Summer is here.
I've stopped wearing dress clothes to work. They're too hot and whether or not I'm wearing a tie is of no consequence. The time for impressing my employers is over, anyway.
Shopping for clothes in Korea has yielded an exciting discovery: I share the exact dimensions of a tall Korean male. Young men here are definitely slimmer, by and large, and so I have been able to find khaki slacks and polo t-shirts for someone of my height and width. Not only that, but the pants were $10-15 and the shirts were $7 each. You simply can't find pants that cheaply at an equivalent store in Canada (Wal-Mart or Zellars are likely most comparable to the Lotte Mart where I was shopping), and although you might be able to find polos in a similar price range, they are tailored for the physique of the typical American Wal-Mart shopper. In such ill-fitting duds, I am left feeling like a mast on a ship wearing a sail, my slim athletic build draped in fabric meant for someone much broader. So it was quite a boon to find that though I am taller than the average Korean, I still share enough of typical Korean build to find clothing that fits me perfectly.
The last couple weeks I've been wearing my polo tees, and the students have taken notice. The average Korean, to quote the O.C., is "hairless like a seal." As a result, my forearm hair is the object of intense curiosity. While I'm helping them write their names in English, boys pet my forearm hair and say "Ohhh, very good!" and girls have bashfully stroked it and erupted in fits of giggles.
To a lesser extent, the boys have noticed that I have muscles. They fondle my triceps and give me praise similar to what I get for my ability to grow arm hair, then they ask me to flex so that they can observe my biceps. On one occasion, a boy lifted up my shirt to see my abs, and then was somewhat disappointed that I wouldn't let him capture them for posterity with a cell phone picture.
On the one hand, I appreciate the admiration for my gym efforts (although I can't say I understand being praised for hair-growing ability; I wonder, if I had tufts of back hair peeping over my collar, would they respond in the same way?). However, having my forearms petted and my muscles prodded has made me feel more like a zoo attraction than an English teacher. I'm still a sucker for flattery; the kids make me blush.
Shopping for clothes in Korea has yielded an exciting discovery: I share the exact dimensions of a tall Korean male. Young men here are definitely slimmer, by and large, and so I have been able to find khaki slacks and polo t-shirts for someone of my height and width. Not only that, but the pants were $10-15 and the shirts were $7 each. You simply can't find pants that cheaply at an equivalent store in Canada (Wal-Mart or Zellars are likely most comparable to the Lotte Mart where I was shopping), and although you might be able to find polos in a similar price range, they are tailored for the physique of the typical American Wal-Mart shopper. In such ill-fitting duds, I am left feeling like a mast on a ship wearing a sail, my slim athletic build draped in fabric meant for someone much broader. So it was quite a boon to find that though I am taller than the average Korean, I still share enough of typical Korean build to find clothing that fits me perfectly.
The last couple weeks I've been wearing my polo tees, and the students have taken notice. The average Korean, to quote the O.C., is "hairless like a seal." As a result, my forearm hair is the object of intense curiosity. While I'm helping them write their names in English, boys pet my forearm hair and say "Ohhh, very good!" and girls have bashfully stroked it and erupted in fits of giggles.
To a lesser extent, the boys have noticed that I have muscles. They fondle my triceps and give me praise similar to what I get for my ability to grow arm hair, then they ask me to flex so that they can observe my biceps. On one occasion, a boy lifted up my shirt to see my abs, and then was somewhat disappointed that I wouldn't let him capture them for posterity with a cell phone picture.
On the one hand, I appreciate the admiration for my gym efforts (although I can't say I understand being praised for hair-growing ability; I wonder, if I had tufts of back hair peeping over my collar, would they respond in the same way?). However, having my forearms petted and my muscles prodded has made me feel more like a zoo attraction than an English teacher. I'm still a sucker for flattery; the kids make me blush.