Time to sex up Hanbok

By Andrew Salmon

Taiwan, 1959. A reporter for "The Korea Republic" (the predecessor of an English language publication that exists today) visited a museum in Taipei.

There, he was incensed ― appalled ― to view a sculpture of a bare-breasted Korean peasant woman. Puce-faced with indignation, he complained to management, insisting that no Korean maid would be so degraded as to flaunt her naked bosom. The exhibit was a national insult!

Uproar ensued. Eventually, the statue was removed. A more conservative exhibit, officially supplied by the Korean government, replaced it.

Fast forward to 2002. An expensive album of historic National Geographic photographs entitled "Korea The Hermit Nation," sponsored by a local educational publisher, appeared. In its afterword, the young journalist of 1959 admitted his error. Older and wiser, he had seen countless period photographs ― several of which appeared in the National Geographic volume - portraying the same thing: The hanbok of late Joseon/early modern Korea, as worn by married peasant women, did indeed, exhibit the boobs.

The reporter was a victim of mid-20th century mores. Not only was he ignorant of the dress of rural Joseon, if he had ventured beyond the metropole and into the countryside of the 1950s, he could have seen the fashion he claimed did not exist, first hand.

Fast forward to 2016. The hanbok has, again, become "popular." In the environs of Seoul's downtown palaces can be seen parties of delicately prancing, hanbok-clad maidens. Every few steps they stop and snap a selfie.

I have problems with this scene ― and it has nothing to do with the lack of bare bosoms. After all, their faux hanbok are not copies of peasant costumes, but of the carefully coiffured, tradition-laden court ladies.

My problem is that these 21st century hanbok wearers, predominantly Korean and Chinese, are not paying homage to real historic culture. Their hanboks are "rent-‘em-by-the-hour" selfie bait.

The costumes are not bespoke silk, they are cheap polyester reproductions, and a hanbok designer I know claims that they are worn all wrong. More critically, none of these young women wear them as fashion items – in fact, they deride them. After a few hours (and endless selfies), they ditch their rental hanbok and change back into T-shirts and jeans.

Granted, some old ducks do wear tailored hanboks for weddings. A handful of intellectuals wear them for dramatic effect. And museum attendants wear them for work.

And yes, there is the pajama-like "modern hanbok," but the only people I know who wear these baggy duds regularly are wait staff in restaurants, neo-traditional musicians, martial artists and a couple of overweight pals. Few wear this shapeless costume to work, around town or to the nightclub. Especially not fashionistas.

Harsh reality: The hanbok is dead to contemporary fashion.

And yet this costume ― its layering, its accessories, its colors, its patterns, its fabrics ― is a gorgeous piece of attire. The traditional seven-layered, silk hanbok is too inconvenient and delicate to be modern wear ― but separate, specific elements of it could work.

The traditional motifs of hanbok ― soaring dragons, prancing cranes, rising phoenixes, swirling clouds, scowling tigers ― are striking, lively and elegant designs. Could they not be added to modern T-shirts, blouses or handbags?

The norigae ― the ornaments worn on the front of hanbok ― are gorgeous. Could they not be added to modern dresses or trouser suits?

And what about the shape, the bodyline? The short jeogori jacket, worn over a T-shirt, would be an ideal navel-bearing accessory with jeans or shorts.

The dadae ― the ribbon worn around the boobs ― has applications to swimwear. And while it is rarely seen, the hanbok's sophisticated innerwear has erotic potential.

As a red-blooded fellow, I would love to see the bosom-baring hanbok of the peasantry return ― but that ain't gonna happen, given modern mores. (And even today, some locals ― ignorant of "The Korea Republic" reporter's experience ― posit, in online discussion, that no Korean woman would bare her bosom; surely, they insist, the subjects of period photos must have been bribed by decadent Westerners or Japanese!)

Still, I am irked that no modern designers, models, starlets or other fashion leaders that I know of are thinking of tweaks to traditional, aristocratic hanbok. They should. The high-end hanbok ― at least, elements of it, if not the whole costume ― has endless application, if only designers employed a bit of imagination.

Here lies the problem. So many elements of Olde Corea are treated with reverence, as if there can be no change or alteration. But if "traditional Korean culture" is relegated only to dusty museum exhibits, rolled out at weekend ceremonies, or worn on walks around reconstructed palaces, it is dead. To be relevant, it must be lived.

Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.

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