찜질방 

            Throughout my writing and directing processes for 찜질방, I was often asked, “What inspired you to write this piece?” Despite having a rehearsed answer, I have always struggled with this question. The truth is, there isn’t an isolated “what” that inspired my creation of this play; it is a lifetime of normalized encounters, subtle behaviors, and everyday comments tied to the Korean beauty and body standard—many of which I have conditioned myself to accept as a “given.” 

            These “whats” have appeared for me in the explicit—the spoken—like unfiltered remarks about my physical appearance as familial greetings, my consumption of popular Korean media that loudly dictates and depicts beauty, and conversations I have had with my girl friends about these standards. Alternatively, they reveal themselves in the implicit—the subtext and silence: a calculated glance, a loaded compliment, and even tear-ridden moments of private self-examination in the mirror. 

Playwright and Director Emily Miyeon Lim ’27 in rehearsal.

            Over time, the culmination of my “whats” produced a tangled web of personal observations and reflections that meditate upon the nuances of these moments’ explicit and implicit nature, which I felt compelled to investigate. 찜질방 became my way of exploring the layers and textures of how these cultural beauty and body standards evolve between generations, diasporas, media, and intimate spaces like the family, social groups, and the self. The impact of these standards is cutthroat, yet their movement whispers so quietly—between the personal and the systemic—that their effects often go unnoticed, minimized, or unspeakable.

            Despite their dangerously elusive and inherited movement, these beauty and body ideals collapse in the naked spaces of Korean public spas and bathhouses, where bodies are unhidden, vulnerable, and honest. What happens when culture collapses and we are forced into complete visibility—not just physically, but emotionally, too? What remains in our bodies, memories, and consciousnesses when the performance of cultural beauty is stripped away? 

            I suppose my most precise answer to this question is this: 찜질방 is an attempt to confront and unpack my personal “whats” of growing up under these standards as a Korean American woman—and to craft a narrative that wrestles and interacts with the diverse ways these ideals are experienced, resisted, and embodied through each of the four characters. While 찜질방 is personal and informed by my direct and indirect experiences and reflections, it also gestures towards the profoundly communal experiences and realities of many women and femme-presenting people. Still, the personal-turned-communal narratives of the play are not universal stories; each relationship to these standards is incredibly unique, complex, and alive. 

            Beyond the countless interpretations that can emerge from the characters’ experiences, dances, and lines, I invite you to consider how the prettiness and the ugliness of the story speak to you. I encourage you to attend to the silence, the unseen, and the unresolved. Listen for what is not said as carefully as what dares to be spoken.

            So, welcome to 찜질방. Make yourself comfortable—we’ll be in the tub for a while.