How Has Korea Changed Me? Part 1

I recently passed the six month marker since coming to Korea, and it got me thinking. How have I changed since I came to Korea? Did Korea change me, or were these changes going to happen one way or another? And if I have changed, is it for the better?

These questions have been bumping around in my brain, and this is my attempt to answer them.
How has Korea changed me? Well, the most visible change is definitely…

Fashion!

For the past couple years, as I felt adulthood looming toward me, I began to feel the urge to dress the part. I figured that, even if I didn’t know how to act like a grownup, I could at least dress like one! As it turns out, that’s harder than it looks, especially in a city like Seattle, where “nice clothes” tends to mean your newest fleece jacket and rain boots in a festive color.



For all your ugly clothing needs. This is an actual Korean store.

I always wanted to be the sort of person who never left the house without looking, if not dressed up, at least well put together and not like the latest model for the Derelicte line. However, between my hectic schedule, the low fashion standard of Seattle, and my sequence of less than elegant jobs, it never really happened. I looked on in envy as smartly dressed people passed me on the street, and tried to pretend that I was happy in my dirty sneakers and faded hoodie. Don’t get me wrong. If you genuinely are happy in dirty sneakers and a faded hoodie, more power to you—you’re also on that list of people I envy.
As a teacher, I have a certain image to present to the world. As a foreign English teacher in Korea, that image is even more important to cultivate. My apartment is a mere 15 minute walk from my school, so no matter where I go, and seemingly no matter what time of day or night I go there, odds are I will meet students, their parents, other teachers or, if I’m very unlucky, the principal of my school. (It was a harrowing experience—I’m just grateful he didn’t look in my grocery basket because it was just ramen and soju). I’m beginning to understand why celebrities hate the paparazzi.



They will find you, and they will take selcas with you.

Also, I don’t live in a central area of my small city—I’m on the edge, and I’m almost positive that I am the only foreigner in the neighborhood. That means that, unlike people living in bigger cities or in a more central area, there’s a good chance that I’m the only American, the only foreigner, that some of my neighbors will meet or have a chance to talk to. As far as I’m concerned, that puts a burden of responsibility on my head; what kind of impression can I give to these people? Will it be the lazy, slovenly American? The young, flighty foreign teacher just here to party? Or can I be better?

If you know me, you know my answer. I want to be better. It’s entirely narcissistic, I know, but I want every rumor about me to be positive. I want parents to remember that I seemed professional and friendly. I want my students to believe that I’m the sort of person who always looks put-together, even if it’s 10 PM and I’m walking to the convenience store to buy yogurt. Which I never do. That would be ridiculous. As a representative of my school, and my country, I feel that I’m held to a higher standard—and as far as I’m concerned, why not embrace it?


I went on that horribly long, tangential rant to say, basically, why my fashion has changed since I came to Korea. Now, I suppose, you’ll want to know how? For the sake of your attention spans, dear readers, I’ll continue this in a second post. Tune in next time for a thrilling tale of scarves, cardigans, and modesty in Korean fashion.