Pale faces. Straight eyebrows.
Girls walk around with rollers in their hair in public.
Guys walk around with masks covering their nose and mouth (and I’m not sure it’s for the air pollution).
Guys wear foundation.
Girls’ hairs here are impeccably blow-dried, waved, or flipped.
Red-orange lipstick is very popular here.
I walk down the road, and I see a visible, consistent, pattern of young adults staring at other young adults doing the down-up, check-out thing.
There is a pressure to be “thin,” 105 – under thin. In a moment of relapsed insecurity and all things folly, I think to myself, “thank god I’m tall. It stretches me out.
Speckled on the streets, faces pass me by, similar to the ones I’ve seen on the ads which have accompanied me up the escalators many a commute in Gangnam.
In good humor, I ask myself, “would I have survived in this environment of intense scrutiny over appearance?”
(as a young girl, surely not.)