On a wintry night last December, I sat at a tiny cocktail bar in Seoul with two Singaporean friends. One has been living in the South Korean capital for close to a decade, and the other, like me, was there for holidays. Our gathering was spontaneous and our conversation swivelled from personal anecdotes to creative projects and pursuits. By then, we were almost through our second drink, not counting the ones we had at dinner and the odeng spot after, as is the done thing there.
"So what are your plans in Seoul?" l asked my fellow vacationer.
"I've booked an appointment for facial procedures. I always get them done at this place whenever I'm here," he shared nonchalantly.
I sobered up quick. Not that I was shocked to learn my friend has had 'work' done (though it didn't amount to cosmetic surgery). After all, Korean-beauty solutions are pervasive by now. I was simply intrigued.
Having previously been to Seoul for work only, that bit of information made me want to more fully explore what the city has to offer. Of course getting your face poked with needles isn't all there is to do in Seoul, but the numbers are nothing to scoff at. Figures from the South Korean Health Ministry, as reported by The Korea Herald, show that "239,060 and 114,074 international patients received dermatological treatments and plastic surgery respectively, accounting for nearly 52 per cent of the 678,799 foreign nationals in South Korea who received medical services at hospitals and clinics in 2023." Having talked to people around me who have repeatedly raved about the cost-effectiveness of getting facial procedures done in Seoul as opposed to anywhere else, it was only natural that I wanted to try it for myself. But being the carefree, no-itinerary traveller that I am (it's the ISFP personality trait) I hadn't bothered researching the wheres, whats and hows.
My friend gave me the name and branch of the clinic he frequents. "I know what I want so it's always a quick in-and-out with no consultation, he said. Well, I definitely didn't know what I want.
A few days later, as I was lounging in the couch of my Airbnb in Jeju Island (a short jaunt in the middle of my three-week trip) I decided to pore over the clinic's website and book an appointment. Like many websites in South Korea, it was in English for the most part, with succinct descriptions of the benefits of the procedures, which are categorised by methods. An additional category listed out its popular picks. It felt, quite honestly, like carting out a purchase from Mr Porter or SSENSE. After chatting with a customer service personnel via WhatsApp to figure out if it was possible to book a consultation (the option didn't appear on the website), I was instructed to simply check the procedures I was interested in, choose a date and available time slot, and then communicate to the staff on the day of that I'd like a consultation.
The Gangnam district is littered with facial clinics and they often occupy multiple levels in buildings. The one recommended to me spans four floors, starting with a registration counter and consultation rooms on the second floor. Here, consultations are done in private office-like rooms with a translator should one be required. I sat facing a gentle-faced consultant (I'm not sure if she was a doctor) who keyed in information as I explained my skin and facial concerns to the translator, making sure I shuffled eye contact between them. She seemed attentive to my concerns, scrutinising areas of my face and then suggesting what could be done to tackle them.I highlighted my want for better skin texture, pore refinement and brighter undereyes. She recommended a micro-needling laser treatment to address the first two, and a combination of the famed Rejuran and Botox injections to revitalise the undereye areas for a more youthful appearance.
"Any questions?" she asked via the translator. I shrugged, scrolled through an imaginary rolodex of questions l ought to have in my mind, and proceeded to pay. Before a tax refund, the three procedures amounted to around SGD250—lower than the price of a luxury fashion T-shirt, or about the same as a tub of cream from a luxury skincare brand.
I was directed to another level for the first procedure. It's here that I stashed my belongings in a locker, washed my face to remove any skincare product or makeup, and wait patiently as an assistant applies a numbing cream onto my face. I didn't clock the exact time I sat on the leather settee with my face covered in white numbing cream, but it was long enough to feel awkward and self-conscious. But no one there seemed to bat an eyelid.
The same assistant called out to me from the entryway of what I thought would be a private room. Alas, it was a long hall, like a factory line of bodies to each side of an aisle, each on a bed, and either waiting or was being worked on. I was ushered all the way to the end, a note (I'm assuming it briefly detailed my procedure) stuck on the wall as I took off my shoes and began settling in. The assistant scraped off the numbing cream from my face, showed me a sealed set of the micro-needling head to be used on me, and asked if she could proceed to tear it open in front of me. I nodded and she removed the sterile packaging and mounted it to the device. A doctor then stepped up to me, articulated what I was up for, and began applying the micro-needling device to my face.
Numbing cream does jack. I could still feel every prick as the doctor repeatedly stamped the surface of my skin in quick succession. It didn't exactly hurt; just tiny, sharp sensations. For the most part, it was bearable but the welled-up tears in my eyes, escaping when I opened them after the procedure, betrayed me. "Oh!" the doctor exclaimed and helped to wipe them. He gave me a pat on my shoulder; chuckled "a good job" and left.
The pain from the micro-needling did nothing to prepare me for what would come next. I made my way to the next level of the clinic for my undereye procedures, suddenly remembering the warning from a friend that Rejuran injections produce the kind of pain that would deter most people from ever getting them again. I should have paid heed. The Botox injections were fine—I'd say they were a similar level of pain as the micro-needling even if they were injected where my skin is possibly the thinnest. The Rejuran injections that followed, however, felt excruciatingly sharp and concentrated at the tiniest possible point. Each injection lasted for about two seconds and even for someone who has a rather high tolerance for pain, it felt like two seconds too long.
And then it was all over. My face was slathered with ointment that, according to a laminated card with English text held by an assistant, was meant to soothe the areas post-treatment. The entire process from registration to the end took less than an hour and a half.
I had scheduled the appointment three days prior to flying back to Singapore. It was the right call for it took the better part of a week before my face stopped swelling. The micro-needling healed relatively quickly, after about three days, but the bumps and bruising from the undereye injections—I was a trypophobes nightmare—took around a week to heal.
Of course, the question is: did they work? Honestly, I don't quite believe in an immediate, significant change from just one round of procedures. the consultant had already pre-empted that the procedures are best done every three to four months for effects to be more visible. I personally didn't notice a stark difference, but having said that, I found myself back in Seoul this past April for another round of similar procedures. I met a friend immediately after and she commented that my skin was glowing, so, maybe? If anything, it has been a fun experience that I don't necessarily mind forking out for during a trip to the city. I guess, when in Rome..
