Why I thought fixing my cheekbones was the easy way out
I spent years staring at my side profile in the mirror, convinced that my prominent side cheekbones were the only thing stopping me from looking like the people I saw on social media. It wasn’t even a deep-seated insecurity, just a recurring annoyance whenever I looked at photos. I remember walking past a clinic in Gangnam that looked surprisingly quiet, which I mistook for a sign of a more personalized service. It cost me about 4.5 million won for the whole procedure, which felt like a massive amount of money at the time, especially since I was just working a standard office job. I didn’t want the aggressive, over-the-top changes, just something subtle that would make me look less tired in the mornings. Looking back, my expectations were dangerously low regarding the actual recovery time.
The reality of the first three days
Nobody tells you how difficult it is to simply drink water when your entire face feels like it’s being held together by tight, invisible rubber bands. I stayed home for a week, and honestly, the silence was the worst part. I spent most of my time laying on my bed with three pillows stacked up, staring at the ceiling because lying flat made the swelling feel like it was pulsing against my ears. I kept checking my phone to see if my face looked even slightly different, but it was just a giant, bruised balloon. I thought about trying some fat-dissolving injections instead, just to see if I could have achieved a similar ‘V-line’ effect without the heavy downtime, but it was already too late for that. The swelling felt like it had its own heartbeat.
Regretting the lack of a proper support system
About four days in, I started feeling this weird, irrational anger. I wasn’t even sure who I was mad at—maybe the surgeon, maybe myself for being so vain, or maybe just the fact that I couldn’t chew proper food. I ended up living on lukewarm pumpkin juice and protein shakes I bought from a nearby convenience store. It cost me around 3,000 won for a single bottle, which felt ridiculous. Every time I went for a follow-up check at the clinic, which took about 40 minutes by subway, I felt like a stranger among the other patients who seemed to be recovering much faster than I was. My surgeon was professional enough, I suppose, but the 1-on-1 consultation style meant I didn’t really have anyone else to talk to about whether the lingering numbness near my nose was ‘normal’ or not.
The lingering doubt about the outcome
It’s been six months now, and while my face is definitely slimmer, I don’t really know if I feel like a ‘new person.’ Sometimes I look in the mirror and think I look exactly the same, just slightly more expensive. I find myself looking at old photos and wondering if the difference is even noticeable to anyone else, or if I just spent a few million won to satisfy a temporary obsession with my jawline. The numbness comes and goes, especially when the weather gets cold, and it’s a constant, annoying reminder of the choice I made. I don’t regret it entirely, but I definitely don’t feel that sense of triumphant transformation I expected when I walked into that first consultation. It just feels like a decision that’s now a part of my history, for better or worse.
The silence was the worst part, definitely. It’s a really unsettling feeling when your environment just… shrinks around you like that.
That pumpkin juice story is so relatable – the small, absurd expenses just pile up and highlight how different things feel. It’s interesting how even the seemingly routine check-ups shifted your perspective.
The Gangnam clinic detail really resonated with me – that quietness seemed so typical of the experience, almost like a waiting room rather than a place of transformation.
That feeling of being trapped in your own reflection is something I recognize completely. The subtle annoyance growing into such a significant investment – it’s a really insightful look at how easily we can get pulled into those small, fixable anxieties.