E&C, companies that rank at the top of the country’s construction capability assessments. These firms operate within a system that incentivizes high-density, high-return developments, prioritizing profit over the nuances of livability. Rather than designing mixed-use, pedestrian-friendly environments, developers pursue a model optimized for maximum housing yield, constructing uniform high-rise apartments that can be sold at premium prices.

This model is not inherently flawed from an economic standpoint—it is, after all, a highly efficient way to develop land in a country with limited space. However, its shortcomings become evident when examined from a psychological, social, and long-term sustainability perspective. The construction of endless apartment complexes does little to cultivate community cohesion, pedestrian engagement, or urban vitality. Instead, the result is a series of isolated residential towers, separated from commercial activity, social interaction, and cultural landmarks.

This over-reliance on vertical density as a development solution has fundamentally shaped the way South Korean cities function, often to the detriment of the people who inhabit them. Unlike cities that embrace horizontal density, where businesses, residences, and public spaces intermingle at a human scale, South Korea’s new towns place people in the sky while leaving the ground level inactive. The consequence is an absence of street-level engagement—shops remain empty, plazas lack natural foot traffic, and the public realm is reduced to mere transit spaces rather than places for gathering and social exchange.

Why New Towns Lack Organic Urban Growth

The official justification for new town expansion has always centered around the promise of infrastructure development—the idea that these cities will, over time, evolve into fully functional urban environments. In theory, roads, schools, public transit, and commercial hubs should develop alongside residential projects, ensuring that new towns become independent from older metropolitan areas. In reality, however, the pace at which infrastructure develops often lags behind population growth, creating an urban paradox where thousands of people reside in a place that has yet to fully accommodate them.

One of the critical issues in new town infrastructure planning is its reactive nature rather than proactive integration.Public transportation systems, particularly metro lines, are often introduced years or even decades after residential occupancy has begun. This delay forces a reliance on personal vehicles, reinforcing car dependency and weakening public transit adoption. In many cases, by the time transit networks are introduced, residents have already adapted to commuting by car, making behavioral shifts toward sustainable transportation less likely.

Additionally, while major infrastructure projects are planned in advance, they often fail to account for the smaller, human-scale elements that make a city truly livable. New towns may boast wide roads and large public buildings, but they often lack the organic distribution of small businesses, diverse residential types, and walkable neighborhoods that define thriving urban environments. What remains is a city that functions mechanically but lacks emotional attachment—an infrastructure-heavy environment where people live, but do not truly belong.

How Parks Fail to Fix Urban Sterility

A key feature of new town master plans is the presence of large parks and green spaces, often presented as evidence that these developments prioritize livability. However, these spaces frequently fail to integrate into the natural rhythms of urban life, rendering them visually appealing but socially underutilized.

Unlike in historic city centers, where green spaces emerge organically through the intersections of public and private activity, parks in new towns are often zoned into isolated, oversized tracts of land that require deliberate effort to reach. This detachment from daily movement patterns reduces their functionality. Rather than serving as true public gathering spaces, these parks become background elements—present in planning documents, but absent from the lived experience of residents.

Moreover, the assumption that green spaces alone will enhance urban quality ignores the fundamental role of density, walkability, and mixed-use environments in shaping public life. A park cannot compensate for a lack of street-level activity, commercial diversity, or pedestrian-friendly infrastructure. When cities prioritize the addition of parks rather than the integration of public space into everyday life, they create environments that, while visually serene, feel detached from the core functions of urban living.

How New Towns Serve Private Interests Over Public Good

The systemic issues of South Korea’s new town planning are rooted in the economic structure that governs land development. The government plays a critical role in this process, often facilitating large-scale land sales to private construction conglomerates rather than leading urban development as a public planning initiative. The result is a system where urban expansion is dictated not by social needs, but by financial incentives.

This developer-first approach fosters a cycle of repetitive, high-density, investment-driven urban planning. When land is auctioned to the highest bidder, rather than allocated based on strategic urban goals, the outcome is a development model that prioritizes housing supply over city-building. Large-scale residential complexes are the most profitable use of land, which is why developers focus on building and selling apartments first, leaving commercial spaces and infrastructure as afterthoughts.

The dominance of major construction firms in this system also discourages architectural innovation and mixed-use diversity. Rather than allowing for varied, community-driven development, the new town model results in cookie-cutter urban environments, where every city looks like a carbon copy of the last. The same companies construct the same high-rises, use the same zoning patterns, and follow the same commercial planning blueprints, leading to a homogenization of urban form that erases local identity and weakens community cohesion.

Reclaiming Urban Planning as a Public Endeavor

For South Korea to break free from this cycle, urban development must be reclaimed as a public-driven initiative rather than a private-sector investment strategy. This requires rethinking land use policies, reforming zoning laws, and prioritizing long-term urban sustainability over short-term real estate profits.

The focus must shift from sheer housing supply to the creation of truly livable communities. This means designing cities at a human scale—prioritizing mixed-use neighborhoods, walkable streets, diverse architectural styles, and public spaces that emerge naturally from urban movement rather than being imposed as afterthoughts. 

Instead of treating commercial areas as extensions of residential projects, planners must embrace the organic, evolving nature of city life, allowing businesses, cultural spaces, and public institutions to develop in response to real demand rather than speculative projections.

Ultimately, cities should not be products to be manufactured—they should be environments that people inhabit, shape, and engage with over time. The failure of South Korea’s new town developments is not just an architectural failure, but a systemic one, rooted in an economic structure that treats urban expansion as an industry rather than a civic responsibility. Unless this structure changes, new towns will continue to be places that function on paper but fail in practice—efficiently built, yet fundamentally unlivable.