This Month's Little Joys: Ugly Hoodies, Pop-ups, and the Last Winter of My 20s

December: The Sunday Night of the Year

We have finally entered the final stretch—December. It’s the coziest month, but also the one that demands the most reflection. It feels like the Sunday night of the year: a mix of rest, anxiety, and trying to get your life together before Monday (January) hits.

In the spirit of wrapping things up, here are the chaotic, small joys that kept me sane over the past two weeks.

1. Impromptu Shopping (feat. Ugly Hoodies)

I am, historically, a terrible shopper. I suffer from chronic decision paralysis; I am too cautious to commit, meaning 15 items have been rotting in my Mango cart for a month. I treat hitting "checkout" like signing a mortgage.

Enter Yeonju. When I confessed my paralysis, she didn’t judge; she strategized. "Let’s go. Right now. As a reward for working hard for 2.5 hours."

The problem? We were dressed for "2 AM convenience store runs," not "public consumption." We’re talking sweatpants, questionable hoodies, and glasses. But there is safety in numbers. So, looking like two gremlins, we braved the bus to Yeouido—Seoul’s finance district, essentially our Wall Street—surrounded by suited-up finance bros getting off work.

Yeonju is the perfect shopping buddy. She’s the logic to my chaos. She tells me exactly why something works (or doesn’t) with zero pressure to actually buy anything. We spent the time just touching fabrics and playing dress-up. It felt like being a kid again—doing something purely for the pleasure of the experience, not the output.

2. Sandwich Diplomacy at Cafe Pargo

My boyfriend recently joined the team at Pajama Deli (yes, the sandwich place I won’t shut up about). This gave me the perfect excuse to trek up to HBC for their pop-up event at the Cafe Pargo.

The F&B scene in Seoul moves at the speed of light, fueled almost entirely by these kinds of collaborations. It’s smart, really. Pargo usually just does coffee, but bring in the Deli, and suddenly you have lunch.

I’ve realized these pop-ups are basically the "friend of a friend" theory applied to restaurants. Finding a "holy grail" spot in Seoul is exhausting (my standards are unreasonably high, I admit it). We have our dan-gol (regular) spots because we trust them. So when a place I trust hosts a pop-up, it’s like a verified referral. It cuts through the noise.

Plus, Pargo is the latest project from the team behind Wild Duck Canteen and Tacostand. If you live in Seoul, you know what that implies: the interior will be on-point, the playlist will be good, and yes, it will be dog-friendly. Vibe check: passed.

3. Cinema Therapy

Seoul winter is physically painful. But the silver lining of face-numbing cold is that it validates my favorite hobby: sitting in the dark for two hours.

There’s a huge trend right now of theaters re-screening classic films. Maybe it’s because the classics are verified bangers, or maybe because modern cinema is flopping, or maybe being a cinephile is also a trend? Whatever the reason, I am here for it. It keeps the theaters alive and gets me off my laptop screen.

Last week, I went to Seoul Art Cinema—a gem in the old town near the palaces—for the Kiyoshi Kurosawa retrospective. The venue itself is lovely; it’s the only privately owned cinematheque in the city, and honestly, the seats and screen are (way) better than Emu Cinema (sorry, Emu).

I walked in excited to watch Pulse. I loved Kurosawa’s Cure—it’s a psychological horror masterpiece. Pulse, however... was shit. I cannot in good conscience recommend it.

It had the director’s signature moody lighting and that slow, nerve-wracking tempo, but the execution felt half-baked (and unintentionally funny towards the end). It was like Cure’s messy, unfinished cousin. The only saving grace? The early Y2K outfits were undeniably cute. One star for the plot, five stars for the wardrobe.

4. The Bungeoppang Imperative

If you are in Korea during winter, eating Bungeoppang is not a suggestion; it is a mandate. For the uninitiated, these are fish-shaped pastries stuffed with sweet fillings, and they are essentially pocket-sized nostalgia for any 90s kid.

The tragedy of modern Seoul is that these street stalls are becoming an endangered species. They are harder and harder to find, which has led to a new rule in my life: If you see a Bungeoppang stall, you stop. Do not hesitate. Do not pass go. You never know when you’ll see one again.

I am a purist, so I always go for the classics: one red bean (patbung) and one custard (shubung). It’s the only way to survive the wind chill.

5. High Stakes Dining at Bar Coral

I met up with my high school friend (the genius behind Studio Noiich and the rug brand of the same name). Since having Yiko, I’ve inadvertently become "financially responsible." She doesn’t cost much yet—she’s young and healthy, thankfully—but the weight of being a guardian has stopped me from recklessly swiping my card.

This means my "expensive wine and dining" quota has shrunk, which paradoxically makes the rare nights out feel much more precious. The stakes are higher now. If I’m going to spend the money, I need a guarantee. I cannot risk a mediocre pasta on my one free night.

Bar Coral is firmly on my "Always Trusted" list. It’s cozy, the food never misses, the wine list is genuinely interesting, and the owner is the definition of hospitality. If you are treating yourself to a perfect night and have zero tolerance for failure, go here.

6. Tuesday Night Mala Club

As winter gets colder and Seoul gets more expensive, my friend group has pivoted. We are trading expensive natural wine bars for someone’s living room.

This past Tuesday was one of those nights. The best friend group assembled after work not for drinks, but to cook Mala Xiang Guo (you know me—I cannot exist without Mala). We sat around eating spicy stir-fry, catching up on life and gossip, completely sober.

It felt strangely wholesome? Maybe we are getting more mature, or maybe we’re just too tired for hangovers. Either way, swapping alcohol for reliable carbohydrates and honest conversation feels like the ultimate form of self-care right now.

7. Saturday Family Dinner

If you count everyone on my mom’s side—from the OG grandparents to the Gen Alpha babies—we are a tribe of about 60 people. Back in the day, having seven siblings was normal. Today? We are lucky if we text one person back.

My generation is nuclear, personal, and arguably lonely. When I was younger, these massive gatherings felt like torture—sensory overload for an introvert. But lately, my perspective has shifted. I’ve realized that this specific brand of chaos is finite.

There is a raw, unfiltered quality to the love here. In a city where every interaction can feel transactional or curated, being submerged in this environment feels like a detox. It is giving without calculation; affection without the need to be polished. Just rare, uncalculated love.

It makes me a little melancholic to realize that once the older generation is gone, this experience might vanish with them. We won't gather like this forever. So for now, I’m soaking up the noise.

Outro: The Hibernation Era

The Early 20s Me was a die-hard summer person. But as I navigate the final winter of my 20s, I’ve had realized that I am actually built for the cold. Or rather, I am built for the indoors.

I’ve come to love the excuse to stay home, the aggressive coziness, the ritual of tidying up my space, and the serious internal debate over which tea to brew for the night. Winter is the only time it feels socially acceptable to stop running, look back on the year, and casually ponder the meaning of life (lol).

Here’s to ending the year softly so we can start the next one strong. Stay warm, friends. <3