My Story

July 11, 2025.

My Story

Having worked in the same field for a long time, I’m often asked, “How did you get into this line of work?” and “Why did you leave Korea and end up living in the United States?” While my answer may be neither entertaining nor particularly inspiring, I offer it here. Perhaps it may serve as a modest testimony to a particular thread in the history of Korean dress research since the 1990s.

What led you to pursue this field?

I majored in Clothing and Textiles in college and later specialized in Korean dress history in graduate school. Typically, students in this field have shown talent in drawing, designing, or sewing from a young age—or at the very least, they enjoy those activities. But I had no talent for drawing or sewing, nor was I particularly creative. Drawing clothed human figures was especially difficult for me. It wasn’t unusual for me to sew something, undo it, and redo it three times just to get it right.

In high school, I loved math and dreamed of majoring in computational statistics at Seoul National University. But my college entrance exam score fell about five points short of the expected cutoff. Based on my score, I applied to the Department of Pharmaceutical Sciences, but missed the cutoff there too and was accepted into my second-choice major: Clothing and Textiles.

To be honest, I had originally planned to list Food and Nutrition as my second choice—mainly because I love to eat. While filling out my college application with my homeroom teacher, I told him this. He said, “Clothing and Textiles has better job prospects.” This was around 1986–1987, when Korea’s ready-to-wear garment industry was booming. Without giving it much thought, I replied, “Then please write down Clothing and Textiles.” And just like that, I entered the field through an unthinking, half-hearted decision—someone good at solving standardized test questions but with little understanding of the real world.

Clothing and Textiles encompasses all aspects of clothing, bridging science, the humanities, and the arts. Our professors encouraged us to find our place within this broad field. During my undergraduate years, I tried to discover my strengths but struggled due to a lack of both talent and interest. Finishing the program was a challenge. As graduation approached, I considered employment, but the idea of becoming a designer felt overwhelming. Since I was better at studying and exams, I applied to graduate school—and was accepted.

When it came time to choose a concentration, customer-centered marketing and visual merchandising were emerging as key trends in the growing ready-to-wear industry. I was initially drawn to fashion marketing by the charisma of Professor Lee Eun-Young and chose that path. But upon further reflection, I realized the field would likely require studying abroad. Having already found the move from Daegu to Seoul difficult, I didn’t feel confident about going overseas. At that pivotal moment, I made a last-minute switch to Korean dress history, which at the time I believed would not require studying abroad.

It wasn’t just that, though. Throughout the undergraduate studies, I have been skeptical about working “for fashion.” Even if I had the talent and created outstanding designs, what was the ultimate purpose? From a designer’s perspective, the goal is to produce high-value items, sell them at premium prices, and generate profit—replacing outdated trends with new ones to keep sales going. But aside from serving the vanity and luxury habits of the wealthy, I struggled to see deeper meaning in that cycle. In contrast, Korean dress history seemed to offer a more grounded and fulfilling path—one rooted in the exploration of cultural heritage.

There was one more reason. Korean dress history is undoubtedly a valuable field, but its research history is still relatively young; much of the material felt fragmented and difficult to comprehend. It raised more questions than it answered. I thought that someday, I might study the subject deeply enough to write a book that would make these complex topics more accessible. That aspiration continues to anchor me in this field.

Following the graduation of two master’s students, Kim Chan-joo and Cho Woo-hyun, in 1980 and 1981, I became the first student in a decade to pursue this specialization at Seoul National University. My advisor, Professor Lee Soon-won, accepted me into the program, emphasizing the importance of fostering scholars in Korean dress history. She arranged for relevant courses to be offered and supported me generously to ensure I could fulfill my degree requirements.

For my master’s thesis on the Balhae Kingdom’s dress culture, Professor Lee introduced me to Professor Song Ki-ho, an expert in Balhae history in the Department of Korean History, and kindly requested his guidance. With Professor Song’s support, I completed the program successfully and was later appointed as a full-time faculty member at Kijeon Women’s College in Jeonju, where I taught for five years until 1998.

In 1996, I began my doctoral studies at Seoul National University and also started teaching Korean dress history at the undergraduate level. Although my undergraduate years had been marked by uncertainty and self-doubt, I was fortunate to begin my academic career early and, despite the demands, found deep fulfillment in the work.

How did your path shift from Korea to the United States?

In August 2000, my advisor, Professor Lee, was scheduled to retire. There were circulating remarks urging her students to complete their degrees before her departure. I had just given birth to my first child in May 1999 and was immersed in the challenges of early motherhood, compounded by the fact that my husband was abroad. How I completed and defended my dissertation is still a blur, but I graduated alongside Professor Lee’s retirement.

The Korean dress history lab, which had about fifteen graduate students at the time, was hopeful when we heard the department intended to appoint her successor from our field. However, in a May 2000 meeting reportedly led by Professors Lee Eun-Young and Kim Minja, the position was ultimately determined for a professor of fashion marketing. Although we lacked the institutional authority to overturn the decision, we felt compelled to voice our concerns. I drafted two formal letters to the faculty and two others to our lab members. I still keep those letters as a record of that moment in departmental history.

Though I had graduated, the path ahead was unclear. My peers dispersed under other advisors, and academic circles outside the university began to worry: “If Seoul National University deprioritizes Korean dress history, regional and private universities will follow.” Over the past three decades, this fear has proven valid. The academic presence of Korean clothing construction and Korean dress history has steadily diminished within the broader field of clothing and textiles.

On a personal level, I also faced many challenges. After marrying my husband, who was pursuing graduate studies in the U.S., we had lived apart—he in the U.S. and I in Korea—while I gave birth to and raised our first daughter. In the year that followed, I was under intense pressure to complete my degree and had to rely heavily on others for childcare. That experience led me to a realization: nothing should come before being with family.

In December 2000, I moved to Illinois with my daughter to join my husband. My English was extremely limited, and I had no realistic expectations of continuing my academic work in the U.S. Eventually, my husband accepted a position as a librarian at Stanford University, and we relocated to the Bay Area in August 2001. The following year, we welcomed our second daughter.

I continued to submit articles to Korean academic journals and collaborated on projects during visits to Korea. As I frequented museums in California, my interest in Korean textile artifacts deepened. My first opportunity to lecture in English on Korean dress came in 2013, when the Getty Museum held a special exhibition featuring Men in Korean Costume by Peter Paul Rubens. In partnership with the Korean Cultural Center in Los Angeles, a lecture series was organized—marking my return to professional work in the U.S. thirteen years after leaving Korea.

I found no one in the U.S. with comparable expertise in Korean dress history. Though often working in isolation, I consistently received invitations to lecture at museums and universities. Since the onset of COVID-19, I have also delivered virtual lectures, broadening my audience to include novelists, publishers, costumers, and costume designers. My work has expanded geographically—from the western United States to the East Coast and parts of Europe, including the United Kingdom and the Netherlands.

Working with a diverse range of clients helped me broaden my perspective. Early on, I focused on translating Korean knowledge into English. But over time, I recognized the limitations of my own training. I realized that meaningful scholarship on Korean dress cannot be approached through a narrowly nationalistic lens. I began to study the intellectual history of dress and fashion studies in the West, examining key methodological debates and how they gave rise to today's interdisciplinary frameworks. I also came to understand the central questions shaping Western academic discourse.

Dress and fashion, as uniquely human cultural practices, carry layered and complex meanings. Through the lens of Anglo-American scholarship, I began to reexamine Korean dress history. This exposure to diverse critical perspectives transformed my thinking in ways I doubt would have been possible had I remained in Korea. It has been an intellectually invaluable journey.

When I shared my story with Professor Marcy Froehlich of UC Irvine, she exclaimed, “You left Korea at the right time!” Indeed, clothing and fashion have offered me powerful tools for exploring deeper historical and cultural questions. I am grateful for the time I’ve spent pursuing these inquiries and for the chance to share them with a global audience. What began as a modest endeavor continues to grow. I look forward to the future—with content that is fresh, rigorous, and deeply rooted in reflection.