My eyes started looking different around the time I turned twenty-five

Watching the mirror shift in ways I did not expect

It started with a subtle change. One morning, I noticed that the natural crease I had always taken for granted was starting to hide under my skin. I kept squinting into the bathroom mirror, trying to see if it was just because I hadn’t slept well, or maybe I was just staring too hard at my phone screen in the dark. It is funny how we spend so much time looking at our faces, yet we only really notice the structural changes when they start to feel like an inconvenience. My friend, who had her eyes done at a place in Gangnam for about 1.5 million won, kept telling me that it was normal to feel this way, but looking at her perfect, symmetrical lids, I just felt a bit envious and a lot confused about my own face.

The lingering memory of my cousin’s procedure

I remember when my cousin went through with it. She went to one of those places that seemed busy all the time, specifically for a ‘tucking’ method, or what they call ‘jjipgi’. She was back at the family dinner table within a week, wearing oversized sunglasses even indoors. She said the anesthesia was just enough to keep her conscious but calm, like she was having a casual conversation with the doctor while he was working on her lids. Listening to her describe it made the whole process sound like getting a routine dental cleaning, which felt incredibly weird to me. It sounded too light, too easy, like choosing an item from a menu instead of changing your literal face.

Why I keep worrying about the long term

Sometimes I read about older women, maybe in their fifties or sixties, dealing with drooping lids—what they call ptosis—and how it actually affects their daily vision. I look at my own eyes and wonder if the slight heaviness I feel now is the start of that. It makes me hesitate. I see people online talking about how they want that specific, thick, dramatic line, and then I read about others who just want to keep their original vibe but look a bit more ‘awake.’ I honestly don’t know which category I fall into. The idea of waking up one day and seeing that my eyes have changed because of a procedure that didn’t age well is a thought that keeps me from making an appointment. I saw an article about a celebrity who mentioned suffering from asymmetry years later, and it made me pause. Even the idea of having to pull out my own brow hairs just to feel like the balance is right seems like a level of maintenance I’m not prepared for.

The reality of the consultation process

I actually walked into a clinic once, just to see. It was surprisingly quiet, far from the chaotic waiting room I imagined. I spent about thirty minutes there, mostly just sitting in a chair, feeling the weight of the air-conditioned room. The consultant kept asking me what ‘look’ I preferred. I didn’t know. I just wanted my old eyes back. They brought up ‘canthoplasty’—you know, the bit where they adjust the outer corners—and it just sounded like too much. I left without committing to anything, just clutching a pamphlet that listed prices ranging from 800,000 won to over 3 million depending on the scope of the work. The disparity in price alone was enough to make me feel dizzy.

Moving forward with no clear answer

I still haven’t done anything. Every few months, I check my reflection again. Sometimes the line looks fine, and other days I feel like my expression looks constantly tired, regardless of how much I sleep. I see younger people on the subway, barely out of high school, already talking about their next touch-up. It feels like a race to keep up with an aesthetic that might not even be my own. Maybe the issue isn’t the shape of my eyes, but the fact that I’m becoming hyper-aware of every single millimeter. I think I will just keep waiting. It is a strange place to be—stuck between wanting to fix a minor frustration and worrying that the fix might end up being the real problem later on.