Shopping

The second floor was women's clothing.

The moment I stepped off the escalator, I went looking for pants. All the displays at the store entrances held nothing but dresses and skirts. Beneath signs announcing the new fall arrivals, hemlines stretched on and on without end.

It wasn't until the third store that I found slacks and jeans hanging on a wall in the corner.

"This one, this one, and this one, please."

Black slacks, gray slacks, light-wash jeans.

The clerk took the pants I'd picked out.

"You're focusing on pants today, I see."

"Yes. I want things that are comfortable to wear."

"Then I'd recommend looking at a few tops as well."

"Tops?"

"Yes. Do you have anything at home you can wear right now?"

I thought about it for a moment.

A few skirts that had come with me from the start.

That was it. That was the whole wardrobe.

"I don't, actually."

"Then we'll build you up from the basics."

This time, the clerk didn't lead the way. I followed along, picking out pieces one by one.

A white shirt. A sky-blue blouse. A black knit. A gray knit. And two basic T-shirts for everyday comfort.

"Will this be enough?"

"Oh yes. Three pairs of pants go a long way with a set like this. The colors are all versatile, too, so you can mix and match them any number of ways."

I nodded. It really was easier to leave this sort of thing to the professionals. On my own, I might have walked out with five identical black outfits.

"I'll take these, then."

At that moment, the clerk's gaze dropped downward. Her eyes darted between the pants and tops I'd chosen, and the corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly.

"By the way, ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"Are you planning to buy only everyday clothes?"

"Excuse me?"

The clerk turned and called over two of her coworkers. The three of them huddled together, whispering while glancing my way for a good long while. Then, all at once, they turned back around.

Their faces were resolute. Battle-ready, even.

"Ma'am. We simply cannot let this go."

"Let what go?"

"That face, that figure — and you're only buying pants? It's a tragedy. An absolute waste."

"A waste, you say?"

"You simply must try these on as well."

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the clerks began ferrying over armfuls of clothing.

A gauzy chiffon dress. A knit dress with thin open-shoulder straps that clung softly to the body. A flared skirt that made the waist look waspish. And something shimmering.

"What's that one?"

"A dress, ma'am. For when you attend parties."

"I don't attend parties."

"You will. Trust me, you will."

The clerk's eyes brimmed with absolute conviction.

I had spent thirteen years in sales. I knew better than anyone exactly what tone of voice and what expression to wear when recommending something to a customer. I could tell whether someone was chasing their quota, clearing out old inventory, or genuinely believed the product suited the customer.

The look in these women's eyes was the last kind. Which made it that much harder to refuse.

"Just try one on. Just once, I promise."

And so I found myself herded into the fitting room.

I slipped on the chiffon dress and stood before the mirror. The woman in the glass blinked back at me with wide eyes. The pale sky-blue fabric flowed lightly down along her body, past long black hair and bare white arms. She looked like she'd just walked off the cover of a magazine.

This is straight-up cheating.

I was a 43-year-old man on the inside, yet the woman in the mirror was so pretty it felt almost unfair.

The moment I drew back the curtain and stepped out, all three clerks clapped their hands over their mouths. Even a clerk from a neighboring store stopped mid-stride to stare.

"You see, ma'am? If you don't wear this, the whole world suffers a loss."

"The whole world, now?"

"Yes. The whole world."

Next came the knit dress. Then the flared skirt. With every change of clothes, the clerks' admiration grew louder — eventually it escalated into full-blown applause. Face burning, I fled back behind the curtain each time.

Finally, true to my salesman roots, I attempted to negotiate.

"I'll definitely buy the three pairs of pants. That's non-negotiable."

"Then keep the tops you picked earlier, and we'll just look at three skirts and three dresses. That's all."

"Really, just that much?"

"Yes. The formal dress, you only have to try on."

I considered it briefly.

"Fine. Let's do that."

In thirteen years of sales, I had never once been persuaded this cleanly.

While I waited at the register, the clerk kept slipping things into my shopping bags. Socks, hair ties, perfume samples, a small pouch.

"I didn't buy any of these."

"They're gifts with purchase."

"This many?"

"It's your first time visiting us today. Consider it our treat."

She said it with a smile, and from beside her I caught another clerk muttering under her breath. We never hand out this much normally.

I pretended not to hear and bowed my thanks with a smile. The clerk then tucked in one more hair tie.

Next up: shoes.

The moment I entered the shoe store, I made for the low-heeled loafers and sneakers. Comfortable shoes were the best shoes — a truth I'd learned the hard way over thirteen years of pounding the pavement from one client office to the next.

Then someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned to find the clerk from the women's clothing floor upstairs, who had trailed along under the pretext of carrying my shopping bags.

"Oh, ma'am! One moment."

"Now what?"

"You remember those dresses you bought? Sneakers won't look bad with them, exactly, but wouldn't you like to see some other shoes too?"

This time, at least, she didn't drag me anywhere. She simply brought out a few pairs and laid them before me.

"These strappy sandals pair beautifully with the chiffon dress."

"Ankle boots would work nicely with the knit dress."

"And these Mary Janes are comfortable with the flared skirt — low heel and all."

Then, at last, she produced a single glittering pair of high heels.

"And for the formal dress, we have something like this."

"There's no way I could wear those."

"You don't have to buy them. Just try them on once."

I stared at the heels. "I really will only look."

"Of course."

The clerk knelt down in front of me, offering me the shoes to try. Then she reached out to cradle my foot and slip a sandal on for me. I yanked my foot back on pure reflex.

"N-no, that's all right. I'll put them on myself."

For thirteen years, I had always been the one on his knees. Kneeling before client CEOs, before department heads, before customers. Having someone kneel in front of me was something I could not get used to, no matter what.

"Please stand up. Your knees will hurt."

I took the clerk by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She stared at me, dumbfounded.

"Oh — yes. Thank you."

From behind, I caught the other clerks whispering.

"First VIP I've ever seen worry about a clerk's knees."

"They say truly wealthy families raise them humble."

I was chaebol-tier rich now, sure — but I'd been an ordinary office worker once. Nobody knew the ache of worn knees better than I did.

In the end, my shoe count grew by several pairs. I kept the sneakers and loafers, and added the strappy sandals, the ankle boots, and the Mary Janes. The glittering heels I refused to the very end.

"Those I truly cannot wear."

"Understood. Then whenever they come to mind again, we'll revisit the question."

It was the clerk who gave in first, and I was grateful for it.

I was on my way out of the shoe store when she called after me once more.

"Ah, ma'am! One more thing."

I stopped. "What now?"

Grinning, she pointed to a nearby hosiery corner. "You bought that knit dress, remember? If you're going to wear it with the ankle boots, a pair of black tights would come in handy."

"Tights?"

"Yes. You can certainly go bare-legged, but when the weather turns chilly, black tights keep the look clean."

I picked up one of the black packages hanging from the display. "Do these come in sizes too?"

"They do. This one should be right for you, ma'am."

The clerk selected one for me, and I turned the package over in my hands, front to back. Honestly, I couldn't tell what made any of them different.

"Will one be enough?"

"If it's your first time, I'd keep two on hand. Once a pair runs, you can't really wear it anymore."

"Runs?"

"If it catches on a fingernail or you pull too hard, the threads can come loose."

I looked down at the package again. To my eyes it was just thin fabric.

"Then... how exactly does one put these on?"

The clerk paused for a beat. "Is this your first time wearing tights?"

"Yes."

Her gaze lingered on my face for a moment. "Ah."

Why does everyone keep finding everything about me so believable?

Suppressing a smile, she explained. "Don't grab the whole thing and haul it up in one go. You have to work them up little by little, starting from the toes."

"Little by little?"

"Yes. Honestly, it's much easier to watch a video than to have me explain it."

"A video?"

"Just search 'how to put on tights' on MuTube — there are plenty."

I took out my phone and opened the memo app.

I stared at the screen for a good while. Forty-three years of life, and I never imagined I'd be taking notes on this.

"I'll take two, please."

"Certainly."

And so two pairs of black tights joined the haul. Knit dress, black tights, ankle boots — according to the clerk, wearing all three together was the move. I recited it once in my head. If I forgot, I'd only have to ask all over again.

I was about to walk right past the handbag store when a voice called out from behind.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

I stopped. "Yes?"

"Do you have a bag?"

"A bag?"

The clerk glanced at the shopping bags hanging from my hands. "Yes. When you're out and about in the clothes you bought today, having a bag of your own makes things much easier."

I thought for a moment. Phone, wallet, car keys — until now, shoving everything into my pockets had done the job just fine. But picturing the dress and skirts I'd just bought, I doubted those garments had any real pockets to speak of.

"Good point."

"If you'd like, shall I bring out just one everyday option for you?"

This time it was me who nodded. "Yes. Just one."

The clerk brought out a soft brown leather bag — a structured, understated tote. No flashy logo, no loud embellishments.

"This one's lovely for daily use."

I took the bag and studied it for a long moment. "Is this really all that special?"

"It goes well with almost any outfit, and the size is just right."

"It's just a bag, though."

The clerk laughed. "It is just a bag."

"Then why is it so expensive?"

Her smile stiffened for an instant. "Well... it's very fine leather."

I turned the bag over and checked the inside too. "Phone and wallet would fit, I suppose."

"Yes, with plenty of room to spare."

"Then this one will do."

"Then this is the one for you."

I thought it over briefly. "Yes. I'll take this one, please."

The moment the clerk began wrapping it up, a small chain shoulder bag hanging on the display caught my eye.

"What about that one?"

"That's for when you're wearing a dress or dressing up a bit."

"It does look nice."

"Would you like to try it on?"

I slipped the little chain bag over my shoulder and checked the mirror. It looked better than I'd expected.

"I like this one."

"Then it's fine to take a second one. It's not a necessity by any means."

"No, I'll take this one too."

The clerk smiled with a hint of surprise. "Of course."

And so I ended up with two bags: one square-cornered brown tote for everyday, and one small chain shoulder bag to go with dresses.

At the register, the clerk said, "Two should serve you well for now. If you ever find you need something else, you can always add to the collection later."

I accepted the receipt. "I bought more than I was planning to."

"That's only natural, building your first proper wardrobe. Now that you have the basics, you won't need to shop for a good long while."

Oddly enough, those words put my mind at ease. I still knew next to nothing about handbags. But one thing I was beginning to understand: women's clothes apparently didn't come with enough pockets. And I was starting to see why bags were a thing.

The last stop was the lingerie store.

This one I could not put off any longer. I had been wearing the same set for six days now — hand-washing it every morning, hanging it up, waiting for it to dry. This was the limit.

The problem was that my feet refused to carry me through the entrance. Pink lighting. Lace. Mannequins.

I walked past the storefront. Made it three steps before ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turning around. Came back to the entrance. Walked past it again. On my third round trip, a clerk emerged from inside the store. She looked to be in her forties.

"Miss, won't you come in?"

"Ah, I, um — that is—"

"Come on in. We don't bite."

Smiling, she held the door open for me, and I drifted inside as if pushed.

Lingerie, everywhere I looked. It hung from every wall — lace-trimmed pieces, delicate thin straps, riotously colorful sets. Not knowing where to look, I settled on the ceiling. The ceiling lights were pink too. My face went hot.

For forty-three years, the lingerie section had been a place to walk past. In department stores, the moment this corner came into view, I'd never known where to put my eyes and just stared at my phone instead.

And now here I was, standing in its very heart. As a customer, no less.

"What are you looking for today?"

"Ah, just... something ordinary, please."

"Do you know your size?"

"I'm not sure, actually."

"How about what you're wearing right now?"

"Well. About that."

I chose my words carefully. I knew exactly what the problem was — I just had no idea how to say it out loud.

"It's just... uncomfortable. It feels kind of tight, and it keeps riding up."

The clerk looked at me. Then her gaze dropped briefly downward before rising again. "Ah."

Two syllables, yet they contained everything.

"Miss, that size doesn't fit you at all. Let me measure you. Right this way."

She led me into the fitting room, her tape-measure hand moving with practiced ease. Then the tape swung around behind my back and closed beneath my chest.

"Eek!"

A shriek escaped me before I could stop it.

"Oh my, did I startle you?"

"N-no, I'm sorry. I'm just not used to this sort of thing yet."

Holding back a laugh, the clerk readjusted the tape. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Sorry for yelling."

"Just relax. Take a nice deep breath."

The tape wrapped around me once more. I squeezed my eyes shut and stared fixedly at the ceiling. The pink lights seemed to be spinning in circles.

When the measurements were done, the clerk recited the numbers — numbers whose meaning I couldn't begin to decipher.

"Miss, you'll need to go up a size from what you have on. The band is far too tight."

"So that's why it's been so uncomfortable."

"Yes. The cups are too small and the band doesn't sit right either. I'll bring several sizes for you to try."

She brought out a selection. I checked the fit, she made the adjustments, and she even explained how to wear them and how to care for them. Washing, whenever possible, in a laundry net or by hand. Air-drying rather than a machine dryer. I nodded along and memorized it all. This was, after all, the same brain that had spent thirteen years memorizing client requirements.

As I came out to pay, she added one last thing. "Next time, don't hesitate — just come right in."

"I will."

Stepping out the door, my face was still burning. I clutched my shopping bags tight and walked fast. Those were the longest twenty minutes of my thirteen years in the working world. And yet, somehow, my shoulders felt lighter than before.

I ate lunch in the basement food court. Past all the glitzy restaurants, tucked into a corner, was a gukbap diner. Fittingly for a department store, the place was spotless. Beef soup sat at the very top of the menu.

12,000 won.

"Ridiculous."

I said it, then laughed. I'd just spent a fortune upstairs on clothes, shoes, and handbags — and yet a single bowl of gukbap at 12,000 won still made my hands tremble.

The soup was good. Not as good as the place my clients and I frequented, but piping hot all the same. I ladled up spoonfuls while tapping the toes of my new loafers against the floor.

"Even as a woman, gukbap is still gukbap."

Strangely, I loved that.

It was three in the afternoon by the time I got back to the penthouse. The moment I entered the lobby, a staff member came hurrying over — the same one who'd dropped the papers that Friday morning.

"Miss Yoon Seo-rin, the deliveries from the department store have arrived. We've had them brought up to your residence."

"Oh, thank you."

Inside my home, shopping bags and boxes stood stacked in a mountain at the center of the living room. I plopped down right in front of them.

Three pairs of pants. A shirt, a blouse, knits, and a few T-shirts. Three skirts and three dresses. One shimmering formal gown. Sandals, boots, and flats. Two pairs of black tights. Two bags. Several little pouches stuffed with freebies.

I hung the clothes in the walk-in closet one by one. The once-barren racks slowly filled. The three pairs of pants and the tops took their place along one side, and beside them the skirts and dresses lined up in a row. The three lonely skirts that had been there from the beginning didn't look quite so lonely anymore.

I stood for a long while in front of the glittering dress.

"I don't have anywhere to wear this."

Then I looked around the closet, now ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brimming with clothes. "Starting to look like an actual person lives here."

Just then, Yoon Seo-rin's phone rang. An unknown number.

No — not unknown. It was the number that had been piling up missed calls since Friday.

This time, I answered.

"H-hello?"

"Is this Miss Yoon Seo-rin? We finally got through!"

A young woman's voice — equal parts relief and nervousness.

"This is Kim Do-hwa, your dedicated personal banker at the bank's VIP Center. I've been hoping to greet you in person regarding your account. Would tomorrow possibly work for you?"

Her voice was trembling. I supposed that was what happened when you called a customer holding 2 trillion won for the first time. It reminded me of Park Min-goo the rookie, thirteen years ago, dialing a major client for the very first time.

"Yes. I'll come to you tomorrow morning."

"I'm sorry — you'll come to us? The policy is for us to visit you."

"That's fine. I'd like to look around a bank anyway."

Silence on the other end of the line. Then, hesitantly: "Ah... could you please hold, just, just one moment?"

After a pause, the banker spoke up again, carefully. "I do apologize. This is a first for us... Would you mind if I checked with my supervising manager and called you back?"

"Of course. Go right ahead."

Five minutes or so after I hung up, the phone rang again. Same number.

"Hello?"

"Miss Yoon Seo-rin, this is Kim Do-hwa. I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."

Her voice had steadied somewhat since the last call.

"If you could visit us tomorrow at ten in the morning, our supervising manager will be there to greet you as well. Would that be all right?"

"Yes, that's fine."

"Then we'll see you tomorrow at ten."

"See you then."

I hung up. Apparently, simply going to a bank was an event of enormous proportions.

Side. Han Ga-eun

Sitting in my car in the parking garage, I hugged the shopping bag to my chest.

A camel-colored coat. One I'd had my eye on since last week. It had ended up in my hands after all — and yet I wasn't happy about it one bit. Because it had been yielded to me.

"If you were looking at it first, I'll step aside for this one too."

That voice wouldn't leave my ears. Clear and soft, offered up without a trace of anger, as if it truly meant nothing at all — I could picture her holding the coat out to me. We were supposed to be the same age, too.

"Yoon Seo-rin."

I turned the name over in my mouth. And every time I gritted my teeth, that face floated up along with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it, which was infuriating.

Until two years ago, our family had lived in a basement apartment. That was before Dad's joke of a cryptocurrency purchase multiplied several hundredfold overnight. After that, we moved into a Gangnam apartment, and I started buying luxury goods.

I bought, and bought, and bought again. But every time I went to gatherings of the wealthy, it was the same story. Smiles to my face, whispers behind my back.

"That's the crypto girl, right?"

"Look at all those logos. So obvious."

So I bought even more. Bigger logos. Higher ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠price tags. All so no one would look down on me.

And yet today, that woman had worn not a single logo. Just an oversized jacket thrown on carelessly, and sneakers. Even so, the manager had come running to her. They'd pulled new arrivals from the back — stock that wasn't even on display yet. I had spent tens of millions of won at that same store this month alone.

So that's what the real deal looks like.

I took out my phone and searched her name. Yoon Seo-rin.

Nothing came up. No social media, no articles, not a single photo. My fingertips went cold.

"They say true old-money families never appear online."

Something Mom had picked up at those rich-people gatherings. Truly established families never let their children's faces show in public, apparently. Daughters of such houses wore clothes with no logos and the staff recognized them first anyway; even when they were angry, they smiled.

That woman today had been exactly that.

"I'm sorry. If you were looking at this one first, I'll step aside."

She'd smiled as she said it. Like an apology. No — like she was doing me the favor. When that smile floated up in my memory, my chest sank. My face grew hot.

"It's just frustrating. That's all. Frustrating."

I buried my face in the shopping bag. The new coat smelled wonderful.

Back home, I tried the coat on in front of the mirror. It was beautiful. It was the coat I'd wanted all along.

But the image of that woman standing there holding this coat kept overlapping with my own reflection. How stunning the camel would have looked against all that long black hair. If she'd smiled wearing this coat with that face...

"...It would've looked prettier on her."

Only after saying it out loud did I register what I'd just said.

"AAAAGH!"

I flung myself onto the bed and screamed into the pillow. After a long while of screaming, I lay there hugging the pillow, glaring at the ceiling.

"Next time, I'll be the one who gets first pick of the new arrivals."

No. Wait.

Why on earth can't I stand the thought of losing to her?

Fin.

— Han Ga-eun