Mirror, Mirror on Every Wall

“Your blue hair is not only ugly, it is offensive.” – Korean T-shirt

Once upon a time, there was a Korean girl named Kang Han-na. Han-na was cursed with the unshapeliness of a walrus. Yet below her blubber was a sweet albeit insecure soul as well as a captivating voice that allowed her to dual as phone sex employee and secret vocalist for the untalented but beautiful pop sensation, Ammy. Humiliated by her girth and wounded by her unreciprocated love for her manager, Sang-jun, Han-na turns herself over to a cosmetic surgeon for a complete renovation.

The beautifully carved body emerges into a new identity, ‘Jenny,’ who pursues her own music career, wildly successful under Sang-jun’s management as Ammy, lost without Han-na’s voice to claim as her own, falls to the wayside. Sang-ju quickly falls for the secure and charismatic ‘Jenny’, oblivious to her past, and when the subject of plastic surgery is broached, he proclaims that he has no problem with it… as long as it’s not his girl. At a concert, ‘Jenny’ tearfully professes her secretive past. Although initially hurt, Sang-ju accepts her, insisting that his change of heart from before her makeover is not due to her stunning new looks, but rather that her newfound confidence has captured his affection.

This was the premise for a movie that we were required to watch at our week-long orientation, when we should have been learning methods and strategies for teaching ESL in Korea. This attempt at a Cinderella story, which was my first encounter with the Korean concept of beauty, left me befuddled as to its message. Although the movie was introduced to us as ‘200 Pounds Beauty,’ the Korean title translates literally to ‘Being Beautiful is Agonizing.’ What seems to truly agonize Korean society, though, is not beauty itself, but the grueling attainment of it.

Korea is, no doubt, a beautiful country filled with beautiful people, inside and out. Koreans rightfully pride themselves on this beauty, but they tend to focus on the ‘out.’ The population of South Korea is about 48.5 million people. I would venture to guess that at any moment during the day, the population of Korean reflections in mirrors nears a quarter of that number. Elevators are lined with mirrors, full length standing mirrors can be found in school hallways and subway exits, and the wall to wall mirror above my bathroom sink, since the shower is merely a showerhead on the wall across from my toilet, makes for the most self-conscious showers I have ever taken. Quite to the contrary, Korean men and women alike take no shame in publicly pausing to upkeep hairdos or makeup, or simply to revel in their reflection. Nor is it uncommon for middle school girls to whip out a hand mirror in class and comb down their perfectly even bangs mid-lecture. The Korean government is currently concerned that the recently declining population might injure the economy. If only there were a way to put all of those reflections to work.

Their fixation with looking their finest is understandable in a society so frank in expressing disapproval about appearance. Generally, Koreans hate confrontation and I have met Koreans who would rather pay for another person’s mistake than address them about it. But condoning appearance seems surprisingly un-taboo. Students openly call their pudgier friends ‘pig,’ to which there is never any protest. The math teacher at my school consistently begs Okhee to surgically remove the bags under her eyes. Koreans have admonished my fashion sense, asked me to wear makeup and change my hairstyle, and pointed out pimples. When I was given two days off of work during the midterm exams, Okhee, envious of my break, told me, “You look like you gained weight from vegging out for two days.”

Weight is a heavy issue on many Koreans’ minds. Most Korean women diet, which may consist of taking smaller portions of rice, or it may consist of skipping meals. Last fall, Okhee wanted to complete 180 deep bows to Buddha not because she is a devout Buddhist, but because she thought it might help her shave off a couple kilos. She is already one of the tiniest middle aged people I have ever met. Similarly, Koreans, decked out in hiking apparel and walking sticks, seem to climb the mountains less to enjoy the breathtaking beauty and more to work off the bulgogi they ate for lunch. In fact, at the top of most mountains you can see not only a stunning vista, but an exercise station. As for me, I consider myself to be a fairly fit American, and I have to wrestle my way into ‘XL’ Korean pants. My question is this - where do the overweight Koreans, who, although rare, certainly exist, do their shopping?

When Koreans exchange gifts, the wrapping on the gift is seen as important as the contents of the wrapping. This can easily be made a metaphor for the value that Koreans place on their skin. I think every single food I have eaten in Korea has been described to me as either ‘good for stamina’ or ‘good for your skin.’ Tattoos are illegal, but this may have more to do with gang correlations than treasuring pristine skin. Korean women are left flabbergasted when I tell them that I don’t wear makeup. My most unusual experience with skin care took place at school. We were brought into a room and given free lunches while a saleswoman spoke extremely quickly at us in Korean, showcasing beauty products. Because this was early on in my time here, I assumed that was a common occurrence, but it never happened again. At the end of her spiel, she gave us samples of a face lotion. When I looked down at it, it was all in Korean except for a single word. ‘Placenta.’

Unlike the American craze for a golden tan, Koreans pursue a delicate paleness. Even in the starkest heat, some Koreans walk around with not only a parasol, but long sleeves and gloves to protect their pallor. Due to the way Koreans idolize Western appearance, I tried to explain to my supplementary class of elementary school teachers that Americans often have different standards of beauty than Koreans, hoping to underline that beauty is just a social construction. However, when I contrasted ‘fake bakes’ with ‘skin bleaching,’ one of the teachers replied, “That’s because Americans are already white. We aren’t.” Koreans also have a fixation with face size. Whenever I take a picture with a group of Koreans, they shove me to the front complaining that my face is small and should be in the foreground so as not to accentuate the largeness of theirs. When I mentioned that Americans don’t consider this beauty standard, the same teacher retorted, “That’s because Americans already have small faces!” When I argued this, she came back with, “Well even if they don’t, they have large eyes and noses to make them look smaller.” I still had a handful of examples, such as the “V-line,” an especially cute Konglish word because Koreans pronounce the letter ‘V’ like ‘bwee,’ which is an obsession with a pointy chin (Koreans will like to use their fingers in photos to create a ‘V’ shaped lower jaw), but I already knew the answers that my further examples would incite.

The most clear-cut form of Koreans attempting to look Western is plastic surgery. Nose jobs to achieve the Western ‘high nose’ take second place to the extremely popular blepharoplasty, or double eyelid surgery. Although some Koreans are born with naturally creased eyelids, those that don’t pine for the fold that will not only make their eyes look bigger and more Western, but also facilitate finding a good husband and landing a successful job. These days, about 30% of Korean women undergo this surgery, and a growing number of men, and it has become a common gift from parents to their children upon graduating high school. It is not difficult to differentiate the ‘fake’ double eyelids from the real ones – the plastic surgery leaves an overly circular and sometimes too high up, often slightly creepy looking crease. My 25 year-old Korean friend is one of the most naturally beautiful people I know and hands down the most confident Korean I’ve met regarding looks. The other night at dinner she told me that she wanted to go under the knife, and I pleaded that she didn’t need it. Her reply was that all of her friends were doing it.

When Koreans ask me if my nose is silicone, my eyelids operated on, or my hair dyed and permed, I laugh. How can they look at my oversized Italian nose or my mess of hair and think that I paid money to look this way? Yet that is the reality – even though I see Koreans as stunningly beautiful, slender with smooth black hair and faces that look young into their 40s and 50s, they, for whatever reason, would prefer to look like me.

Once upon a time, there was a Korean girl named who was cursed with the unshapeliness of a walrus. She was a secret vocalist for an untalented but beautiful pop sensation. One day, the fraud was exposed and the girl became a beloved icon just as she was, while the handsome manager, who had loved her all along, swept her off her feet. They lived happily ever after.