Sometimes I imagine this..

I set up a huge agency in LA.

I select strong American kids under 13 who have the potential to become idols.

After school, they train for three hours of dance, two hours of vocals, one hour of rap, and one hour of physical training. They are evaluated monthly, and if their grades are poor, they are dropped from the debut team.

"Cut down on carbs starting today." "You need to lose 5 pounds this month." "Stop looking at your phone and playing games or texting."

This scenario might not be surprising to those who have seen a lot of stories about Korean idols.

However, imagining this happening in America suddenly changes the genre. It could turn into a legal drama instead of a music program.

Of course, this doesn't mean that all Korean agencies operate this way. It's an imagination of transferring the extreme trainee image from the past to the U.S.

In the U.S., laws vary by state, so the legality depends on the type of contract, age, working hours, and other factors.

Still, the first headache from day one is the issue of child labor.

In America, simply renaming a 14-year-old as a trainee doesn't make all problems disappear.

If the company sets the time, location, and what they need to do, training them for long hours for the company's business could lead to labor law issues.

Especially if actual performances or filming are involved, we need to consider state regulations regarding child entertainers.

Then there's the school issue. "Because of this comeback preparation, let's skip school today and practice choreography."

While this might be a tense scene in a Korean drama, in America, parents would be the first to ask, "What about our child's classes?"

Some states require educational hours or studio teachers for child entertainers who miss school due to filming and performances.

If California starts seriously managing minor entertainers, the company will need not just managers but also lawyers, accountants, and education coordinators.

The second issue is dieting. The manager looks at each trainee and says,

"You need to lose 4 pounds." "Your face looks puffy." "Let's slim down your thighs a bit more."

Are American parents quietly nodding along here?

Especially if they continuously pressure minors about weight and appearance or impose dangerous dietary restrictions, issues related to labor conditions, discrimination, health and safety, and contracts could arise.

Not all weight management directives are immediately illegal, but from the company's perspective, it's a very risky area.

The third issue is living together.

Imagine the agency rents a house and puts six 15-year-old girls in it, with the manager overseeing their entire lives.

The company manages what time they go to bed, what they eat, who they meet, and how much they use their phones.

The culture of trainee dormitories, which is easily understood in Korea, raises endless questions when it comes to America.

Who is the guardian? Who supervises at night? If the kids get sick, who is responsible? Is there insurance? Is it a licensed company in the state?

How does a child brought from another state attend school? If a parent suddenly wants to take their child away, what happens to the contract?

From the company's perspective, trying to create an idol group might feel like running a small boarding school.

The fourth issue is the ban on dating and managing personal lives.

"No dating for three years after debut."

If you present such a contract to a 20-something trainee in America, you have to consider the enforceability of the contract. It gets even more complicated for minors.

If the company starts checking trainees' phones and personal messages, privacy and personal data issues come into play.

Even if the representative says, "It's for managing the idol's image," an American lawyer would likely ask to see the contract again.

The fifth issue is money. This is the most interesting part.

"We invested $200,000 in your vocals, dance, accommodation, and costume costs, so pay us back after your debut."

If you try to replicate the investment recovery structure familiar in the Korean entertainment industry in the U.S., you need to review wages, cost deductions, minor contracts, and contract fairness.

Some states even have systems to protect a portion of the money earned by young entertainers.

And the scariest scene in America appears at the end.

It's not the scene of a trainee leaving the company in tears.

It's the moment when a mother walks in with a lawyer.

"Please preserve all contracts related to my daughter, training time records, filming schedules, salary records, dietary instructions, texts, and emails."

At this moment, the idol production project turns into a discovery project.

Thinking about it, one of the strengths of the K-pop system is the immense amount of repetitive training. The level of synchronizing dance while singing doesn't come from practicing for just a day or two.

That said, it doesn't mean that K-pop-style groups can't be formed in America. It's entirely possible. However, the methods will need to change.

Training hours must be clearly managed, minors must be guaranteed education and rest time, parents and guardians must actively participate, health management should be left to professionals, and cost and profit distribution must be transparent.

This leads to an interesting conclusion.

If 12 trainees are needed to create one idol group in the Korean style, in America, there might be 12 parents, a few lawyers, accountants, teachers, nutritionists, and child protection officers standing alongside them.

And then the representative opens the training room door and shouts, "Alright, the hellish training starts today!"

Then a lawyer quietly grabs their arm from behind. "Representative, hold on. You can't use that expression."

Perhaps the first training session for the American version of K-pop won't be about dancing. It will likely be about U.S. legal compliance training.