On looking for support…adventures in Seoul and the quest for the perfect bra.

Today I went looking for a bra. Nothing fancy. Nothing covered in rhinestones or loaded down with five inches of padding. I just needed a unit of cloth that would keep these extensions on the front of my chest under control. I thought this would be a simple enough quest, but I soon found out this was very naïve.
Have I mentioned how much the Koreans like bright and shiny objects? This goes for everything…including underwear. I felt like I had walked into a discoteca when I found a store specializing in women’s lingerie. I was first attacked by the sales woman who just stalked me as I searched through the goods in hopes that I might something functional rather than just decorative. Unfortunately, as I searched I felt my head start to spin with all of the glitter floating around my head and all of the padding pressing down around me. Most of these bra’s were stuffed to the rim. I can’t imagine how disappointed the men of Korea are upon removal of these over the shoulder boulder holders…and that is what they were. It wasn’t the breast that the straps are weighed down with but rather the massive amount of cotton-polyester blend strapped to the the front of it.
Maybe they can use this for toilet paper? There is never any toilet paper in the bathrooms here. That is the only reasonable explanation I could find for stuffing a bra with so much padding.
I had to leave. I soon came upon another store and I thought it might offer a bit of hope, but alas, my entrance was doomed from the beginning. I had to leave there as soon as I entered for fear that I might pass out from the all the sparkles and glitter that greeted my eyes and the really loud Korean pop music that assailed my ears. I persevered. I tried one more store.
Same story, minus the music but replaced with even more viligent shop keepers.
I turned up my I-pod and I stopped off at a café. I took a deep breath and decided to head back to the subway. Attached to the subway is a huge department store called Lotte mart. I thought, “what the heck, it’s worth a try.”
So in I went. I noticed less emphasis on glitter in this place and this gave me enough hope to continue on and find the women’s department. I lost a little bit of resolve when I passed by the shoe department and was once again assailed by tacky shoes with bows, buckles, glitter and of course a height and selection heels that exist to keep chiropractors in business. I was almost trampled by a mob of people coming down the escalator, but I am a fighter and finally I found the department I needed at the other end of the store.
My efforts would not be in vain here. I took a quick glance around and saw that yes, this was a place for sensible and serious bra shoppers. I had no idea how serious of a place this was until I was practically molested by the sales associate.
In a mix of charades and broken English I told her what I was looking for and with a tape measure in hand she whisked me off to the dressing room and measured me. It was a little forward but necessary. I figured the sizes are different in Korea, getting measured was a good idea. However, when I picked a few articles to try on this woman actually came into the dressing room with me. I’ve heard this happens with bra fittings but the language barrier between us made it too complicated for me to make a big deal out of it. I had finally found a few bras that didn’t scream “Las Vegas” or that could second as a flotation device. I wasn’t going to let those pass me by.
Not only did this sales associate proceed to put the bra on me, she totally pushed and pulled and moved around these flabs of flesh people call breasts until she felt they were situated properly. She did this with each fitting. She directed me with firm pointing and short grunts to take my shirt off, put it on, try this bra on, take this bra off…etc. She was just so matter of fact about it I couldn’t protest. Maybe it was just because it was the end to a long weekend and I was feeling a little punchy from all of the glitz that had assailed me earlier, but I found myself just smirking. It’s funny what becomes acceptable when you become a stranger in a strange land. It should have been super awkward. I should have felt shy at the very least, but this was this woman’s job and she took it very seriously. Who was I too stand in the way of quality service?
I am proud to say that I succeeded in my quest. Not only did I find a functional, unpresumptuous concoction of wires, cloth and straps, I got a free fondling to boot.
Who can complain about that?
Peace!