Ever noticed something odd while staying in a Korean hotel? You take the elevator and suddenly realize there’s no 4th floor button – it jumps straight from 3 to F or 5. Welcome to one of Korea’s most persistent cultural phenomena: the fear of the number 4, known as tetraphobia.
This isn’t just a quirky superstition that affects a few people. In Korea, the number 4 is so deeply feared that it influences everything from apartment prices to phone numbers, creating a fascinating glimpse into how ancient beliefs continue to shape modern life.
The Death Connection That Started It All
The fear of the number 4, called “사자 금기” (四字禁忌) in Korean, has its roots in a linguistic coincidence that’s both simple and profound. In Korean, the number four is pronounced “sa” (사), which sounds identical to the word for death, also pronounced “sa” (사).
But here’s where it gets interesting – this wasn’t always the case. Historical linguists have traced how these two Chinese characters evolved over centuries. Originally, in Middle Chinese, the pronunciations were quite different. The number four (四) went through changes from “b-ləj” to “s.lij-s” to “siɪH,” while death (死) evolved from “səj” to “sijʔ” to “sˠiɪX.”
Over time, these pronunciations converged, and by the time Chinese characters spread throughout East Asia, they sounded remarkably similar across multiple languages – Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, and Japanese all developed this unfortunate homophone.
How Deep Does This Fear Really Go?
If you think this is just about avoiding certain floors in buildings, think again. Korean tetraphobia runs so deep that it affects virtually every aspect of daily life, and the intensity might surprise you.
The Extreme Era: Pre-2000s Korea
Back in the day – especially before the mid-2000s – the fear was absolutely intense. We’re talking about people who wouldn’t even say the number four out loud. Instead, they’d use euphemisms like “그 숫자” (that number) or “한 자리 수” (single-digit number), and everyone knew exactly what they meant.
Picture this: when counting, people would skip four entirely, going “일, 이, 삼, 넷, 오” (one, two, three, four, five) – using the Korean native number “넷” instead of the Chinese-derived “사.” When someone turned 44 years old, they’d say things like “I was 43 last year” or “I’ll be 45 next year” rather than mentioning that dreaded double-four age.
The post-Korean War generation was particularly affected. Having lived through such massive loss of life, death-related superstitions carried extra weight. The number 4 wasn’t just unlucky – it felt genuinely threatening.
Architecture of Avoidance
Korean buildings became masterpieces of creative numbering. The 4th floor? Simply didn’t exist. Elevators would show:
- 1층 (1st floor)
- 2층 (2nd floor)
- 3층 (3rd floor)
- F층 (F floor) – using the first letter of “Four”
- 5층 (5th floor)
Some buildings just skipped it entirely, jumping straight from 3 to 5. Movie theaters, trains, even shopping mall directories – anything with numbered seating or sections would mysteriously lack the number 4.
When you visit Korea, you might notice that some hotels don’t have a 4th floor at all or label it as “F.”
Even at Shilla Stay Yeoksam, a popular hotel among foreign travelers, the 4th floor is completely missing—going straight from the 3rd to the 5th floor.
Modern Tetraphobia: It’s Still Very Real
You might think younger, more educated Koreans have moved past this superstition. Not quite. While the fear has softened compared to the extreme avoidance of decades past, tetraphobia remains surprisingly influential in 2020s Korea.
The Real Estate Reality
Korean real estate tells the whole story. Apartment units with multiple 4s in their address – like apartment 404 in building 404 – sell for noticeably less money. Real estate agents know this and price accordingly.
I’ve heard older Koreans make comments like “The person living in 404-404 must have nerves of steel” or “Just seeing 4th floor, building 4, unit 4 gives me the chills.” These aren’t casual jokes – they’re genuine expressions of discomfort that translate into real financial impact.
The Gender Gap
Here’s something fascinating: Korean women tend to be significantly more tetraphobic than men. This shows up everywhere:
- Women’s gyms avoid the 4th floor
- Female-oriented businesses (beauty salons, women’s clothing stores) rarely occupy 4th floors
- Locker numbers with multiple 4s stay empty in women’s facilities
Yet ironically, Korean women born after 2000 have “4” as the first digit in their national ID numbers – a bureaucratic oversight that probably makes some people quietly uncomfortable.
Regional Variations: Where Fear Runs Deepest
Not all parts of Korea treat the number 4 equally. Some regions have developed particularly intense versions of tetraphobia that go beyond the national norm.
Jeju Island: Tetraphobia Capital
Jeju Island takes number 4 avoidance to an art form. Here, you’ll find:
- Restaurant table numbers that skip 4 entirely
- Parking spaces numbered 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7…
- Storage lockers missing all 4-related numbers
- Building floors that pretend 4 simply doesn’t exist
It’s not uncommon to see parking garages where spaces go “103, 105, 106, 107” – because even having 104 feels too risky.
Conservative Strongholds
Daegu and North Gyeongsang Province show their own flavors of tetraphobia. While they’re less extreme than Jeju (you can actually find some 4th floors), they compensate with creative solutions:
- Major intersections labeled “네거리” (ne-geori, using native Korean numbers) instead of “사거리” (sa-geori)
- Frequent use of “F” floor designations
- Subtle but persistent avoidance in daily numbering
The Psychology Behind the Persistence
Why does tetraphobia continue to thrive in modern, tech-savvy Korea? The answer lies in how deeply linguistic associations can embed themselves in cultural consciousness.
It’s Not Just Superstition
When you hear “sa” in Korean, your brain doesn’t pause to consider context – it immediately processes both meanings simultaneously. Every time someone says “four,” there’s a subliminal reminder of death. This isn’t conscious fear; it’s linguistic conditioning that happens below the level of rational thought.
Plus, tetraphobia has become somewhat self-reinforcing. When businesses avoid 4th floors and consumers expect it, the practice continues not because of superstition but because it’s simply how things are done. It’s cultural inertia as much as fear.
The Comfort of Avoidance
In a culture that values harmony and avoiding unnecessary risks, why tempt fate? Even people who don’t intellectually believe in tetraphobia often figure: why choose apartment 444 when 445 is available? It’s not worth the potential awkward conversations with family or the slightly harder resale value.
Tetraphobia in the Global Context
Korea isn’t alone in its fear of certain numbers. China and Japan share similar tetraphobia, while Western cultures have their own version with the number 13. But Korean tetraphobia has some unique characteristics that set it apart.
The Vietnamese Exception
Interestingly, Vietnam – also part of the traditional Chinese cultural sphere – shows much weaker tetraphobia. Why? Because Vietnamese uses native numbers for most counting, only bringing out Chinese-derived numbers for specific formal contexts. When you rarely say “sa” for four in daily life, you don’t develop the same subconscious association with death.
This linguistic difference shows just how much tetraphobia depends on constant exposure to the sound similarity.
Modern Adaptations
Korean tetraphobia has evolved with technology. People avoid:
- Phone numbers with multiple 4s
- License plate numbers containing 4
- Online usernames incorporating 4
- Even WiFi passwords with too many 4s
It’s ancient superstition adapting to digital life.
The Economic Impact of Fear
Tetraphobia isn’t just a cultural curiosity – it has measurable economic effects that ripple through Korean society in surprising ways.
Real Estate Market Adjustments
Property developers now factor tetraphobia into their planning. Buildings are designed to minimize 4-heavy addresses, and when that’s impossible, units are priced to reflect the cultural discount. This creates interesting market inefficiencies where functionally identical apartments sell for different prices based purely on their numbers.
Business Accommodation Costs
Companies spend money accommodating tetraphobia:
- Hotels lose revenue on floor numbering confusion
- Parking structures require creative numbering systems
- Office buildings face tenant resistance to 4th floor spaces
- Service industries adapt their numbering to customer comfort levels
These might seem like minor costs individually, but across an entire economy, they add up to significant resource allocation based purely on linguistic superstition.
The Future of Korean Tetraphobia
As Korea becomes increasingly internationalized and younger generations become more globally minded, will tetraphobia fade away? The evidence suggests it’s evolving rather than disappearing.
Generational Changes
Millennials and Gen Z Koreans show less extreme tetraphobia than their parents, but they haven’t abandoned it entirely. Instead, they treat it more casually – less genuine fear, more cultural acknowledgment. They might not be terrified of the number 4, but they still probably wouldn’t choose apartment 404 if given alternatives.
Cultural Persistence
Some aspects of tetraphobia seem likely to persist simply because they’ve become standard practice. Building numbering systems, for instance, have momentum – once F floors became normal, there’s no compelling reason to change back to numbering 4th floors as “4.”
Tetraphobia might be transforming from active superstition into passive cultural habit – maintained not out of fear but out of familiarity and consideration for those who still hold the traditional beliefs.
Korean tetraphobia offers a fascinating window into how ancient linguistic accidents can shape modern society in persistent and unexpected ways. From missing elevator buttons to apartment pricing, the fear of a single number continues to influence millions of daily decisions across Korea.
Whether you see it as harmless cultural quirk or economically inefficient superstition, tetraphobia remains a vivid example of how deeply language and culture intertwine – and how some fears, once established, can persist across centuries and technological revolutions. The next time you’re in Korea and notice a missing 4th floor, you’ll know you’re witnessing the power of a 2,000-year-old homophone that refuses to be forgotten.
But on the flip side, the number 4 can actually be seen as a good thing—especially in Saju (Korean fortune-telling).
There’s a popular saying: “If you’re 4 years apart, you don’t even need to check compatibility!”
Curious why? 👉 Check out the link to learn more! 🙂
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