“I don’t know what this has to do with buying pants.”
She lifts her eyebrows at me. “You should think about it, then.”
“Sometimes pants are only pants.” I check the time. We’re getting behind on the schedule I have planned. I can make do with the clothes I have. “Anyway, yesterday we went all historical with Gyeongbokgung Palace and the museums, so today I thought a walk along Cheonggyecheon Stream. Then lunch at Gwangjang Market and a surprise for the afternoon.”
“Nope. We’re going shopping.”
“But…” I think of the itinerary I’ve set out.
“For an hour,” she wheedles. “The stream and all those cute places will be there after we shop. Think of it as an experience.”
“We can shop in Toronto.”
“Trust me, not like this.”
I catch sight of another one of my plain black shirts. “Okay. Only for a bit, though.”
Hana leaps out of my room, voice echoing down the hall. “Let’s do one of Jihoon’s ridiculously expensive masks before we go.”
With our skin fully hydrated, we go downstairs, where Hana enters an animated discussion with Yeong, who generously agreed to drive us around. The two of them check their phones like they’re planning a heist before Hana nods and we head off.
“We’re going shopping in Myeongdong.” She gives me an appraising look. “There’s a lot, so it might be a little overwhelming for a baby consumer.”
I let that pass. “I don’t even know what I want.”
She’s almost bouncing. “You want to look good for Jihoon tonight.”
“It sounds bad when you phrase it like that.”
“Jihoon’s seen you in sweats, and he likes you, but you want to blow his socks off.”
I do want to, but I don’t want to admit that out loud.
“You want to kiss boring black goodbye,” she continues.
“I like wearing black,” I protest.
“I saidboringblack. We can get you some interesting black.”
Interesting black seems like a contradiction, but I’m warming up to the whole idea. “I need new things for work. I don’t want to look like a lawyer when I go into Luxe. Or Hyphen.”
Hana glances over my hair, tied back in a smooth bun, and my nude lipstick. “Got it.”
During the rest of the ride, she pulls up various social media accounts to get a sense of what I like. It’s a frustrating exercise for both of us, since what I like and what I feel comfortable in are not the same thing. By the time we arrive at a bustling district filled with people and vertical shop signs, I’m certain this is a bad idea. Hana taps me on the shoulder. “It’s only pants,” she says.
Pants can be only pants. Me in new pants is still me. I cheer up.
Hana and Yeong map out a more fulsome plan of attack, alternately pointing or frowning at various stores. They turn to me and purse their lips, then Hana shakes her head. Yeong says something that makes Hana’s eyes widen, and they start nodding.
“This is so cool,” she whispers as Yeong gets on his phone.
“What is?” I’m suspicious because we have conflicting ideas on what counts as cool.
“There are salons that cater to idols, where they get their hair and makeup done.”
“No, Hana.”
“I don’t want to beg,” says Hana.