For Hee-Jin Ryu, there was something about the way people professed their love for each other on South Korean television that first kindled her doubts about North Korea.
"In [South] Korean dramas, you can see people saying 'I love you' so freely," she said. "In North Korea, you could only say that you love Chairman Kim Jong Un and his father."
In 2015, watching South Korean shows secretly in her apartment at night, she became entranced by the free and extravagant lives led by the characters on her screen.
It seemed completely at odds with what she had been taught at home in Pyongyang, where South Koreans were portrayed as "poor and miserable", even enslaved by the US and Japan.
The shows made her "yearn for South Korea," she said. "Things like freedom of expression and being honest about your feelings hit home for me."
A former star of North Korea's synchronised swimming team, Hee-Jin had been selected to work at a restaurant in Europe, a privilege reserved for the regime's most loyal supporters.
By day, she waited tables under the watchful eye of a government minder, dutifully sending the majority of her pay packet back home to North Korea.
But by night, with access to the internet for the first time, she fed her growing misgivings about her homeland and its dictatorial ruler.
One program in particular caught her eye: Now On My Way To Meet You, a wildly entertaining talk show produced by South Korean cable network Channel A featuring stories about defectors who had made a new life in South Korea.
It often hosted politically charged discussions about North Korea's leadership, a forbidden topic of discussion at home.
"I got curious about Chairman Kim [Jong Un] and his father," Hee-Jin said. "So I looked them up on YouTube to see what came up and eventually the algorithm showed me Now On My Way To Meet You.
"That was when I learned for the first time that there were people who hated North Korea and risked their lives to escape, and it really shocked me."
Not long after, Hee-Jin's minder grew suspicious and reported her. Fearing for her life, she fled to the nearest South Korean embassy where she sought asylum.
A year later, she was starting a new life in Seoul, one she hoped might follow the script of her on-screen idols.
Kim Jong Un is watching
Now 33, Hee-Jin is a regular panellist on Now On My Way, the defector talk show that she credits with opening her eyes to the reality of Kim Jong Un's repressive regime.
She is one of a growing number of North Korean escapees drawn to South Korea by the affluent lifestyles and social freedoms seen on television programs.
For those living inside the secretive nation, where internet access is severely restricted, the shows are smuggled across the Chinese border on USB sticks.
A 2019 survey of North Korean defectors living in South Korea found that 60 per cent of the 400 people interviewed had access to international media before their escape.
Of that 60 per cent, 30 per cent said seeing South Korean television programs made them start to compare their lives, while 37 per cent said the shows increased their desire to escape North Korea.
The trend has provoked a crackdown inside North Korea in recent years, with reports of harsh sentences including forced labour and even executions for those caught with the shows in their possession.
"Our show is probably the most closely monitored by the North Korean authorities," said Now On My Way's lead producer, Goon Lae Kim.
"They're keeping an eye on us to track what we're talking about."
Filmed each week in Channel A's Seoul studio, set among gleaming high-rise towers not far from the city centre, Now On My Way is not afraid of getting under Kim Jong Un's skin.
On the day we visited the set, the panel was tackling a contentious issue for the North Korea regime – the country's millennials and Gen Zs and the threat they might pose to the dictator's grip on power.
"The millennial and Gen Z generations in Pyongyang have already been exposed to a lot of South Korean culture," says a young woman on the panel.
"Even high-ranking cases are reported of defectors persuading their parents to escape because of South Korean media they're seeing there," chimes in another panellist.
A giant pentagonal table dominates the centre of the set, which is modelled on Panmunjom, the so-called "Truce Village" at the Demilitarised Zone spanning the border between North and South.
Rows of national flags representing the region's powerbrokers – China, the USA, and until recently, Russia – flank the set.
Notably missing is the official North Korean flag, which is banned in South Korea. "We have the Korean Unification flag instead," said Kim.
Now On My Way was initially conceived as a tear-jerking reunion show where North and South Korean families separated by 70 years of war would be reunited on television.
But producers soon hit on another subject matter – the growing number of defectors living in South Korea.
First airing in 2011, it was an immediate hit, partly because it tapped into defectors' dramatic stories of life inside the secretive nation, a topic that most South Koreans knew little about.
As its popularity grew, Now On My Way morphed into an entertainment-style variety hour featuring a panel of hosts joined by a rotating cast of celebrity defectors, once referred to by producers as "beauties".
The beauties would share their tales of suffering, then participate in performances, some showcasing their dance and musical talents, or putting on fashion shows.
Some defector guests were propelled to stardom in South Korea, and even internationally, such as Yeonmi Park, one of the show's most famous beauties.
Park, who once regularly appeared on the program, has since gone on to become a best-selling author, amassing a global social media following in the process.
But over time, praise for the program turned to outrage as it emerged some defector stories were being sensationalised, including Yeonmi's own account.
Critics pointed out conflicting details in her story, some of which were broadcast on the program, while others accused Now On My Way of becoming trivial, even exploitative.
"Before, this program simply objectified North Korean defectors," said South Korean cultural critic Dr Alex Taek-Gwang Lee. "They regarded defectors as items in a casting show."
'They are living in a giant Truman show'
The show's current producer, Goon Lae Kim, is keenly aware of past criticisms and concedes some exaggerations have likely gone to air.
It's a problem partly inherent in the show's design. The defector tales are at times hard to believe, and even harder to verify.
Kim argues it's possible for differing accounts of life in the north to be true, given how isolated the country remains.
In North Korea, there's "no interchange between people in different towns, they have different ideas and cultures," he said. "That's what I've learnt from this show."
The show still delivers an entertaining take-down of North Korean politics and culture, but since taking over the reins three years ago, Kim has been retooling the format to tackle more serious topics.
Gone is the old cartoonish barnyard-style set in favour of the replica of Panmunjom, an iconic meeting point for diplomatic exchanges between leaders from both sides of the DMZ.
It's a clue as to the direction he's taking the show, one that's not welcome news north of the border.
"We're producing this show for people in North Korea who haven't yet fled to give them the courage to come over," said Kim.
"In a way, you could say we're trying to send them a message that North Korea as a country is a fabricated place and they must escape from there as soon as possible.
"They are living in a giant Truman Show."
Sitting at a multi-screen monitor, Kim scrutinises every camera angle, whispering to another producer before moving through the set to give prompts to the show's host, well-known South Korean comedian Nam Hee-Seok.
Topics are carefully chosen in the knowledge that the North Korean regime is watching too, such as this week's focus on the country's youth.
"The millennial and Gen Z generations are what Kim Jong Un fears the most. He feels threatened by them," said Kim.
"That is why we're focusing on the reasons they continue to defect from North Korea."
Programs like Now On My Way are certainly proving successful in raising the ire of Kim Jong Un's regime.
In 2017, a celebrity defector guest on a similar program is believed to have been abducted by North Korea after appearing regularly on South Korean TV.
She re-emerged later in a propaganda video for the North Korean government denouncing her appearances and extolling the virtues of the regime.
With more South Korean television making it into North Korea, Kim believes there's now a concerted effort on the part of Kim Jong Un's regime to discredit his show in the north, such as by claiming the defectors are reading from scripts.
But some observers doubt it's working.
Dr Taek-Gwang Lee said positive defector stories planted in the minds of North Korea's younger generations continue to pose a real problem for the future of Kim Jong Un's regime.
"I think this is the most dangerous program to the North Korean government," he said.
"The regime is now in crisis because they're a nationalist country, so they rely on people identifying with the ideology to sustain themselves.
"If they don't have the support of the younger generation, how can they survive?"
When reality doesn't match TV
While defections were once relatively rare, the late 1990s brought the first big wave of North Koreans fleeing across the border with China, driven by a famine estimated to have killed millions.
Many ended up in South Korea, where a shared language and familiar culture can ease the transition to life outside the reclusive regime.
Since then, the defections have only continued, with around 34,000 North Korean defectors now living in South Korea.
The country has made efforts to integrate the new arrivals, such as running a compulsory program to teach them everything from how to catch a train to using a mobile phone.
But for defectors who arrive influenced by images they've seen on South Korean TV shows, the reality check can be jarring.
Sun Ju, whose name has been changed to protect her identity, fled to South Korea in 2019, one of the last to make it out before COVID lockdowns temporarily halted the flow of defectors.
Growing up in North Korea, she remembers being bombarded with government propaganda from a very young age.
"I thought the whole world was like North Korea," she said.
That all changed when she began to secretly watch Korean television dramas on USB sticks shared by her friends at school.
She was struck by how people were free to travel overseas, while North Koreans were "living our life thinking that we can't go anywhere, can never leave North Korea until we die".
She hid her Korean TV obsession from her parents, who were strict supporters of the regime, but would gather with her friends at school to whisper about the latest episode.
"It's not an exaggeration to say that the dramas took the whole country by storm," said Sun Ju.
"People were watching them in every home and when they met each other, they discussed what Korean dramas they watched recently.
"The government felt threatened by it and even executed people by firing squad for watching them."
After the birth of her son, Sun Ju grew more fearful of continuing to live in North Korea until finally she decided to risk everything and flee with her husband and child, seeking the life she saw on the screen.
But rather than feeling welcome, she found herself struggling to be accepted in Seoul, South Korea's sprawling capital of almost 26 million people.
Once, when she applied for a part-time job, the recruiter asked her, "what's with your speech?"
"We're of the same race but cultural differences play a big part and there is a lot of discrimination due to our language, accents," she said.
Despite tens of thousands of defectors arriving since the late 1990s, and popular TV shows sharing their stories, many North Koreans arrive in the South to discover little is known about their homeland.
"It's something we have to accept and understand," said Sun Ju. "But we can't help being filled with sorrow. We feel so lonely."
Celebrity defector Hee-Jin Ryu is hopeful Now On My Way, which has told the stories of hundreds of defectors over its 12 years on air, is gradually lessening the stigma for defectors.
Appearing on the show is not without consequences for defectors.
Hee Jin still worries about the impact her high-profile defection could have on the safety of her parents still living in North Korea.
"It's been seven years since I defected and I always thought that I made the right decision to leave," she said.
"Of course, it's not without difficulty here but I can make all my decisions myself unlike in North Korea where I couldn't do anything myself."
While her fears initially made her reluctant to appear on the show, seeing others who "worked up their courage" served as motivation.
"I also wanted to show that I'm doing well for myself," she said. "I wanted to show that although I came here alone, I'm working hard to live a good life."
It's one story among many more producer Goon Lae Kim hopes will help penetrate the repressive North Korean regime.
"This show is a message for them," he said. "A message telling them to escape from there now."
Watch The Defectors tonight on Foreign Correspondent, 8pm on ABC TV and iview.
