I happen to have many defining physical characteristics. I have long black hair that swings from side to side when I walk. I have big feet that look like mermaid fins. I have a nose dusted with freckles and a dimple on my right cheek. I have broad shoulders and a wide smile. I have long nails and a long neck. However, for a long, long time, I only saw the bulge of my stomach, the thick thighs, and the white stretch marks that line the side of my hips and the back of my knees. I hated those parts. I used to draw lines on my thighs with my highlighter imagining what parts of me I would cut off. A chunk of my thigh. A good portion of my hips. I hated my body. I always pictured my body as an egg, something I would escape somehow when the time was right. I thought, maybe, the body I’m in is only temporary and one day, magically, I will be blessed with stick skinny legs, a flat stomach, and a small face. It never happened. Even now, people around me don’t let me forget it. “Oh Estelle, you’re still young. You can lose weight.” “Estelle, here’s this diet plan I heard of. My friend told me she lost 10 pounds in a week.” Even worse, it was most often my family members who said such hurtful remarks. They would often coat their words in sugar, adding words like, “we say this because we care about you” or “we don’t want you to get diabetes”. My least favorite was when they said, “Imagine how much prettier you could be if you were thinner.” Others would just flat out insult me. “You’re fat and ugly.” “Fatty. You’ll never get a boyfriend at this rate.” Back then, I didn’t really think about the impacts their words had on me. I doubt even they understood how hurtful they were being. Talking about weight is as common as talking about the weather in my family. There was no tangible evidence that what they were saying or how I felt was genuinely taking a toll on me. I would laugh at their commentary; sometimes I would get mad. I tried not to care. Maybe it worked since I continued to eat.
Yet, a part of me withered away as I listened and believed. My self esteem was extremely low, and I hated looking at my body. Even though I love shopping, I would protest going shopping with my family because they would often comment about my clothing size or how I looked. Even when I went shopping with my friends, I would buy clothes a size smaller than my size so that I wouldn’t be the only “large” in the sea of “extra smalls”. It hurt enough that I was comparing myself to girls around me, but even my family compared my body to other girls. They would say, "At your school, I bet you're the biggest girl." Or if I was at a party, I would be asked, "Don't you think you're the biggest girl here?" It was as if the size of my body made me a freak of nature that didn't belong. The hatred I had for my body eventually poisoned my entire opinion about my identity. I hated myself. I felt worthless. Ugly. Unwanted. Every ounce of me that took up a space in the world seemed unneeded. I wanted to become anorexic. At least then, I would be thinner. At least then, I would finally be approved of. Even with these dark and troubling thoughts that would cross my mind, I still laughed, lived, and ate. A lot. So the bitter comments continued. The people who made comments grew from my immediate family members to relatives. Even at family gatherings, rather than asking me about my progress in school or the latest internship I had, they would advise me about weight loss solutions. As if my body was a problem. As I grew older, the demand for change on my physical appearance simply grew even more.
“Have you considered getting double eyelid surgery?” “I know a great place to get some work done.” Common to most Korean women, many of my female relatives have the double eyelid procedure done. Thus, it wasn’t a surprise for me to hear that suggested to me. With my small, monolid eyes, I did not meet the standards of Korean beauty. For me, my eyes were just another detail about my body that I detested. I considered getting the procedure; however, when given the opportunity to change myself “for the better”, I realized I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to change myself in order to conform to society’s standardized idea of beauty. Although they weren’t large and luminous like Kim Tae Hee’s or Anne Hathaway’s, they were my eyes and they made up who I am. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I started caring less and less about people’s opinion on my appearance or when I finally stopped comparing my body measurements to K-pop stars’, but before I knew it, my opinions started feeling far more important than others’. ‘Being fat isn’t the worst thing I can be.’ ‘Ice cream tastes amazingly delicious, and as an four-year athlete playing water polo and swimming, I deserve that second bowl of rice.’ I deserve to be comfortable in my own skin. People still talked. The comments I heard still stung. However, from then on, it was not because I thought what they were saying was true, but simply because they were being mean. Maybe I am fat. Some may agree and some may disagree. However, what is for certain is that regardless of how other people see my body, I love who I am. There are far better things for me to focus on than my weight. There are far more things to describe me than ‘fat’. I’m funny, I’m bubbly, I’m a great writer, and I travel a lot. I make some wicked pasta, and I can identify almost all Disney characters. I am the best at making my grandma laugh, and I read all the fairy tale books at my local library. I still have a bulge in my stomach, the same thick thighs, and the white stretch marks on my hips and the back of my knees. Yet, rather than letting those characteristics define me, I have accepted that those characteristics are a part of me. This is the body I have. I am thankful for my two eyes, my strong lungs, my beating heart, and my two hands that are helping me type this essay at this very second. I am also thankful for my pudgy stomach, my thick thighs, and all 5 foot 8 inches and 175 pounds that make up me. This is me. Like JK Rowling once asked, “Is ‘fat’ really the worst thing a human being can be? Is ‘fat’ worse than ‘vindictive’, ‘jealous’, ‘shallow’, ‘vain’, ‘boring’ or ‘cruel’?” I don’t think so.
Therefore, I wish to raise awareness about body image positivity in the Korean community. Within a population where a majority of the women are petite, and where slimness is glorified beyond reason, I believe that it is important to help our community recognize that beauty comes in all sizes, shapes, and form. As a homogenous country, unrealistic beauty standards are rigidly upheld within Korean society. From pale, translucent skin to extreme slenderness, beauty in Korea is formulaic rather than natural. Media only feeds this belief by broadcasting singers and actresses who go so far as to eat only boiled eggs and bananas in a day to maintain their body image. However, such procedures are normalized and is not something shocking to our population. Rather, people follow such unrealistic expectations. It is not uncommon to see plastic surgery ads all over streets in Korea, and just yesterday on TV, there was a commercial for a Korean plastic surgery clinic in Los Angeles. In fact, Korea has the highest rate of plastic surgery within the world. Plastic surgery is so normalized that girls in high school are offered double eyelid surgery as a graduation gift. If you choose not to conform, you are often dismissed or mocked. Whenever I go to Korea, even my own grandma rigidly enforces the belief that I need to lose weight in order to look pretty. At stores, there are times when I’m told that they simply do not carry my size. Thus, many women in Korea believe that they cannot be loved or seen as beautiful unless they modify their appearance via dieting or plastic surgery. As a Korean who does not conform with the beauty standards that I’ve grown up with, I plan on using my experiences to promote body positivity through my writing and in my future filming endeavors. Beauty standards change based on what is enforced by the media; by representing women of various appearances and interests, I hope to show that there is more than one way to be beautiful. Beauty can come in the forms of confidence or passion. Beauty can come from looking in the mirror and smiling at your reflection. Through accurate representation and awareness, I want women in the Korean community to be able to look into the mirror and love themselves for the way they are. I want their family and friends to look at them and ask about their latest hobby rather than their weight. I want them to realize that no matter what they look like, they deserve to be happy with who they are.
Great article on Korea's Unrealistic Beauty Standards
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