bare naked ladies

The following is a recap of my visit to the Dallas King Spa and Sauna on Saturday, April 24, 2010.


Today, I did one of the bravest things in my entire adult life: I got naked in public. And by ‘public’, I mean a roomful of perfect strangers, all of whom were equally naked. We’re talking saggy parts, jiggly parts, dimply parts, and—lest we forget—pubic parts. (Somehow that last one really drives home the emotional weight and potential for humiliation that nearly led me to abort this fool's mission before it even started.)

Lest my dear readers convince themselves prematurely that I am some kind of exhibitionist, allow me to explain why I chose to participate in such a strange and foreign custom. As a teenager, I lived in Seoul, Korea. Generally speaking, Korea and I comingled fabulously. I loved the language, the food, the kooky karaoke pizza parlors, and the bizarre flavors of ice cream. I did, however, encounter one insurmountable cultural snag: the public bathhouse.

Bathhouses are a staple of Korean culture. In fact, I would say that frequenting public bathhouses is to most Koreans as, say, hanging out at the beach is to the cast of Baywatch. It’s simply what they do. And while my mother, brothers, friends, and neighbors all lauded the sublimely relaxing virtues of the public bathhouse, I avoided the place like the plague. My reason—singular—was quiet simple: To soak in relaxing waters, you had to get naked.

Naked? Um, no.

End of story.

Now flash forward some twenty years, and picture me at lunch with my dear friend from Seoul, Sun Hee. We’ve just finished off the last strip of bulgogi, a traditional Korean barbeque dish, and she says something like, “There’s a new Korean bathhouse. We should go!”

I nearly choked. Then I staredt to think, How bad could it be? This might turn out to be a defining moment in my life. Liberating, even. Heck, if I can do this, I can do anything!

And then I pushed those thoughts deep, deep down into the most forgotten part of my spleen where I hoped they might stay hidden forever and ever and ever.

To no avail, unfortunately. When this semester’s COUN 5790 diversity assignment was explained as an opportunity to “deliberately step outside personal comfort zones” (assignment overview handout), I knew what I had to do.

I arrived at King Spa and Sauna, located on Royal Lane off of I-35 East in Dallas, in decent shape. I had managed to suppress most of my anxiety, masking it with an I’m-so-worldly swaggar. It wasn’t until I paid my $19.00 entrance fee, picked up my pink sauna uniform (they issue one to everyone, very Asian), and entered the women’s locker room that I began to wonder at my own judgment. Moments later, the sight of at least two dozen naked Korean women laughing, pointing, and talking en flagrante nearly caused me to break out in a nervous sweat.

True, I had worked at a Korean health club, so I knew what to expect. I understood, for example, that Korean women are socialized to the norms of bathhouse etiquette from the time they are very young, and that Koreans don’t generally connect body image, non-sexual nudity and personal modesty in the way many American women do. But this was different. In the gym, I accepted their comfort with their bodies. Today was more about my comfort with my body.

The most terrifying moment of all came when I had to walk NAKED across the locker room into the whirlpool room. I’m not going to lie. I almost chickened out. I rationalized that I didn’t have to do the whirlpool. I could change in a bathroom stall then skip straight to the clothing-mandatory sauna section of the spa. Surely I wouldn’t be the first. It would still be a cultural experience. I’d still be out of my element. I stood, frozen, between a row of lockers and the set of glass doors that separated the casual spa-goer from the truly committed cultural warrior.

Determined, I boldly stripped down, sucked in, and walked through those glass doors like I was born for nothing less.

Upon entering the whirlpool room, I was politely instructed by the attendant (full eye contact, by the way) that I should shower first. Luckily, the showers were conveniently located next to the whirlpool. (I should clarify that by ‘shower’, I mean a weird half-wall lined with several large mirrors, each with an adjacent hand-help sprayer, soap dispenser, and sit-stool. No curtains or dividers. Did I mention the mirrors? So you can see your naked self as you wash away your shame, or dignity, whichever still remains.)

The good news is that by the time I finished taking the fastest shower in known history, I was totally over being naked. Seriously. Over it. I stepped into the whirlpool, soaked for about twenty minutes with several lovely Korean women who smiled at me and said meeguk (American) repeatedly, then made the brave naked walk back to my locker. I then donned my pink uniform and ventured into the co-ed parts of the spa to enjoy the rest of what King Spa and Sauna had to offer. And let me just say, you haven’t really experienced a Korean bathhouse until you’ve found yourself in an Ice Room flapping your arms like a chicken with ten strangers playing Sam-Yuk-Ku! Sam-Yuk-Ku! Mori, mori sam-yuk-ku! or singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow with an ancient abuji (grandfather) while sweating in a cave of cobbled salt stones.

As I was leaving four hours later (hey, there’s a lot to experience!), I brushed past a nervous meeguk saram (American). I asked her if she’d ever been before. She said no, then started to say something else only to stop herself short.

“You’ve heard about the naked part.”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

“Really?”

“Trust me.”

Then I climbed into my car and drove away.