The initial optimism of a simple change
I remember walking toward that building near Gangnam station. It felt like I was checking off a life goal. Everyone around me was doing it, or so it seemed, and the office looked clean, professional, and honestly, a bit too bright. I didn’t think much about the cost, which was somewhere around 7 million won for the whole thing, including the cartilage work. I just wanted that ‘refined but natural’ look that everyone talks about on forums. You know the one. It’s supposed to look like you were just born with a slightly better profile. The consultant was very quick to point out that my bridge needed more support and that a bit of nasal tip refinement would balance everything out perfectly. I sat there in the leather chair, looking at the digital simulation, and felt that sudden surge of confidence. Why had I waited so long?
The reality of the recovery phase
Recovery wasn’t the clean, quick process they described in the brochure. The swelling lasted much longer than they said, and there were these days where I felt like my face was a separate entity from my head. I spent weeks sleeping propped up on three pillows, which was honestly a nightmare for my neck. Then there was the constant, low-level worry about whether the bridge was settling correctly or if the asymmetry I saw in the mirror was just swelling. I remember calling the clinic at least three times in the second month because the left side felt different from the right. They just kept telling me to wait, that the tissue takes at least six months to settle. It’s hard to just ‘wait’ when you look in the mirror every morning and notice a new, subtle unevenness.
The complication that nobody mentions
Things took a weird turn around the fourth month. I started feeling this strange, pulsating heat in the tip of my nose. At first, I thought it was just sinus pressure from the change in weather, but it kept coming back. I went back to that same office near Gangnam, and they acted like it was just a minor inflammation, something that happens to ‘a small percentage of patients.’ They prescribed some antibiotics, but the feeling didn’t really go away. I started reading stories online—some of them were terrifying, like that influencer who talked about having multiple surgeries in just a few months. I started feeling that familiar pit in my stomach. Was I heading down the same path? The clinic staff were still polite, but their faces seemed to shut down the moment I mentioned the word ‘infection.’
Walking through the sea of new clinics
Walking down the streets near Gangnam Station now feels entirely different. Every other building has a new clinic sign—places like the new ILAC plastic surgery or Urban plastic surgery seem to pop up overnight. I see the doctors’ photos on the banners, all looking incredibly confident and successful. It makes me wonder how many people are sitting in those chairs right now, feeling the same mix of hope and anxiety I felt a year ago. Sometimes I think about going for a second opinion, maybe getting a CT scan somewhere else just to see if the internal structure is actually as sound as they told me it was. But then I stop. The thought of going through another surgery, another round of recovery, and the possibility of it still not being right? It just paralyzes me.
The lingering uncertainty
I don’t regret it entirely, but I don’t look at my reflection with that same sense of satisfaction anymore. The nose looks fine to a stranger—nobody stares, nobody notices the slight asymmetry that I obsess over when I wash my face at night. It’s become this weird, private burden. I spent a significant amount of money and a lot of emotional energy, and I’m left with a result that is ‘technically successful’ but feels emotionally exhausting. Is this just what having work done feels like? Or did I just get unlucky? I still don’t have an answer for that. Most of the time, I just try to stop looking too closely at the details. It’s easier that way, I guess.
It’s really interesting how you describe that feeling of needing external validation for your appearance. The brochure promises one thing and the reality is a lot more complex, isn’t it?