"Oh, you're Korean? I thought you were some other race because your skin is so dark. Most Koreans have such lovely, white skin!"
I nodded, smiled, and gently shut the door in the bellhop's face, so that I wouldn't have to see his wide grin as he made wildly inappropriate and offensive comments about my appearance. I'd just checked into the hotel for the LA leg of my book tour in 2021. I was exhausted, dehydrated, and a little cranky, and was not inclined to politely indulge a chatty discourse on the gradients of skin tone that comprise the Korean complexion, despite what K-dramas might have you believe.
As a general rule, I don't like it when people openly question my Korean-ness. Not to sound dramatic, but it's hard growing up as a Korean kid in America. There's an overwhelming desire to belong to something or to somewhere, and yet the resounding rejection from both America and Korea can be, well, a lot! My appearance, language, and foods automatically rendered me ineligible to claim myself as a "red, white, and blue American!" But, I found the same true when I went to Korea as a 10-year-old. The fact that I read English books, spoke English, and spent the entire summer on a slightly obsessed pursuit of Doritos made me decidedly NOT Korean.
A childhood with that sort of displacement can make seemingly innocuous comments that question your identity a little annoying. But, of course, it was more than that. It wasn't just the half-joking skepticism at my ethnicity. It was the fact that he commented so openly on the darkness of my complexion as somehow exclusionary. How could I be Korean when my skin is so not Korean?
Growing up, it was made very clear to me by mostly my still-living-in-Korea relatives that having clear skin was important, but having white skin was crucial. Especially as a woman. When I was old enough to start using some of my mother's creams and powders on my face, I was taught to value adjectives like "whitening." Both my mother and I had darker complexions, because we both take after her father (i.e., my grandfather was definitely on the darker end of the spectrum), and therefore, it was especially important that we pay attention to protecting our skin from the sun, lest it grow too dark.
I remember one summer, my Korean aunt warned me against spending too much time outdoors: "You'll come home a [insert different ethnicity that I won't say here because it is appallingly racist]!"
Anyone who claims that colorism is not an integral part of Korean beauty ideals is lying. As is the case in many East Asian countries, Korea views "dark skin as an indicator of laborer status, and light/fair skin is believed to be associated with wealth and is upheld as a standard of beauty." (Nelson, Kenya, "Measuring Anti-Black Sentiment in South Korean English Education" (2021).) Indeed, "fair skin [is] especially important for women who desire to be more marketable for marriage." (Id.)
Of course, colorism isn't exclusive to East Asian countries. India's caste system is premised, in part, upon the same notion that darker skin is a proxy for laborer status and thus a lack of wealth. Wealth is desirable and thus lighter skin is equally desirable. History is rife with examples of how such a seemingly innocuous set of assumptions can create perniciously infirm societal structures, none more evil than its deployment as a justification for slavery.
And that is how colorism becomes inextricably entwined with anti-blackness, even in those nations that are largely monoethnic, like Korea. Whether or not the people of Korea were aware of the extent to which colorism was employed to dehumanize millions of people in the United States and elsewhere prior to the abolition movement, there isn't a single person in Korea today who can claim ignorance of the atrocities premised upon dark skin.
One great quote I read in my research was by a Black American teacher in South Korea: "[N]ot only had the Black body of Americans been colonized, but the gaze of the Korean had been additionally colonized, helping deem me and other Black teachers beneath the Western, American, blonde-hair, blue-eyed teacher." (J. Jackson, "Meditating Gunrunner Speaking Part I: Black Male Journey Teaching in South Korea," 2016.) Is it possible that some people just want to have whiter skin because they like whiter skin? Yes, I suppose it is, in the same way many fair complexioned people might wish for a JLo-esque bronziness. But, it is disingenuous, at best, to suggest that Korean ideals of beauty have not, in part, adopted the anti-blackness that colorism likely originated from and certainly reinforced.
The past several months have been a new study in leadership for me. I've rediscovered aspects of my character I'd nearly forgotten about since pulling out of BigLaw. I still very much value organization, time management, and efficiency. Every week, I put together a written, pdf'd agenda for our little company, to ensure our weekly meetings don't turn into a bloated tangent-fest (something I'd witnessed enough to hurl during quarantine). I realized while writing a recent agenda that I'd had to lead multiple meetings as the vice-chair of the Firm's national bankruptcy and restructuring group. It was there I learned to value people's time as much as my own, ensuring that no one person unreasonably monopolized the meeting with unproductive expositions. Because in BigLaw, every .1 hour that doesn't go toward our billable hours requirement is precious and anyone who would forget that is unlikely to keep her title.
But as The Korean Vegan, I've grown acquainted with the person I am when no one's looking. I hate racism so much it keeps me up at night. I want to believe that most people are good people, compassionate people. I cannot STAND when life gets unfair. It makes me angry and sad and sometimes even hopeless. All of those things show up in spades in the work I get to produce, artistically and creatively, in The Korean Vegan. But how does that show up as the captain of a k-beauty brand?
I hate lying. I'm really bad at it. Hiding the truth causes me more anxiety than dealing with the fall-out of the truth. And the truth is K-beauty is still grappling with how to be "inclusive" of all people of all sizes and of all colors, including my own. I am not the "ideal" model for a k-beauty brand. I would NOT be permitted to be the face of my own brand in South Korea, because doing so would practically guarantee its demise. But here, on my home turf, I have an opportunity to push that boundary beyond what was originally thought possible or even desirable:
Vegan.
Cruelty-free.
K-beauty.
For everyone.
