Seoul is entrancing, bizarre, slightly unnerving.
There are streets lined with plastic surgery clinics, vaginal rejuvenation centers, so many K-Beauty shops, and bomb shelters. It’s an unusual dichotomy, because the city is so unnaturally alive, but also in imminent danger. It’s like Seoul is a superlative of every asian country I’ve been it. It strives to be more lively then Shanghai, more technology-forward than Japan, more raucous at the dinner table than Thailand, more obsessed with beauty, larger and grander with the metro, bigger and bolder with its drinking culture, just an unending stream of superlatives hurled joyously from every possible direction.
I came to Seoul on my own for the first 1.5 days, because I needed to leave earlier than my friends, since D and I were leaving for Rome in a few days (I’m there now! Ciao!) I spent the first two days exploring and the next few days drinking as much soju as I could mix into my beer. I also spent the first few days buying as much skincare as I could fit into my carry-on without going over the weight limit. I tried to buy into the gospel of the 13-step skincare system and I’m about a week into jumping full steam into it.
I sort of love how open people here are about plastic surgery: the clinics are almost always super prominently labeled on the streets and the subway is littered with
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