Before 'Gangnam Style' I was not a good attitude artist.

Host: The stage was empty, but it still hummed with leftover noise — the echo of a thousand cheers dissolving into silence. The spotlights cooled to a dim violet, casting long shadows across the scuffed floorboards. You could almost still hear it: the bass thumping, the crowd chanting, the laughter folding into rhythm.

Jack sat on the edge of the stage, one boot tapping against the hollow wood. A few confetti pieces still clung to his sleeve. His jacket — sequined, ridiculous, perfect — shimmered faintly under the dying lights. Jeeny stood in the front row, arms folded, smiling up at him like someone who’d seen this show before but still loved every act.

Jeeny: grinning “Psy once said, ‘Before “Gangnam Style,” I was not a good attitude artist.’”

Jack: laughing softly, shaking his head “You know, I believe him. You don’t get to that level of chaos by being balanced.”

Jeeny: teasingly “So what do you think he meant — that fame fixed his attitude?”

Jack: leaning forward “No. Fame doesn’t fix anything. It just amplifies it. But success... it humbles you. Before ‘Gangnam Style,’ he was a performer chasing validation. After it, he became a phenomenon trying to survive it.”

Host: The lights flickered, briefly painting the empty seats gold — rows and rows of ghosts applauding. A crew member somewhere backstage closed a door. The sound echoed like the end of a decade.

Jeeny: softly “You know, that quote says something rare — that even joy can discipline you. Maybe what he meant was that before it, he performed; after it, he understood.”

Jack: smiling faintly “You mean, success gave him self-awareness?”

Jeeny: nodding “Yes. Sometimes the spotlight teaches you who you really are — not because of the attention, but because of the reflection.”

Host: The stage lights dimmed to blue, their glow faint but alive. Jack looked out at the rows of seats, empty now but still vibrating with the energy of performance.

Jack: “You ever notice how the biggest hits — the ones that change everything — always come from the moments you stop trying so hard?”

Jeeny: smiling knowingly “When you stop performing for approval and just... become yourself.”

Jack: grinning “Exactly. ‘Gangnam Style’ wasn’t planned. It was him being ridiculous, honest, free. That’s why it worked.”

Jeeny: leaning against the barrier “So you think attitude — the thing he says he lacked — is what fame gave him?”

Jack: “Maybe not fame. Maybe failure first.”

Jeeny: raising an eyebrow “Go on.”

Jack: thoughtfully “Before that song, Psy wasn’t some global idol. He was a local entertainer, half-mocked, half-loved. He’d been banned, criticized, written off. That kind of humiliation burns the arrogance out of you. By the time he hit ‘Gangnam Style,’ he wasn’t chasing cool anymore — he was embracing absurdity.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “So humility through humor.”

Jack: nodding “Exactly. He stopped trying to be respected — and became loved instead.”

Host: The air in the theater shifted, as if the walls themselves exhaled. The faint scent of sweat, confetti, and smoke lingered — the holy trinity of performance.

Jeeny: “It’s funny, isn’t it? People think attitude means ego. But maybe it really means honesty — knowing your quirks, your limits, your truths, and performing from there.”

Jack: smirking “So being yourself, loudly?”

Jeeny: laughing “Yes. That’s the ultimate attitude.”

Host: A light above the stage flickered, and dust floated in its beam like particles of memory. Jack leaned back on his hands, looking up, eyes thoughtful.

Jack: “You know, before success, people chase perfection. But after you’ve been seen by the whole world — after you’ve gone viral, after you’ve danced in front of billions — perfection loses its meaning. You learn to dance with the mess instead of fighting it.”

Jeeny: softly “And that’s what gives you grace.”

Jack: quietly “And peace.”

Host: A faint hum of the city seeped through the theater doors — the neon pulse of nightlife, the laughter of strangers who’d never know the exhaustion behind the applause.

Jeeny: “It’s poetic, isn’t it? Psy’s career started as rebellion, became ridicule, and ended in redemption. He didn’t change his act — he changed his relationship to it.”

Jack: nodding slowly “He went from proving himself to expressing himself.”

Jeeny: “And that’s when art becomes timeless.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Or viral.”

Jeeny: grinning “In this century, they’re almost the same thing.”

Host: The sound system hummed, an accidental note of feedback. For a moment, it sounded like the ghost of applause returning. Jeeny tilted her head, listening.

Jeeny: “You know, I think Psy’s quote isn’t about attitude at all. It’s about awakening. About realizing that art doesn’t come from ego — it comes from ease.”

Jack: thoughtful “Ease... the most difficult thing to learn.”

Jeeny: softly “And the last thing fame will ever give you.”

Host: The spotlight flicked back on, bathing the stage in gold. Jack stepped forward, squinting into the empty darkness beyond the first row, where no audience waited — and yet, the air felt alive again.

Jack: quietly “You think he misses it? That moment — the chaos, the global mania?”

Jeeny: after a pause “No. I think he cherishes the calm that came after. When he could look back and laugh — really laugh — at the absurdity of being human on the world’s biggest screen.”

Host: The stage lights dimmed again, the silence deepened, and for a heartbeat, the vast emptiness of the room felt sacred — a temple built for noise, now at peace with its quiet.

And in that stillness, Psy’s words seemed to hum in the air — part confession, part revelation:

That attitude is not arrogance,
but alignment —
the point when an artist stops performing
and starts being.

That the moment of truth
isn’t in applause,
but in the laughter that comes
when you finally stop pretending to be cool
and just dance like yourself.

Jeeny smiled, stepping toward the stage, her voice soft but sure:

“Maybe the greatest performance in life
is learning to enjoy your own ridiculousness.”

Host: The curtains swayed gently,
the spotlight faded,
and somewhere in the shadows of the empty seats,
the echo of laughter — bright, human, infinite —
kept dancing long after the music had stopped.