In the ancient world, the title of concubine—whether held by a woman in Athens, a young man in Han China, or a slave in Rome—was rarely a matter of personal choice. It was a designation imposed by law, economics, and the needs of those in power, often sealing a fate marked by intense privilege and catastrophic risk. In classical Athens, a slave selected for this role was legally classified as property, a “man-footed thing” with no rights. Purchased or captured, they were groomed for elite male company, expected to serve at symposia and navigate a household where the master’s favor was the only protection against the jealousy of other slaves and the hostility of the mistress.
This favor was fleeting. Athenian law and morality dictated that while an elite man could use a slave without penalty, public perception of being “ruled” by a favorite could destroy his political career. The concubine’s value was tied to youth and beauty, and as these faded, they were often relegated to workshops or general labor, their paths to freedom rare and conditional. The male favorites of imperial China’s Han Dynasty enjoyed a more documented, and in some ways more powerful, position.
Figures like Dong Xian and Deng Tong received titles, lands, and immense wealth. The “cut sleeve” incident, where Emperor Ai cut his own robe rather than wake his sleeping favorite, became a lasting euphemism for same-sex love. However, this power rested entirely on the emperor’s affection. When the protector died or lost interest, the fall was swift and brutal, as seen in the suicide of Dong Xian and the poverty of Deng Tong.
The position was systematically recorded by historians like Sima Qian but was also a permanent political liability, with favorites often blamed for a ruler’s neglect of state duties. In ancient Rome, the system was more openly brutal and commercial. Slavery was a vast economic engine, and the sexual availability of enslaved people was considered a matter of property rights. Work in establishments like Pompeii’s Lupanar was dangerous and physically destructive, with little legal recourse.
The most an enslaved person could hope for was manumission, which came with ongoing obligations to their former owner. While Stoic philosophers like Seneca urged humane treatment, the law and social norms reinforced a complete asymmetry: the system was accepted, the owners profited without consequence, and the victims bore the shame. A more recent and secretive echo of this system existed in North Korea. The Kippumjo, or “Joy Brigade,” was a state-run performance and service corps of teenage girls, selected for their looks and family loyalty, created to serve the Kim family.
Recruits were trained in music, massage, and protocol, and some were selected for teams that provided sexual services. They lived in guarded compounds, cut off from their families, while enjoying luxuries unavailable to a starving populace. After years of service, they were reportedly retired, paid, and married off to loyal bodyguards or officials to ensure their silence. The institution, which defectors have detailed in memoirs, was officially disbanded after Kim Jong-il’s death in 2011, only to be reportedly rebuilt on a smaller scale by his son, Kim Jong-un.
Despite the vast differences in time and culture, these systems share a common thread. They present a life of potential wealth and proximity to power, but one built on the denial of personal autonomy. The lives of these individuals are preserved in history not through their own words, but through the records of those who owned them, joked about them, and never asked what they thought.
Their story is a testament to how a person’s fate could be entirely dictated by another’s desire and the cold calculations of an empire or a dynasty.
