When I was a child, I often went to our neighborhood public bathhouse, or mokyoktang, with my father. After soaking in the hot water, he would pull out a rough green Italy towel and scrub my back until my skin turned pink. It could sting a little, but there was always something to look forward to afterward: a cold bottle of banana-flavored milk in the lobby.
Today, when hot showers are available at home whenever we want them, it can be difficult to imagine how ordinary these weekly bathhouse visits once were. For many Korean families of my generation, however, going to a public bath was simply part of everyday life.
Korean bathing culture did not begin with the neighborhood bathhouses of the 1970s and 1980s. Practices involving bathing, hot springs, and heated spaces existed much earlier, while modern public bathhouses and later jjimjilbangs developed as Korean housing and lifestyles changed.
Bathing and Hanjeung Before the Modern Mokyoktang
Bathing has a long history in Korea. People used rivers, hot springs, and other natural water sources, while bathing also had connections with religious purification and health practices at different periods of Korean history.
Korea also had a tradition of hanjeung, in which people entered heated spaces to warm the body and sweat. During the reign of King Sejong in the 15th century, the government even operated hanjeungso, or heated sweating facilities, in connection with medical and relief institutions. Historical records show that the state provided support for these facilities and assigned medical personnel to oversee their use. The National Institute of Korean History’s account of Joseon hanjeung facilities provides a useful look at how seriously this form of heat treatment was regarded at the time.
These facilities should not be confused with a modern jjimjilbang. Their purpose, construction, and way of operating were different, but they show that using intense heat to warm the body and induce sweating was not something that appeared suddenly in late 20th-century Korea.
Modern commercial bathhouses began appearing in Korean cities in the early 20th century. Seoul newspaper advertisements from the 1900s mention establishments offering baths and heated rooms, although these early businesses were not necessarily the neighborhood hygiene facilities later generations would recognize. The Seoul Archives’ history of public bathhouses traces this transition from early commercial baths to the public bathhouses that eventually became part of urban life.
After liberation and especially during Korea’s rapid urbanization, improved water infrastructure allowed public bathhouses to spread much more widely. By the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, the neighborhood mokyoktang had become a familiar part of Korean cities.
When the Neighborhood Bathhouse Was Part of Everyday Life
In the 1970s and 1980s, not every Korean home had a proper bathroom or a reliable supply of hot water. Older houses might use coal briquettes for heating, and taking a long hot bath at home could be difficult, especially during winter.
That gave the neighborhood bathhouse a practical role that is easy to overlook today. People were not necessarily going because they wanted a spa experience. For many families, it was simply the easiest place to take a proper hot bath.
My memories of going with my father come from that period of bathhouse culture. We would wash while sitting on small plastic stools, soak in the hot tub, and then scrub away the softened dead skin. The sound of water, plastic washbasins, conversation, and steam filling the tiled room all became part of the experience.
Then there was the banana milk afterward. Coming out of a hot bath with my body still warm and drinking something cold made it taste especially good. For many Koreans of my generation, some version of that bathhouse routine remains a familiar childhood memory.
Bathhouses were also places where people from the same neighborhood naturally encountered one another. Still, I would not describe them primarily as social clubs. Their most important role was much simpler: they provided bathing facilities that many homes could not yet provide as conveniently.
The Italy Towel and Korea’s Scrubbing Culture
Another object closely associated with the Korean bathhouse is the Italy towel, or Italy taweol. These coarse exfoliating towels became widely used from the late 1960s and are most commonly associated with viscose rayon material.
The Italy towel spread in the late 1960s, around the same period when professional body scrubbers, or seshinsa, were becoming a familiar part of public bathhouses.
To use one, people usually soak in warm water first and then rub the wet skin firmly with the rough cloth. Dead skin rolls away in visible pieces, which is why the process can feel very different from simply washing with soap.
Professional seshin takes the same idea much further. A seshinsa scrubs areas of the body that are difficult to reach yourself and can provide a full-body exfoliation service inside the bathhouse. It became such a familiar feature of Korean public baths that foreign visitors encountering it for the first time sometimes assume it is an ancient Korean tradition, even though the professional form is much more closely associated with the expansion of modern bathhouses.
Attitudes toward vigorous scrubbing have also changed. Many people no longer scrub as frequently or as aggressively as earlier generations did, especially because excessive exfoliation can irritate the skin. Even so, the green Italy towel remains one of the easiest objects to associate with the classic Korean mokyoktang.
From Hanjeung and Charcoal Kilns to the Modern Jjimjilbang
The history of the jjimjilbang is more complicated than saying that it simply developed from traditional charcoal kilns.
Korea already had the much older hanjeung tradition, while rural charcoal-making areas also developed their own way of using residual kiln heat. After charcoal was removed from a hot clay kiln, the structure retained heat for a long time, and people could use that warmth to sit, sweat, rest, and ease tired bodies.
Some charcoal-kiln facilities still operate today. Visitors may wear thick clothing and enter heated clay chambers at different stages as the kiln cools, making the experience quite different from a neighborhood bathhouse.
The modern jjimjilbang is better understood as a newer combination of older Korean heat traditions, public bathing facilities, and leisure spaces. From the late 1990s into the 2000s, facilities combining separate bathing areas with shared heated rooms and large rest areas became increasingly popular.
Some of the biggest jjimjilbangs developed into 24-hour leisure complexes. After bathing, customers changed into the cotton clothes provided by the facility and could meet family members or friends in shared areas containing heated rooms, restaurants, sleeping areas, massage facilities, and sometimes entertainment spaces.
The bathing areas themselves are normally separated by sex and are used without clothing, while the main jjimjilbang area is shared and used while wearing the provided clothes. This made the jjimjilbang different from the older mokyoktang because families, couples, and groups of friends could spend time together after finishing their baths.
Food also became part of the experience. Sikhye, ramyeon, seaweed soup, and the brown sauna eggs often associated with jjimjilbangs became familiar choices, while the towel folded into a so-called “sheep head” became widely recognizable through Korean television and popular culture in the 2000s.
How Korean Bathhouses Are Changing Today
The biggest change to the traditional neighborhood bathhouse eventually happened inside Korean homes. As apartments and newer houses gained private bathrooms, boilers, showers, and reliable hot water, families no longer had to visit a public bath every week simply to bathe properly.
The number of public bathhouses consequently began to fall, and the Covid-19 pandemic placed additional pressure on businesses built around communal bathing. More recent data show that the decline has continued, affected by changing lifestyles as well as the high energy costs required to heat large amounts of water and maintain hot bathing facilities.
That does not mean the mokyoktang or jjimjilbang has disappeared. Traditional neighborhood baths continue to operate in many places, while modern sauna complexes, charcoal-kiln facilities, and newer private seshin businesses have developed different versions of the same experience.
When I want to see what is available in an unfamiliar area, searching 목욕탕 or 찜질방 on Naver Map is much more useful than assuming that every Korean neighborhood still has the kind of bathhouse I remember from childhood.
For me, the mokyoktang is no longer somewhere I need to visit because my home lacks hot water. It is much more closely tied to memories of going with my father, soaking in the hot bath, having my back scrubbed with an Italy towel, and drinking banana milk afterward.
Korean bathing facilities have continued to change with the way Koreans live. Older bathing and hanjeung traditions were followed by modern public baths, neighborhood mokyoktang became an everyday necessity for many families, and later jjimjilbangs combined bathing with heat rooms and leisure.
The buildings and reasons for visiting them are no longer exactly the same. But for several generations of Koreans, the warmth of the bath, the rough Italy towel, the steam of a tiled room, and something cold to drink afterward remain closely connected with memories of everyday life.
About the Author 🇰🇷
I live in South Korea and write about the small details of Korean life and culture that I experience and observe firsthand.
English is my second language, so I sometimes use tools such as Gemini and Google Translate to help with translation and editing. The experiences, observations, opinions, and cultural perspectives in my articles are my own, and I personally review and edit every article before publishing it.
My goal with Korea Core Info is simple: to share everyday Korea from a local perspective and help international readers discover things they might not always find in a typical travel guide.
I hope my stories and guides help you understand Korea a little better — not just as a place to visit, but as a place where people live their everyday lives.