the trouble with ajumas

Every expat blogger in Korea talks about ajumas at some point. I guess it's my turn. I don't have much to say, as you'll soon see. I just have one question.

I should say here and now, though, that what follows is only my opinion. As such, it cannot be counted upon to reflect reality in any way, shape or form. I also take no responsibility for inaccurate interpretations of cultural ideas, Korean words or popular opinions; this is just my two cents, based on what I've seen and experienced. What follows is completely subjective. You have been warned. 

So, you ask, what's an ajuma? Good question. There are many different senses of the word. It's been called Korea's "third sex." There's men, there's women, and then there's ajumas. As near as I can figure out, the word "ajuma" (sometimes spelled ajumma) denotes an elderly married woman. The male equivalent is ajushi, though that word hasn't acquired the same sort of connotation that ajuma has. "Ajuma" has taken on certain cultural and social nuances in Korea...particularly among the expat community. A Korean national might use the word "ajuma" in a purely neutral sense, but among us foreigners, it's become pejorative.

Why?

Well, the fact that nearly 95% of the ajuma population is identical, for one thing. They all look alike. They are almost always five feet, five inches tall. They wear pants printed with floral or botanical patterns, running shoes, and dark sun visors. Their hair is uniformly short and permed. They usually have personal shopping carts (polka-dot bags with wheels and a pull-handle) with them, or some other kind of sack for carrying groceries. Their faces are usually pinched, their lips pursed, their eyes critical, their expressions stony.

Their looks alone are not enough to garner ajumas the bad reputation they've acquired among the expatriates, though. No, that happened because of their behavior. Ajumas are the rudest, pushiest, most selfish group of people I've met in Korea. They're worse than middle school kids. Say you're standing on the sidewalk, talking to a group of friends. Elementary schoolers and sharply-dressed salarymen will step politely past you. An ajuma will bull right through your formation, using her hands to push you physically from her path, and her elbows to ensure you stay there. No regret, no remorse, no apology. She won't even look back. She might favor you with a disapproving glance and a tch, tch sound if you pass each other on a broader, emptier street, but otherwise she won't even acknowledge you or your outrage.

Ajumas are renowned for their poor manners, particularly on public transportation. They are not shy about shoving people out of the way to get seats. They have no fear about cramming themselves onto sardine-can train cars, even with their enormous shopping bags. Every other Korean on board, from the demurest schoolgirl to the crustiest ajushi, steps aside and lets them do this. We expats usually try to fight back, but it's a futile exercise. On the rare occasions when we can muster the fortitude, the wherewithal and the leverage to dig our heels in and resist the charge of the ajuma brigade, the victory is Pyrrhic. We know that we haven't taught the old bags a lesson. They'll just do the same thing again on another subway train.

It's natural for ajumas to act the way they do. They can get away with it. Their transgressions are tolerated because they're elderly, and the elderly in Korea (as in other formerly Confucian nations) are granted the highest levels of respect and courtesy. They've paid their dues. Now they get to have a little fun. For ajushis, this means going to barbecue restaurants and smoking and drinking and talking loudly all night, or chilling in the park on Sunday afternoons and staring at young women's skirts. For ajumas, this means selling vegetables, toys or accessories on the streets, sitting on stools with their legs thrown immodestly open, chatting with the other old biddies, casting sour looks at foreigners and elbowing people out of the way on subway trains. This is their reputation, even among Koreans. The only difference is that the Koreans see fit to tolerate it.

But that's not what bugs me the most. What puzzles me is how ajumas become ajumas in the first place. The process is impossible to monitor. It seems like Korean women go from being cute, sweet, fashionable ingenues to immodest, leather-faced, hard-bitten fishwives practically overnight. No matter how hard I search, I've never seen a young Korean woman in the middle of transforming into an ajuma. It's like they go to an elephant graveyard or something to do it. I have seen middle-aged Korean women with the same poise and charm as their younger counterparts, and I have seen ajumas who are kind, sweet, and retain some of their youthful beauty; but never have I observed the full-blown mutation firsthand. There's a missing link somewhere.

Now that I found out what the word "Seoul" means, this is my final burning question about Korea: how do Korean women go from this...

...to this?

                                                                                                                                         from Flickr

It boggles the imagination.