Incorporating in Korea as a Foreigner: Banks, Paperwork, and 300 Dollars (Part 6 of 7)
This is Part 6 of my 7-part series on Korea's D-8-4(S) startup visa. Part 5 ended with a six-month deadline to incorporate my company. Here's how the sprint actually went: incorporation, bank, office, patent, and first customers in four months, for about 300 dollars in legal fees.
Incorporation: cheaper than you think
The D-8-4(S) has no minimum capital requirement. I incorporated without meaningful capital and did most of the paperwork myself, pulling in lawyers only for a few specific things. Total legal spend to get everything up and running: around 300 dollars.
For the office, I used a coworking provider called Cowork City. Fast, kind, easy to work with, and they understood the registered-address needs of a tiny new corporation. Happily recommended.
The bank boss fight
Korea has a rule I didn't know about: your corporate account has to be opened at the bank branch closest to your registered business address. You pick the bank company; geography picks the branch.
My branch was a Hana Bank where the manager had never seen my visa type. A foreigner, with a brand-new corporation, on a visa she'd never heard of. She was suspicious, and her solution was to keep requesting additional documents.
Here's where it got surreal. The only place that could plausibly issue those documents was my recommendation-letter provider. When I asked them, they told me they'd never heard of these documents either. As far as either of us could tell, the manager was inventing paperwork, on the theory that an application this unusual must surely need more paper.
Six trips to the bank over two weeks, with me as the messenger between two institutions that had never spoken to each other, and the account finally opened. If this happens to you: it's not a wall, it's a fog. Keep walking.
Hire assistants, not a cofounder
Two strong opinions from this period.
First, I wouldn't take on a Korean cofounder just to smooth out the bureaucracy. That path concentrates enormous trust in one person, and the failure modes are ugly.
Second, do hire Korean assistants. A government form that would take me eight hours as an American takes a Korean assistant ten minutes. It's not just language. American and Korean documents differ at a conceptual level; the categories themselves don't map onto each other. A local assistant has been breathing this system their whole life.
On language: I probably could have done every step with almost no Korean. I don't recommend it. Understanding the instructions people give you in the moment, at the bank counter or the tax office, is worth more than any translated guide.
Four months in, I had a corporation, a bank account, payments, a patent application filed, and the first customers using what became DontCode. The final post, Part 7, covers renewal day: the VIP floor at the Seoul Immigration Office, a near miss over tax receipts, and my honest take on who this visa is actually for.
This series is my personal experience, not legal advice. Programs and requirements change, so check official sources before you apply.
← Previous: Part 5: Visa Day, One Piece of Paper and a Six-Month Countdown
Next: Part 7: Renewal, the VIP Floor, and Who This Visa Is Actually For →