Seoul
Our partner makers, small ateliers in Jongno and Insadong, start every piece by hand.
The Korean In Me began between a San Mateo dining room and a workshop in Jongno. We are still small on purpose.
I grew up in a house where Korean things were carried lightly, never on display, always nearby. My mother kept a few hanbok folded in cotton, and on certain mornings she would take one out and hold it without saying very much.
When I started The Korean In Me, I wanted to build something that felt like those mornings. A small atelier, not a store. A conversation, not a checkout.
Today we work with a handful of Seoul ateliers, inspect every piece in our San Mateo studio, and only send it on when it is right. Alongside the hanbok, Mrs. Lee caters the day around it, doljanchi, paebaek, Chuseok, Seollal, milestone birthdays. Two product lines, one focus. The journal holds the deeper reading: Korean culture, family stories, and Mrs. Lee’s recipes.
Quiet things hold the most memory. Lee Youngsook
My mother is one of the quiet authorities of Korean tradition in our family’s circle.
When we photograph hanbok, she is usually nearby, pouring tea, correcting my Korean, suggesting that the sleeve fall differently. Her hand is in this atelier in ways that do not appear on a product page.
She has also begun writing down the recipes she has cooked for decades, so families in the United States can make them at home. A few of them live in the Korean food section of the site.
Our partner makers, small ateliers in Jongno and Insadong, start every piece by hand.
Every hanbok comes through our studio. We inspect the lining, the stitch, the fall of the skirt.
Insured shipping, an unboxing call if you would like one, and a follow-up after the day.
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