
Twenty Minutes of Ribbon
On the goreum, the hanbok's front ribbon, which cannot be hurried, cannot be faked, and has opinions about your character.
Hanbok, Hanfu & Concept Model

I model the slow clothes. Hanbok that takes twenty minutes to tie correctly, hanfu with sleeves that have their own weather, silks that remember every careless gesture and repeat it to the camera. Photographers who book me know what they are getting: someone who moves at the speed of ink drying, who can hold a fan like a sentence and a gaze like the pause after one. Fast fashion exists and I wish it well. It is simply not my department.
I grew up in Jeonju, in my grandmother's hanbok shop, falling asleep under the cutting table while she argued with silk. She taught me that a garment is a letter someone wrote with their hands, and that wearing it badly is a kind of misreading. When I put on a customer's finished jeogori so she could check the shoulder line, and stood very still in the mirror while she frowned, I was, although neither of us knew it, in training. My whole career is that mirror, with better lighting.

On the goreum, the hanbok's front ribbon, which cannot be hurried, cannot be faked, and has opinions about your character.

A November shoot in the reeds, water at ankle height, and what cold does to stillness. Field notes from the lilac session.

Round, pleated, painted, plain: everything I have learned holding fans in front of cameras, none of it about cooling down.

Hanbok, Hanfu & Concept Model, working from Seoul, South Korea and travelling wherever the work asks. For bookings and castings, write a few unhurried lines. Every letter is answered.