Hyunjin Kim in the Starring Role
The artist, who performs under the stage name G. Nine, built his company starr. from the upheaval of several life changes. Now, for the first time, he shares what it took to bring his vision to life.
The year Hyunjin Kim turned 23, two seismic shifts occurred that, in retrospect, changed the course of his life. First, in early December 2024, his first long-term relationship, which lasted 6 years, ended. The split was amicable, but the partnership was embedded in his daily life, and the lingering feelings were bittersweet. Then, on Christmas Day, Coco, an elderly dog he inherited from a family member, passed away.
Coco’s death, he found, was earth-shattering.
The years he spent caring for Coco were hard at times but deeply rewarding. He saw how important it was to pay her special attention “because she can’t talk,” he said, “and I’m her whole world.” He had even written about her in his music, once dedicating one of his biggest songs, “i see you,” to his friend.
As he recounted to me in a series of interviews, Coco made him understand unconditional love. “Caring for her gave me a huge sense of responsibility. It was a completely different level from just a relationship,” he surmised. “So she taught me how heavy responsibility is.”
The first months after losing Coco were hard. He felt her absence, even missing her quiet comfort next to him in bed. She couldn’t speak, but her eyes conveyed her care. When no one else was there, Coco stayed beside him. That mattered.
For a while, he didn’t speak to anyone about her. Most wouldn’t understand the pain of losing a friend like Coco. But eventually, he began funneling the passion he once had for Coco into something bigger than he had ever dreamed of.
The summer after Coco’s death, Hyunjin interned at EPT, a rising fashion brand in Seoul. The work introduced him to models and creatives chasing purposeful, interesting lives. Hyunjin had always loved fashion. He admired brands like Vivienne Westwood for their unapologetic identity, and working at a brand like EPT was energizing.
From the outside looking in, he told me, fashion always looked glamorous and fast-paced.
“But being inside it made me realize something deeper: I didn’t just want to participate in someone else’s vision — I wanted to build my own world,” he said. “It wasn’t about money or titles. It was about authorship. I felt a strong pull to create something that reflected my taste, my philosophy, and my standards. That realization stayed with me. And eventually, that feeling became starr.”
starr., which officially launched in April, is an immersive lifestyle brand originally envisioned by Hyunjin throughout the summer of 2025. The centerpiece of the brand is a big, luminous photobooth coated in a deep burgundy red. The photostrips make the subject the center of this universe. starr.’s logo is at the bottom, without distracting from the real star: you. “I intentionally leaned into mood, shadow, texture, deeper tones,” Hyunjin told me. “Elements that feel less ‘safe’ and more atmospheric.”
Hyunjin spent three months traveling and building the concept for the photobooth. In the fall, he took a solo trip to Paris, New York, and San Diego, where he immersed himself in art and inspiration. He took a cooking class in Paris and biked through the streets at midnight. He released “WOW” in New York, too, a song that was written right before the idea of starr. came into existence. In San Diego, he hung out in one of his best friend’s luxurious homes with a scenic view. All of these experiences fueled the wanderlust of starr., and the expansiveness of his vision.
“Innovation rarely comes from comfort,” he said. These solo travels grew from his desire to push himself outside of normal routines. Being alone made him sit with his ideas and think deeply about what he actually likes. What artists appeal to him? What types of styles fit his taste? In those moments, alone in foreign cities, he began to see where starr. could go next.
“When I look at the brands and artists I respect, whether they’re in fashion, music, or fine art, they all have one thing in common,” he said. “They know exactly who they are. Their identity is clear. They take risks to protect that identity, even when it would be easier to follow what already works.”
While he was in California, he told me he was eager to return home to Korea. It had been fun meeting other people whose lives were so different from his and soaking in the inspiration. But he was ready to get to work.
Reflecting on his three weeks of travel, Hyunjin was circumspect. “I discovered not just who I am, but what I see. My taste, my standards, my artistic instincts — they sharpened,” he said. “And once I trusted that perspective, I couldn’t ignore it.”
He remembered the deliberations he did internally when he had to decide between accepting a job at EPT and pursuing starr. full-time. The offer at the fashion brand was generous, and to most people it would feel like the safest option. I even wondered if he should go with something more secure. But Hyunjin admitted, “I’ve always felt a strong resistance to living a small life. I don’t mean that in a financial sense — I mean creatively. I can’t imagine looking back at 50 and realizing I played it safe.”
Though he had never built something on this scale before, Hyunjin moved fast, contracting a software designer and an architect to build the actual photobooth. The original design concept was hastily hand-drawn on a stray sheet of paper.
“Even though it begins as a photo booth, it was never designed as just hardware. The exterior color, the materials, the starlight ceiling, the red leather walls — those aren’t random aesthetic choices,” he explained. “They’re intentional design decisions rooted in fashion sensibility and spatial art. I approached the booth the way a designer approaches a garment or a set designer approaches a scene.”
To debut the product, Hyunjin envisioned a short film where a beautiful girl stops at a red carpet event. She exits her luxury car, where she’s surrounded by photographers and flashing lights. She seductively pulls down her sunglasses and poses. Ahead of her, the starr. photo booth is spotlit like a painting inspired by God himself; it’s deep, gorgeous red, nearly bleeding off the screen. She steps inside, and suddenly, you see that she is the star of her own film.
Hyunjin cast Chloe Kim, a popular influencer he has followed for years, in the role. “Casting Chloe was one of the most intentional decisions I’ve made with starr.,” he confided. “She embodies a duality that resonates deeply with me and with starr. She has both Korean and international influences — having grown up in Korea, attended an international school, and now studying at NYU in New York. That cross-cultural perspective carries a certain confidence and fluidity. It’s not forced — it’s natural.”
Hyunjin saw the ideal customer of starr. in Chloe: someone who blends into mixed cultures; someone who, perhaps, doesn’t fit in anywhere because they’re just too magnetic, too big, for real life. “More importantly,” he said with some determination, “I felt that she could carry starr. in a way that felt global from day one.”
Long before Hyunjin built starr. from the ground up, he was a kid attending school in Thailand, trying to be a rapper with his best friend, Roman Kayz.
Hyunjin, who is Korean, moved to Thailand with his family when he was in elementary school. There, he learned to speak English fluently. He also developed an open-minded worldview. With Roman, Hyunjin learned how to write music and lyrics. Soon, he began to pour his thoughts and feelings into songs. They released these songs on Soundcloud and YouTube. The music, he said with a laugh, could be stupid. But to middle school boys, it felt dope. Transcendent, even.
“Without Roman, I don’t think I would have made my own music as early as I did,” he said. “I think as soon as I started making music, even if it wasn’t officially released. I felt something was different with me.”
Hyunjin was always ambitious and artistic. His mother, who was an art teacher in Korea for over 20 years, deeply influenced his ideas about art. “I grew up watching her sculpt, prepare for exhibitions, and treat art not just as a hobby, but as something serious and disciplined,” he remembered. By the time he was making his own art, he began to see it as a way to make sense of his life and experiences. Years later, when Coco died and his relationship ended, he began to see that art could be used to process pain. If done well, he could mine that trauma into power.
But, of course, it would be years before he would realize these things. For the next eight years, Hyunjin would record music under the stage name G. Nine. His music was heavily influenced by hip-hop and R&B. He disavows much of it now, explaining that most of it was him posing, attempting to be someone he’s not in hopes of getting a hit. That fed into his insecurities at times. Would people like him if he could just be himself authentically? Plus, who is Hyunjin Kim anyway?
“My parents always told me I had leadership even when I was really young. In kindergarten or elementary school, I would gather people and include everyone,” he said. But sometimes his leadership came from a desire to be admired. Hyunjin wanted to feel important, like others could be drawn to him because of his aura. At the SAT academy in Korea during senior year, teachers often sent new students to him for guidance. “Hyunjin will help you and be your friend,” they’d tell the student – and he would, gladly.
“I always wanted to stand out,” he admitted quietly one night. “I wanted to be seen, I wanted to be important, I wanted people to look at me and think I’m special.”
He paused. Perhaps because of his eagerness to be well-liked, Hyunjin has always been incredibly empathetic. He can read people’s emotions and understand what they need sometimes before they even realize it. “I think from a young age I wanted people to feel like they belong,” he said.
Perhaps because he lacked confidence, though Hyunjin was shocked ten years ago, when “She Said”, an unofficially released G. Nine track, blew up on YouTube. “The comments really boosted my confidence because people didn’t know me. They only heard the music, and they were saying good things,” he remembered.
Whenever Hyunjin would experience viral success, though, he would often feel a pull to follow it, even if that meant going against his instincts. He was in search, perhaps, of worthiness; to feel like he deserved this.
“I’m still not 100% in love with myself,” he told me. “I don’t think I love myself. But I think I’m trying.”
Hyunjin remembers the last few weeks of his dog Coco’s life vividly. He knew her time was limited, but it was still hard to accept that she would soon be gone. Even after he would go visit her in the hospital and speak to the doctors, he would look around his room and think about the fact that one day, soon, she wouldn’t be here anymore.
The last time he saw her, he told me, it was as if she knew this was the end. “She was weak, but she tried to stand up,” he recalled quietly. “I think it was because she wanted us to know, ‘I see you.’”
Hearing this, I thought about “i see you”, the song Hyunjin wrote for Coco. “I see right through your eyes/ So bright,” he croons, “And I feel you, don’t need no replies.” Nearly three years ago, when I first heard the song, I thought it was about a girl. But that is how much he loved Coco.
The last few moments with Coco were touching, not just because she tried to let him know she saw him. But also because she was saying thank you for how much he loved her, and how much had transformed her life. What other 23 year old boy would devote his life to caring for an elderly dog? Hyunjin saw their time together as a privilege.
Loving Coco, he said, “made my heart deeper because I had to care for her. And then I had to survive losing her.”
The end of his relationship, paired with Coco’s death, felt like a reckoning. “It made me realize how fragile things are,” he recalled. “And how much love can hurt.”
Hyunjin remembered how, when he broke up with his ex, he didn’t cry until he said goodbye to her dog, who felt like his own. For years, he had helped raise the dog, and at times, he had mixed emotions about this. Sometimes caring for his ex’s dog would take him away from Coco, which he felt was wrong.
But when he saw the dog, he teared up. “The dog doesn’t know anything,” he said. But Hyunjin knew the dog would wonder where he went.
For a long time, Hyunjin felt adrift. He is, by his own admission, a loner without many friends. But he wasn’t in a rush to date again either. For some time, he needed to sit by himself and figure out who he could be.
Above all, Hyunjin didn’t want to waste any more time. “I needed to make something of myself,” he concluded. “I needed to really live.”
As he began to build starr., Hyunjin slowly began to realize that he was often the youngest one in the room. “In Korea, hierarchy and age dynamics are real,” he said. And yet, here he was “trying to push an aesthetic and direction that felt unfamiliar to others. That created friction at times. Not conflict — but resistance. And I had to learn how to communicate clearly without compromising the core identity of the brand.”
His father, who is also in business, taught Hyunjin something that’s stayed with him: “Stay steady under pressure.” Never raise your voice. Always be ready to problem-solve and compromise if needed.
“What I learned through this process is that building something new requires patience and composure,” he said. “There are always unexpected delays, revisions, and pivots.”
Over time, Hyunjin has developed a sense of self-assurance. As he’s shot the starr. ad, managed the creation of the photo booth, and now, having begun planning for the launch party, he can recognize that he’s built this brand from the ground up. “I genuinely believe I’m capable of building something significant. Not just a business, but a cultural mark,” he said.
He’s careful to point out that this isn’t delusion or blind confidence. “It’s reinforced every time an idea I envision becomes real. The booth design. The photostrips. The brand film. The collaborations. Each execution proved that my vision translates. Ambition, for me, isn’t about ego. It’s about responsibility. If you know you have a strong point of view, you owe it to yourself to build with it.
Since beginning the business, Hyunjin has been surprised by how strong his taste is. “I always knew I had preferences, but during the process of building the booth, designing the photostrips, and filming the ad, there were many outside opinions. At times, I felt myself wavering,” he said. “But staying grounded in my instinct changed everything. When I trusted my original vision, the results aligned exactly with what I imagined. That strengthened my confidence more than anything else.”
More than anything, he’s seen that fear has no place in starr.’s brand. Hyunjin is the first one to admit that he never thought he’d be an entrepreneur. But he’s too far in to back out now. The only thing he can do is keep building. “I’ve realized I’m stronger than I thought,” he said solemnly.
Perhaps the connecting link between his drive to succeed in music, his devotion to his dog, his ambition to be a leader, and his desire to take care of others is a will to make others feel loved and seen.
Maybe why he founded starr., then, is to create a place where everyone can belong – especially those who never felt understood. “If you feel like you don’t belong, maybe you can belong here,” he said. “The purpose of starr. is to create a space where people feel confident in their own presence. Not confident in a loud way, but in a composed and self-assured way. When someone steps into starr., I want them to feel like they belong there because of who they are, not because they fit in.”
If Hyunjin can be a leader for that, then he would be honored. “Throughout this process, I learned that leadership is not about knowing everything,” he said in a statement that could sum up his entire life. “It’s about holding a vision steady enough that others are willing to stand behind it.
