You probably felt it too. That uneasy silence after finishing “Squid Game” Season 3, and global fandom criticism that came so fast: “What happened?” “This isn’t the show we loved.”
But what if the real issue wasn’t the writing? What if the story didn’t change—but our expectations did? In this editorial, we’ll unpack the deeper the global fandom criticism surrounding “Squid Game”, how the hype has reshaped its meaning, and why this your heartbreak has shielded you from understanding the whole story.
The So-Called Failure of “Squid Game” Season 3: Global Fandom Criticism
When “Squid Game” first exploded in 2021, it was never designed to be a global sensation. It wasn’t made to be cool, or marketable, or easy to swallow. It was angry. Quietly devastating. A narrative that drew its power not from spectacle, but from something intimately Korean—han, the cultural sorrow that sits with you like a bruise that never fades.
But then, the world came knocking.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just a Korean story anymore. It had to speak twelve languages. It had to become Halloween costumes, LEGO sets, reality shows, and vinyl soundtracks. And most importantly, it had to entertain in the best way possible.
Then, the series had to do it all over again—with higher stakes, bigger names, and global eyes watching every frame.
So when Season 3 released as the grand finale and it didn’t align with global fandom expectations, criticism massively emerged around “Squid Game,” accusing the creator to have milked the franchise.
But really, was it all the creators’ errors?
“Squid Game” Season 3 and The Pressure to Perform for Global Fandom
The most tragic part about the criticism against “Squid Game” Season 3 from the global fandom is not that people disliked the story. It’s that many never gave the story room to exist in the first place.
Why? Because this time, we didn’t watch “Squid Game” like a Korean drama. We watched it like an international event: a global brand with impossible standards.
The moment the Netflix banner flashed, and Cate Blanchett walked on screen, “Squid Game” stopped being a critique of despair and started being judged as the next Marvel-level franchise.
But here’s what got lost in translation: Director Hwang Dong Hyuk didn’t write Season 3 for global franchise glory. And he definitely did not write to entertain the global fandom.
Instead, he wrote it to bring closure to the pain of people who never win. People like Seong Gi Hun. People like the ones you pass in subways and never look back on.
The story wasn’t shallow. Our lenses were.
The Story Stayed Korean. The Reception Did Not.
Season 3 kept everything that made the original “Squid Game” powerful: that horrible and systemic violence, the painful and unbearable silence after loss, and those morally gray choices that make you question yourself.
But global fandom came in expecting something else: bigger games, more spectacle, redemption arcs, answers to all the mysteries. They want more massive spectacles that worth the hype. Something meme-worthy.
And when they didn’t get that, many dismissed the entire narrative as “trash.”
But the tragedy wasn’t that “Squid Game” lost its edge. It’s that fans expected it to stop being real in order to stay great.
The deeper original story was still there all along. All the scenes that explore explores the inherited trauma of poverty, the existential weight of guilt, the social decay that no hero can fix—they’re all still there.
But global fandom didn’t come looking for that in “Squid Game” Season 3. They came looking for a big and grandiose event.
And that expectation buried the story alive.
The Bigger the Platform, the Smaller the Empathy
Season 1 had the benefit of surprise. It wasn’t trying to be anything other than itself. Korean viewers saw it as an uncomfortable but truthful depiction of societal failure. Meanwhile, international viewers saw it as raw and refreshing.
But “Squid Game” Season 3 had none of that grace. It arrived with the burden of being “Netflix’s biggest franchise ever.” And suddenly, every scene was judged as IP management instead of storytelling.
The slow pacing? It’s “Poor editing.” The unresolved questions becomes “lazy writing.” And the bleak ending? Fans deemed as “a waste of time.”
But if you go back and rewatch Season 3 through an original fan’s lens, the heartbreak is still there. The dignity of failure. The complexity of sacrifice. The quiet violence of survival.
The only thing that changed was the viewer.
Global Fandom Parasocial Demand Overwhelmed Narrative Depth of “Squid Game” Season 3
By the time Season 3 aired, “Squid Game” was no longer a show. It was a symbol of K-content domination, of Netflix’s golden goose, and of what K-dramas could become when pushed to a global scale.
And when that happens, the audience doesn’t ask for meaning. They ask for the flawless delivery:
- “Make it better than Season 1.”
- “Tie every thread.”
- “Give us the Front Man’s full origin story.”
- “Show us Gi Hun winning.”
But stories like “Squid Game” don’t operate that way. They’re supposed to bruise your feelings. They’re supposed to challenge your logics. And they’re not here to fulfill your wishlist.
So instead of listening to what the story was trying to say, global fandom kept shouting with more criticism and what they wanted “Squid Game” Season 3 to be. And in doing so, they drowned out the message Hwang Dong Hyuk had carefully constructed over six emotionally draining years.
What We Lost Along the Way
Here’s the thing, “Squid Game” Season 3 wasn’t written to top charts. It was written to say goodbye—to Seong Gi Hun, to pain, to a part of Korea’s soul that too many people still choose to ignore, and to a story that was supposed to end a long time ago.
But the second the show became a franchise; it stopped being judged like a Korean drama and started being held to the expectations of a content empire. It had to be global, universal, streamlined, and explosive.
And so the story that was meant to feel intimate and devastating was dismissed as underwhelming because it didn’t perform like a blockbuster.
That’s not a failure of writing. That’s a failure of expectation.
So… Did We Kill “Squid Game”?
In a way, yes—we did.
Not because “Squid Game” Season 3 was bad, but because we forgot how to sit with a story that wasn’t made to impress us. We stopped watching it as the raw, Korean story it has always been—a story about ordinary people stuck in a system that was never built to let them win.
Somewhere along the way, we started judging it by how big it looked, not how deeply it hurt. We expected spectacles, but what we got was a quiet heartbreak. And when it didn’t entertain us the way we wanted, we turned away too quickly.
But “Squid Game” didn’t fall apart in its final season. It just refused to become what the world demanded.
And maybe, in the end, that’s the most impactful finale the franchise could have delivered: a story that began as one ordinary Korean drama, turned into a global franchise against its will, and still chose to end on its own terms, not ours.
Doesn’t that sound like something Seong Gi Hun would do? What do you think? Please share your thoughts in the comments.
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