CNN

The accidental haenyeo: How an American became South Korea’s only foreign ‘sea woman’

By Gawon Bae Updated Aug 25, 2026

Kylie Genter is the only American in South Korea to hold a haenyeo license. Jenna Lee Kim

 

Jeju, South Korea —  Youngrak-ri, a small coastal village on the far western side of South Korea’s Jeju Island, used to be famous for two things — fertile soil and the occasional dolphin appearance.

But in more recent years, it’s become known for being the home of a true rarity in the country — an American haenyeo.

Haenyeo (hae means sea and nyeo means women) are female divers, historically from Jeju Island, who dive into the ocean without breathing gear to catch seafood for a living.

And as of this year, Kylie Genter is the only foreigner to hold a haenyeo license, according to local officials — mandatory for those who want to engage in commercial traditional free-diving in the country.

“I didn’t think I was paving a way… As a foreigner doing this, especially as a person who is not a Korean citizen, it’s a big responsibility,” she tells CNN.

It’s a feat that has turned her into something of a local celebrity.

“Our village has the first American haenyeo, so a lot of people have been visiting to interview her!” the village’s fishery chief, Kim Chang-sik, says excitedly.

Having lived his entire life in Youngrak-ri, he says the hard reality of the present — a decreasing and aging population — is a trend that extends to haenyeo.

But 36-year-old Genter’s arrival has sparked hope that South Korea could also open up the field to more foreigners and preserve its heritage.

From New York to South Korea

Genter started diving with the haenyeo of Youngrak-ri in early 2024. Jenna Lee Kim

Becoming a haenyeo was not on Genter’s mind when she graduated from college.

A passionate traveler, she studied abroad in Europe, then decided her next destination would be Asia. In 2012, Genter started looking for a job teaching English. Originally, she had her sights set on Japan since she’d studied the language in college, but a job posting from South Korea offering free housing caught her eye.

That same year, she became an English teacher in Jinju, a historic city in South Gyeongsang province.

She noticed huge cultural differences between her home in the US and South Korea, but says there were also similarities.

“I think that New York people and Korean people are similar in that there’s not a ton of small talk, and people work hard and play hard, and they’re very kind, but they can kind of have a harder exterior,” says Genter.

 

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“It was a really great place to start in Korea, because it kind of forced me to learn Korean.”

After four years, she felt the urge to move to another city.

 

“I was thinking of living in Seoul because I was going to K-pop concerts all the time, so I thought I could save money by living in Seoul,” she says.

 

“But then there was an opportunity in Jeju that was more interesting and paid more, so I thought, ‘Okay, well, I’ll go for it, Jeju seems cool, I can live there for a little while,’ and that was 10 years ago.”

 

Having traveled from upstate New York, which she describes as “fairly rural,” Genter says she immediately felt connected to the island.

 

Filling in the vacancies

Genter, in the far right, proved her commitment to her fellow divers by showing up every day. Kim Chang-sik

Jeju, an island in South Korea’s southernmost region, has long been a beloved vacation destination and is sometimes referred to as “Korea’s Hawaii.” In fact, the 75-minute trip from Seoul to Jeju is the world’s busiest domestic flight route.

 

The town of Daejeong-eup, where the village of Youngrak-ri is located, has a population of just over 21,000 people, and very few babies are being born. This isn’t a problem isolated to Jeju. South Korea has one of the lowest birth rates in the world and faces a significant demographic crisis.

“Now, it’s almost impossible to hear a baby crying in this village,” says Kim, the fishery chief, who is 70 years old.

 

Haenyeo do not have a set retirement age, and often, the women keep diving well into their 80s and even 90s, as their stamina allows.

 

And while existing haenyeo get older, fewer young women are joining them.

 

As of last year, 63% of the 2,371 active haenyeo were aged 70 and older, and just over 1%, or only 30 of the total, were aged 39 and below, according to the Haenyeo Museum, raising concerns that the traditional job could disappear.

“We are in our 80s and 90s, so we saw the need to bring in new haenyeo,” says the village’s haenyeo president, Hong Bok-nyeo, of the situation in Youngrak-ri.

 

Consequently, in 2024, the village spread the message through informal groups and word-of-mouth that it was searching for young candidates to join its haenyeo community.

 

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“I started diving in Youngrak-ri, and they need other young haenyeo. Is anybody interested?” wrote one freediver in a group chat whose members included Genter’s Korean husband, a scuba diver.

He volunteered on behalf of his wife — but she was promptly denied for being a foreigner.

 

“He did not ask my permission first; he just volunteered me… I thought, ‘Okay, there is no American haenyeo, I might as well give it a go, if nothing else, just to have that experience,’” she recalls.

 

A month later, Kim relented on the foreigner ban and asked Genter to come in for an interview.

 

“He said, ‘You can start but just know that being a haenyeo is really hard. If it’s not something that you want to do, don’t feel bad, just tell us,’” says Genter.

“I started in January of 2024 and have been diving here ever since.”

 

Genter did have some experience. After moving to the island she joined a haenyeo school — not planning to become one but to learn more about the famed divers for an English program she was leading.

 

The new girl in town

Safety is a top concern for the divers, who watch out for each other while in the water. Jenna Lee Kim

Most villages have their own groups of haenyeo. And their bond is so strong that they consider themselves family rather than coworkers. They eat, dive, bathe and relax together — and most importantly, they keep each other safe.

 

“It should be a community where you look after another, and call 911 in case of an accident,” says fishery chief Kim. “If you come out of the water before everyone else, then you wouldn’t know if something happens to others while they’re still diving. It’s a community life of diving together, it’s not independent work.

“You can’t just come out by yourself because you have other business. If three went into the water, then three need to come out of the water together.”

 

When the brown-haired American arrived in the village, haenyeo president Hong doubted she would stick around.

 

At first, the eight veteran haenyeo struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar foreign name: Kylie.

They called out to her by saying, “Hey!” or referred to her as the “American kid.”

But Genter proved her commitment by showing up every day, and the haenyeo progressed to calling her “Kyla.”

Eventually, Genter earned their trust, and the veterans finally learned to say her name correctly — after a lot of practice.

 

“She’s even better than us Koreans and us Jeju natives in diving – I really like her,” says Hong.

The president even calls Genter her “daughter,” an exclusive title reserved for a few.

 

“As somebody who lives very far away from my parents, it’s really great to have that experience,” Genter says of the support.

 

She still struggles at times with understanding the Jeju dialect, which even Korean natives can find challenging, but as the affectionate title shows, the veterans came to rely on her as their baby haenyeo, or an intern haenyeo.

 

But Genter says she felt she really belonged to the community when, while out on a dive, Hong screamed, “Kylie! Kylie!” as no other newbies could help get her conch-filled net out of the water.

“She looked to me when she needed help, and that was really surprising,” says Genter.

 

“It’s so rare for anybody to have this, and I feel that this village is so open-minded and open-hearted to be able to accept me.”

 

A changing world

A group of haenyeo walks on the beach after diving on Jeju Island in 2023. Xinhua/Shutterstock

Genter’s American citizenship wasn’t the only thing unusual about her when she first arrived in the village. As a college graduate, she says some of the older haenyeo wondered why she would even pursue such a career.

 

“They were kind of like, ‘What is she doing here?’” Genter recalls.

Their curiosity goes back to the origins of South Korea’s diving women.

 

Historically, women on Jeju Island played a big economic role in their households, unlike on the mainland, where men had jobs and most women stayed home as housewives, according to the local Haenyeo Museum.

 

Most Jeju women dived and also grew tangerines and vegetables — the majority of them still do both — while taking care of the family.

 

With such restless routines, education was viewed as a luxury, while diving was simply their destined job.

Haenyeo president Hong, 80, has been diving for 64 years and got her start by catching abalone for fun.

 

“Back then, there were no haenyeo schools like nowadays… In rural places, everyone obviously went to the sea to play, swim and pick up a few things, and naturally became haenyeo,” she says.

 

In those days, the ocean was rich with seafood.

 

“I’d swim around with goggles, and there were abalones that were this big, like more than a kilogram… now, you can’t see any, but back then, there were two or three abalones on a single rock,” says the veteran diver, using her hands to indicate the size of the prized delicacy.

 

Rising sea temperatures are now making things challenging for haenyeo, despite the divers’ strict rules around harvesting periods, which allow for spawning.

For instance, less than a decade ago, the waters around Youngrak-ri had an abundance of sea cucumbers, allowing haenyeo to catch more than 100 kilograms a day, not exceeding the restricted amount to preserve the ecosystem. But this year, Genter says, only 10 sea cucumbers were caught in total.

 

“Because of the high sea temperature, lots of seaweeds have disappeared. But we need seaweed for conches to come and eat… conches are not coming because the water’s so warm,” says fishery chief Kim.

 

It’s gotten to the point that diving can no longer be the sole source of income for the women.

 

“I do think to myself, how much longer could we dive, and could the next generation of haenyeo dive. I don’t think for that long,” adds Hong.

“I’m apologetic to the young haenyeo, because there’s nothing to catch.”

 

When she’s not diving, or during the off-season between August and September, Genter walks dogs and looks after cats and rabbits at a pet hotel she runs with her husband.

 

Jeju Island

She also shares her stories on social media and produces a podcast with a fellow diver to educate people about her unusual profession.

 

“I wanted to correct some misconceptions that people have about haenyeo. People are like, ‘The last generation of haenyeo, haenyeo will be gone soon!’ and I’m like, ‘No, young haenyeo are still here!’” she says.

As of this year, Genter is the only licensed non-Korean haenyeo, but she hopes that her presence could help open the minds of other communities in the same way that Youngrak-ri accepted her. But it requires dedication.

 

“This is a commitment for my whole life, I’m going to live in this village, I’m going to die in this village. And if that’s something you’re ready to do, give it a go!” she says.

 

“It’s a big responsibility and I always want to do my best in this village, because they took a really big chance on me, and I don’t want to let them down.”