Sometimes, when I empty out the drawers of my studio apartment, I feel as though I'm peeking into the life of someone else—a life I never got to live.
On Saturday morning, as I tidied the room beneath the hazy weekend sunlight filtering through the window, my hand reached the deepest compartment of the small acrylic organizer in front of the mirror. What caught on my fingertips and came sliding out was a lipstick set with gleaming gold caps. Even the department store gift ribbon was still tied around it.
Coral pink and clear, apricot-peach. They were those very signature lipsticks the store clerk had praised until she was hoarse, calling them “the quintessential spring warm tones” and telling me they were sold out nationwide.
At twenty-two, I had been strangely fixated on the trendy concept of personal color analysis. It was a time when I wanted nothing more than to be handed a chart of numbered specifications telling me what saturation and brightness I needed to belong in the world completely.
Back then, my skin was always bluish and sallow from all-nighters spent on assignments and working part-time. The obvious truth was that cool, violet shades and icy cherry reds suited me much better: I was a textbook winter cool tone.
But why had I wanted so desperately to become someone juicy and sun-drenched? I wanted to belong to the world of people who laughed as if they were breaking apart beneath the spring sunshine, of children raised on an abundance of love, their peachy complexions free of a single rough edge. The moment I received my first paycheck from my part-time job, I rushed to the department store's first floor and, calling it a gift to myself, took the plunge on the warmest, brightest coral lipstick I could find.
I could still vividly remember the despair of the moment I put it on at home. In the mirror, I looked like a child awkwardly wearing someone else's clothes, conspicuously out of place. That warm, gentle color only emphasized the chilly sense of wrongness on my face.
That night, after wiping it off and wiping it off until my lips were chapped, I closed the box and shoved it into the corner of a drawer. I was embarrassed by my immature desire to force on a shade with the wrong temperature, and I never even opened the box again.
“Brand-new and unopened. These are the most popular coral/peach shades. I'll include the gift bag, too.”
I wiped off my phone's camera lens and carefully photographed the gold cases in the clear natural light of the morning before listing them on Carrot Market. I set the price ridiculously low compared to the department store's retail price, and less than five minutes after I tapped the post button, a bright notification chimed.
“Carrot!”
[Buyer: Hi! Is this still available? Would it be possible to meet for in-person pickup around 11 a.m. today, Saturday?]
Her username was “Cleaning My Younger Sibling's Room.” Her manner score was 36.5, and the account didn't have much of a transaction history.
[Me: Yes, that's fine. I'll meet you at the convenience store in front of the neighborhood station at 11 a.m.]
[Buyer: Thank you! Um... could I ask you one thing? My younger sister says she's a cool tone. This will work for her, right? I bought it because they said it was a department store bestseller, and I'm worried she'll yell at me... haha.]
As I stared at the screen, a helpless little laugh escaped me. “Cool tone” and “coral peach”—they were the two most incompatible combinations in the world. If I sold it as-is, a painful sibling war was bound to break out over their weekend lunch. I hurriedly began tapping out a reply.
[Me: Um, I'm sorry, but if your younger sister is definitely a cool tone, this shade really won't suit her. When you put on a warm-toned shade like coral or peach, your skin won't look clear. Instead, the color will sit on top and make you look dull.]
After I sent the message, which I had written as honestly as I could, ellipses blinked nonstop across my smartphone screen.
[Buyer: Oh no... really? I just assumed it had to be good because they said it was the most expensive and best-selling color at the department store. It's my sister's birthday today, but she's been cooped up inside studying for job interviews, so I wanted to cheer her up. I don't know anything about cosmetics, so this is a disaster.]
The confusion and helplessness coming through the screen sent a sharp ache through my chest. The man's clumsy determination to somehow celebrate his sister's birthday, fussing over it since Saturday morning, overlapped with the image of myself from several years ago, curled up alone in the corner of a cramped room, unable even to fully accept my own cool complexion. I rummaged through one more drawer.
My fingers closed around an unopened cool-toned plum-berry lip balm and a mini kit with a dried-rose blush that had a slight bluish cast, both old brand gifts. I had treasured them and kept them safe, thinking I would use them someday after wandering in search of shades that truly suited me.
[Me: I have an unopened lip balm and blush kit made for cool tones. If you buy the lipstick set, I'll include them as a free extra! Even if your sister gives the lipstick to another friend, she'll be genuinely touched if you give her the cool-tone kit with it.]
[Buyer: Oh! Are you sure that's okay? I'm sorry for making you go to so much trouble first thing Saturday morning, and thank you so much! I'll see you at 11!]
At 11 a.m. on Saturday, our appointed time, I saw a man hurrying beneath the convenience store's patio umbrella in front of the station. The man, in his early thirties, wore black puffer jacket over comfortable sweatpants. He smoothed down his mussed hair and looked around.
“Are you... Carrot?”
When I cautiously approached and asked, he let out a relieved sigh and bowed his head.
“Oh, yes! I'm Cleaning My Younger Sibling's Room. I'm not late, am I? I'm sorry for bothering you first thing on a weekend morning.”
“Not at all. You came right on time. Here's your item.”
Along with the gold-capped lipstick set, neatly packed in a shopping bag, I handed him the cool-tone lip balm and blush set I'd put aside that morning. I'd used my knack for crafts to tie a small pale-purple ribbon around the clear plastic bag and add a short note.
“If your skin is clear and cool-toned, this lip balm and blush will brighten your face so much more. Happy birthday from the bottom of my heart!”
The man peered inside the shopping bag and read the note, then scratched the back of his head in admiration.
“Wow... Thank you so much for packaging everything so thoughtfully and even throwing in an extra gift. Honestly, I usually just nag her and snap at her whenever we run into each other, so it was incredibly embarrassing to do anything for her birthday. She keeps grumbling from her room that, ‘I'm a cool tone, so I can never wear colors like that.’ I had no idea what a cool tone even was, so I spent ages trying to figure it out. Thanks to you, I can give her something stylish this time without getting yelled at quite as much.”
He awkwardly held out two cold cans of coffee and a chocolate bar he had just taken from a convenience store plastic bag.
“It's a beautiful weekend, so take these home and get some sugar in you. I nearly bought the wrong thing because I'm completely clueless about cosmetics, but you really saved me.”
After exchanging awkward smiles and goodbyes, the man headed up the hill with quick little steps. His back radiated a clumsy but weighty affection for his sister. The warmth of a family that worried about each other's seasons even while bickering shimmered more softly beneath the clear Saturday morning sunlight.
The five-pyeong room was still cramped when I returned, but one heavy acrylic compartment deep inside the vanity drawer had been emptied completely. The warm coral shade I had once clung to, forcing myself to imitate someone else's colors, had finally gone into the hands of someone else who would understand its worth completely.
I rolled the cold can of coffee across my palm and stood in front of the mirror. My face reflected in the morning sunlight was still cool and pale, but a quiet relief spread through me: it was okay if I no longer envied someone else's peachy glow. What had filled the space I cleared out was none other than my own natural color.