The Tale of the Countryside Princess
A couple weeks ago, I was late to get to Yongin, where I have morning history classes. I decided to take a taxi, which cost me a pretty, pretty penny, and since I don't know the way completely, the ajussi promptly got lost just after we got in the vicinity of the school.
We were wending our way around downtown Yongin at just before 8 in the morning. It's kind of countryside in patches, though, with pockets of people waiting around or on their ways to various points of access to buses and shuttle vans.
At the head of a three-way intersection, there was a lone, young agassi sashaying by, dressed to the nines in ghetto fabulous, country style. Seoul is the center for nearly everything in Korea, including especially fashion, as found in trendy neighborhoods such as Apkujeong, Myeongdong, as well as just about everywhere else in this bustling, getting hipper metropolis. In the countryside, girls generally try to follow the fashion, but the interpretations of what is hip ends up a little rougher, brighter, and worn overly long than in the capital city. In a phrase, the effects are just a bit more...rough...around the edges. The sass quotient is also a bit higher, often actively involving more gum-chewing, sideways sneers, and rolling of the eyes than even in notoriously sassypants Seoul.
Now, she was something else, though. She was countryside classy, as well as classically Korean, with a round face, pale skin, and uncut eyes; she had the standard agassi "straight perm" down to her back, with hair as bouncy as a Prell commercial. I remember her dressed in some pretty bright colors, with something like a bright yellow dress, stilletto aqua pumps, something like that; the colors aren't exact, but I just know that it wasn't matching like a mofo. Her makeup was caked on Twincake™ tight, a sheer finish against which contrasted a really gaudy eyeshadow; below her colors she had applied the standard-issue, Catwoman-style, staggered-length false eyelashes that made her look like a blinking Betty Boop. I believe I remember something like a bright blue half top or shawl that was supposed to match her shoes and eyes, but sort of hindered more than helped her efforts to harmonize. She was indeed chewing gum, and walking with a sway that only J-Lo had the gene expression to back up.
On the surface, she was, as my friend Ann might have described her, "To' up!" But somehow, she was pulling it off with a confidence that only Paris fashion models at a spring opening could manage. She was simply and sexily, country fabulous. At 8 in the morning, to boot.
Which is why I winced to myself as the ajussi pulled up to the curb alongside her. She was walking in the direction opposite from us, so we were impossible to miss. We were in a cab, one marked with "Seoul" on the front right side window, as many call taxis are, and obviously lost. The driver rolled down the front passenger window. I was sitting in the back.
"Excuse me, young lady!" he yelled in a loud yet friendly way that only seems to be possible to Korean middle-aged men, "I need to ask you for directions!"
What happened next was like poetry in slow motion. I knew it was going to happen, so I decided to enjoy the show. To someone not used to the "princess consciousness" (공주의식) that inevitably permeates female identity in Korea (something I define in a more general way that the more acute "princess complex" that Koreans often talk about), you might not know what to expect. And even if you did, unless you are truly, completely desensitized to it, an extreme manifestation of the phenomenon is not something you could ever imagine to be able to enjoy. The "show" was short and sweet, lasting no more than a second-and-a-half, but it made my morning.
Translated roughly: "됐거든!"
Without breaking her pigeon-toed, primary colored, fashion pump stride, she looked to the side and over her shoulder as she passed, while making an inaudible yet somehow visible click of her tongue as she proceeded to roll her eyes, finishing off the whole sequence with a flip of her hair that we could veritably feel pass through the very marrow of our poor, pathetic male souls. She seemed to then increase the amplitude of her hip wiggle while strutting off, seeming more than a bit irritated that we dared utter words at Her Hottedness directly and without permission.
If the taxi driver had been Black and I had been back in the US, I think he would have uttered a hearty, ebonics-laced, "Daaaaamn!" while musing to himself about the silliness of having even tried something as ridiculous as he had. As it happened, the taxi driver just made a surprised sound and started chuckling to himself. I then added, "I knew that was going to happen." He knew exactly what I meant. I had been kind of short-tempered with the taxi driver before, with me being late for school again, and this time it hadn't even been my fault. Well, technically, anyway.
But that little show was so strangely funny that we had to think of it as one of those rare moments in life that you strangely remember forever, like when I flicked a playing card across a large room at my friend, and he strangely didn't move as it landed right between the fingers of his closed fist, which had been resting on his knee. There were other people in the room talking, but only he and I saw it. It was like special effects, but it had really happened, like tossing a coin and having it land on its edge on the edge of a coffee cup. It's unlikely, but it can happen. And when you see something like that, you wish you had had it on video tape and are exasperated that the moment will never be duplicated in the universe. Ever.
This had been one of those moments.
So the day had suddenly taken a turn for the better. I arrived late to school, but in a strangely cheery mood. The driver, who had made an arduous, 60-minute trip from Seoul to the countryside, also seemed to be in much better spirits than his having struggled with directions and my constant fretting from the back seat would have seemed to make possible.
All thanks to a sassy girl from the countryside who had literally blown our hair back with her bitchy, hip-switching, heel-clicking superpowers. If the X-Men were real, she wouldn't need a costume or special equipment. Just an endless supply of Twincake™ compacts, a short skirt, and a stocked shoe closet, and she'd be ready to drop in the middle of the most scorched-earth, supervillian-laden, final Battle of Doom. With a laser-sharp, sidelong look, a single hair flip, eyeroll, and hip-switch, she'd have bodies flying away and falling before her in all directions. If she were to add a sly sneer to top it all off, the effect would probably be nuclear. This girl was, quite literally, the bomb.
You gets respect – a strange, mad respect, country princess!
So maybe, dear readers, if you are lucky enough to wander the area around downtown Yongin on a busy weekday morning, you might see Her, chewing gum and switching narrow hips like all getout. If you do, make sure to stop and ask her for directions. But hold your breath, batten down your pride, and secure any loose objects, because this perky princess plays for keeps.
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