There’s a Korean beauty shop in my home town. They’ve been in business since I was in 5th grade. I would go in there nearly every day. Wouldn’t buy anything most of the time, but I’d have good conversations with the owners and employees.
When I was 16, I had bought a shirt in Detroit. Well, more like a tank top. It was black, with some white frilly stuff going on. And my boobs were growing, so the shirt was stretching at the top.
So I was in the store one day, proudly wearing my black tank top. And Kim, the second owner, she kind of took me to the side. She told me how she remembered when I was a young girl, decent and whatnot. And she said she was disappointed in how I had been dressing lately. Now, I’ve never thought that I’d dressed inappropriately, but I felt embarrassed. My own mother hadn’t even said anything like that to me. And hear I am, in my own little world, completely oblivious about how I’m presenting myself to the world.
It’s something I think about. Often.