It's been ages (over a month) since I last posted. There have been countless experiences that I've wanted to cover here, but alas I'm subject to my own procrastination and thus be my downfall as a writer. In any case, this past week's experiences are definitely something to write home about. Anyone who knows me or my current situation would know that I'm currently residing in the Republic of Korea. As such, my career bares little resemblance to that which I'd dedicated myself to for the past several years: fashion. In my day to day life, it's impossible for me to renounce my love of the art of fashion and all that accompanies self-beautification (minus self-mutilation, like cosmetic surgery). Though I've left the building, and "hung up my hat" so to speak--solely because I am currently teaching a sea of Hangul-crunching urchins does not equal the demise of my life in fashion.
This brings me to my present state of being. As if hearkened by the beacons of my heyday, fashion has found me once again...and as usual, I've gladly acquiesced. Back in August, upon my return to Korea, I met a young Canadian woman named Denise while out with friends. I mentioned her in my previous post. We really took to one another, and it was mentioned that my past work had been in fashion and on-set beauty departments. Denise is a photographer and works with another ex-pat, an American Blasian (Korea and African American) named Michael. Michael has created a website representing Korean street fashion for foreigners entitled Feet Man Seoul (www.feetmanseoul.com). The site covers mainstream fashion, local social events, street fashion--among other topics, such as music and Korean pop culture. One night, while painting the town blood red, Denise drunkenly mentioned to me that she was working on a fashion magazine to be distributed circa Seoul fashion week. Of course she mentioned this knowing that I'd invite myself onto the project...which I did. I immediately asked, pleaded, begged to have a hand in on the baby and she said she'd she what her project partner thought. Only a few days passed and I was invited to meet Michael, offering my services as stylist on the project.
We met at Doota!, the enormous shopping complex at the Dongdaemun ("East Gate") area of Seoul. It was evening, and incredibly windy. I was running late, as usual, and I found them outside trying to fend off the tempestuous annoyance. For some reason we didn't immediately go inside and escape the frigid temperature. I think that was probably because once you enter one of these large shopping complexes talking becomes troublesome and conducting a deep conversation, or a meet and greet as this was, would prove nearly impossible. So we remained outside and chatted about the project. I asked questions, and though many responses were vague at best, I did see true passion and potential in their eyes and ideas. These two elements are strong legs to stand on.
In true form, I began to shoot off my mouth and offer my ideas on a silver platter. Though some of my supposed "gems" were promptly denied any place on this project, I understood my place quickly and relegated myself to it. Now that we'd satisfied ourselves with banter, we entered the building and began to scour the many levels for the number one item on our list: lingerie. Yes, this was to be a lingerie shoot. The concept of the magazine is basically this: a "look-book" of sorts, with glimpses of Seoul fashion week's shows, street fashion, a few articles, and a photo-story--which was our main focus on this meeting. This photo story followed an evening in the life of a scorned young woman, who leaves the throws of a hunky, young gentleman to prowl the streets clad only in what she's left in...her underwear. Edgy. Sexy. A new concept in Korean culture: a woman claiming her sexual prowess as power. I liked the idea and quickly began to create a story in my head, with fully flushed-out characters with legs to kill.
With this in mind, we stopped at a few lingerie kiosks and found nothing to our taste. In a place this big with so many trends and an incredible penchant for style turn-over, it becomes an overbearing game of hit or miss. Michael said he knew of a more risque vendor on the basement level, so we ventured down into the deep to look for what we hoped wouldn't be death by ruffles, or bludgeoned by padding (not to mention choking on glitter). We found the dark little corner he spoke of after scouring through the labyrinthine alleys of the make-shift shops. There we found undi's a plenty, many not to our liking, in fact...I'm shocked they'd be to any one's liking--except maybe a Russian hooker (but then again, we get a lot of those here). Our focus color was purple, the "it" color of the season, or brown--to play off the models golden tan. We found a few options we felt forced to like, and then finally came upon a few that we actually did envision on the 6 foot plus body of our model: Henna. Thankfully, Michael is nearly fluent in Korean so he managed to work-it with the saleswoman and finally we had our first piece; a surprisingly elegant, yet sexy, brown-sheen bra and french-cut panty set. This was the beginning of our journey into public nudity.
When we'd finished, we met up with one of Michael's longtime friends whom he'd not seen in nearly a decade. It was a quick and passionless reunion, but still it thwarted us off to dinner where we shared Uzbek food and beer. The food was good enough. Loads of meat. Similar to middle eastern food as well as Russian, but a bit bland for my palette. Nonetheless, the conversation was dynamic and I was sure this was a marriage of minds made in heaven. With enough time, patience, and arguing we'd make quite the team.
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