Moe Kah Rahh Tey

Bupyeong, May 2010

I have a Sunday ritual I perform every week – or, at least, try to perform: I gather my laptop and some accessories, pop them in my backpack, head out, and try to find a Starbucks to use some free internet and find a job.

I’ve been doing it for about four months now.

No luck yet, but these trips offer a fascinating look at Koreans; their behaviors, what they want, and what they want others to think they want. Floating in a sea of self-photography, compact mirrors, and cell phones, I read a book (right now, Children of Jihad, which is a pretty sweet book I must say), upload resumes, and try my best to remain sane. Unfortunately or fortunately for me – I haven’t decided which, yet – my genetics do a pretty damn good job of making me look Korean. I don’t get the stares, comments, or cheery “hellos” that my other colleagues do, but I do get an opportunity to live in Korea and see their citizens in their “natural habitat.”

Korea has an interesting dynamic, which can starkly contrast the American way and, at the same time, seem markedly similar. In my attempt to find a Western outlet to do some work, I find many young and middle-aged Koreans performing their own differing rituals. While at one end, you find Koreans studying with a laptop and textbook like at any university throughout the world; on the other, you will find Korean couples wearing their most-stunning Sunday attire, taking photos of themselves and their friends with cell phones, digital cameras, and DSLRs. People go to hang out, eat cake, try on jewelry, and actively participate in the Korean lifestyle.

What is this lifestyle? Who participates in it? And why Starbucks?

Koreans are an extremely image-based society. The opinions of others will often trump their own beliefs and desires, leading to a culture where most people – or those intent on living it – will live the same lives. High-heeled shoes (yes, shoes) are a strong representation of this mentality. In a society where image is everything, women try to look their best at all times. But this often results from societal-based norms and pressures.

Many months ago, I ate lunch with a friend who attends Ewha Women’s University in Seoul. She and I met while I was in San Diego, and we decided to catch up during my time in Korea. I couldn’t resist asking her what she missed about America, what she missed about Korea, and her comparisons of the two. I still remember her saying, “I miss wearing flip-flops.”

“Really? Flip-flops?” I asked.

“Yeah, I could wear them anywhere.”

“Can you wear them here?”

Apparently not. In Korea, she explained, women can frequently find themselves victims of random criticism when wearing flip-flops or other types of plain shoes. As a result, girls often wear high-heeled shoes to class. But the classroom is not the only place: Korean women can be found hiking local trails and mountains with these shoes. The only thing that comes to my mind is an Achilles injury from taking on a few of these mountains wearing pink, rhinestone-encrusted, pumps.

This Korean lifestyle isn’t just for college students; you can easily find the young and old contributing to this culture. Whether it’s a pre-pubescent teenager fixing herself in front of a reflective surface or an older adjumma bathed in powder and mascara, it’s evident everywhere. Today, I find it in one of the more, iconic Western establishments in this Eastern megalopolis.

“I always wondered why apartment names are always in English,” my friend, Minseo, once asked while at a sleepy park in Incheon. We were surrounded by several developing condominiums, each one advertising their unique English name. But in a country that is two-percent foreign (over half of whom are from China), it may seem rather strange that locals are bombarded with and forced to adopt a different language. Yet, the reasoning behind this is simple: the Korean elite embrace English things.

In Korea, fluency in English is highly-regarded and often symbolizes intelligence. Certain organizations will use a candidate’s level of English to help determine their overall ability. Students from Seoul’s Yonsei University frequently mentioned that major corporations require high scores on English exams, even for positions where the language is never used. This obstacle trickles down to young adolescents, whom dedicate countless hours to prepare for their inevitable examinations.

This quest for English-mastery is found in late-night academies packed with youngsters hoping to outperform their peers; it is seen on the subways where people, young and old, bury their faces in vocabulary books and pocket dictionaries; it is heard on the radio and television where pop stars and TV programs force little bits of English into an otherwise Korean affair; even more discreetly, it can be found in the clubs and bars where foreigners become highly sought-after commodities. Starbucks is merely a symbol for what Koreans desire and hope to achieve.