JG Yuruguay profile

Yuruguay rhymes with "you rude guy"

JG Yuruguay is the working name of Yoon Jae-Geun, a Korean-born U.S. national, born in Busan in 2002 and raised in Los Angeles, now living in Nishinomiya in western Japan and working between modelling and electronic music production.

Most people arrive here expecting a serious, difficult artist, a guy who spends his nights brooding over concrete and theory. Before you go any further, it’s worth saying that isn’t the full picture.

You might assume he lives inside an avant-garde thinkpiece. In reality, he’s usually hunched over convenience-store fried chicken, making fun of a terrible drama on TV. The same person who lets us write about “biometric locks” will drop the detached archetype the moment he sees a dog or hears a really bad 80s pop song. Hardly pretentious. Hardly high theory.

From a distance, these archives can make him look hyper-intellectual. Up close, he’s aggressively unserious about most things that aren’t bicycles, coffee, or getting a kick drum exactly right. He’s not humourless; far from it. He’s the one who’ll derail a serious conversation because he’s noticed a cloud that looks like an octopus. Maa, that’s closer to the truth.

People also assume he’s unapproachable—a “technical failure” trapped in AI jargon and rumour. In practice, he’s just shy, easily overloaded, and frequently late because he spent too long deciding which socks feel right for the day. He’s a regular person trying to get through the week without becoming a full-time abstraction.

On paper, most outsiders still file him under “straight” by default. In reality, by the time of this archive he’s a basically straight guy with a long-term girlfriend who has only very recently stumbled into men-for-men spaces—more out of curiosity, loneliness, and the digital vacuum than because he’s chasing a label. When people try to call him “bi-curious,” he winces; it sounds like boomer or GenX vocabulary to him, kind of dasai. He won’t give it a cleaner name than that. For now, the question stays open, and the rest of this record sits in the gap between what he says and what he keeps almost—but not quite—letting himself do.

What this archive is

This site keeps two parallel records of the same person. One follows the body that moves through rooms, parks, trains, timelines, and late-night apps. The other tracks the systems he builds and breaks: tracks, labels, algorithms, contracts, and the industry that keeps trying to turn him into a number.

Both sides are true. Neither side makes sense on its own. You choose where to start.