One day during the Christmas holidays a few years ago, after finishing my magazine deadline, I suddenly hated the idea of just sitting around idly in my room. Seized by an urge to go somewhere, I bought a flight to Guam departing the very next day simply because the tickets were cheaper than I expected. In Guam, I spent most of my time driving around the island in a rental car before visiting a Stussy store and buying a Stussy Guam T-shirt, thinking to myself, "I suppose I could only buy this in Guam." I also bought a T-shirt at a tourist market with "GUAM" written on it in an excessively large size.

Around that time, I bought a T-shirt that stood out because it had the local name written on it so prominently. At the Nike Las Vegas Outlet, they were selling T-shirts with "Las Vegas" written below the Nike logo. I even liked the fact that they must have come all the way to the outlet because they hadn't sold there. Las Vegas and the Nike Swoosh—it just didn't seem to go together. So I bought two of them and still wear them often. I wore them much more frequently than the Stussy Guam one.

Next, I became immersed in college T-shirts. I thought of universities as 'local facilities' located in specific regions. Most universities produce at least one T-shirt for sale. After searching for a few, it became like a game, or perhaps I simply couldn't stop. I went around looking for T-shirts from the University of Tokyo, Kyoto University, the University of Geneva, New York University, UCLA, LSE, and places like that, as if possessed. Like someone whose lifelong regret was not attending those universities, or like someone whose goal was to send their own children to such institutions. Since I was neither of those, I bought them with even more excitement.

The excitement was short-lived. I gradually got rid of those t-shirts. Most of the college t-shirts I bought back then are gone now. It's also been a while since I threw away the one with "GUAM" written in huge letters. You could say I started losing interest in graphic design merchandise. In reality, "local" t-shirts often feature local logos or messages, while the manufacturers are typically general corporate t-shirt companies. Of course, they are still excellent local products. It is just that I lost interest. As t-shirts I bought thinking "it's local" piled up—even though I didn't wear them—I realistically started to feel the limits of my storage space.

As I threw away a T-shirt, I thought to myself: If I had a dedicated T-shirt closet of about 15 pyeong, I would have filled it with all sorts of local T-shirts and merchandise. After all, there is definitely a certain fun to local designs. A prime example is the 'North Japan' T-shirt I bought in Niseko, Hokkaido. I used the North Face logo and font and just changed the word 'Japan.' Although I ended up throwing away a lot of local T-shirts after wearing them, I always end up keeping the ones that do.

01_Collection of T-shirts featured in the manuscript. Nike Las Vegas T-shirt, Stussy Guam T-shirt, University of Tokyo hoodie

02_Stussy Guam T-shirt. For some reason, I don't wear it often because it feels like I'm trying too hard to look stylish when I go out.

03_Nike Las Vegas T-shirt. If you wear it the other way around, you look like someone who doesn't care about style at all, so you end up wearing it even more carelessly.

04_University of Tokyo Hoodie. I bought this at a nearby store after wanting to visit the Yasuda Auditorium at the University of Tokyo, the site of a symbolic event in the Japanese student movement. I had thrown away almost all the t-shirts from other universities, but the reason this one remains is that the thickness is just right. It is good to wear during transitional seasons.

I started thinking about local merchandise to complement the shortcomings of local T-shirts. The downsides of local T-shirts were: First, the fabric itself is not locally produced. Second, they are bulky. Are there goods that are made locally and are also compact? Yes, there are. Food. Food made with local ingredients is truly locally produced. Furthermore, some businesses with limited scale have items that can only be sold locally due to practical issues like distribution or production. With these thoughts in mind, I started buying food.

Buying food is also an act of understanding the local culture. For instance, buying fish cakes or pollack roe in Busan allows you to trace the region's culinary history. When you purchase fermented foods from the Honam region, such as pickled vegetables or kimchi, the scent of Honam wafts all the way to your home. There are also products connected to Korea's modern history, such as the pickled radish from Jochiwon. If local merchandise t-shirts are the product of graphic design, local food is truly the product of on-site manufacturing and distribution. On-site manufacturing. Accepting the limitations of distribution. It is truly "local."

Unfortunately, even food, which is the very essence of local goods, faced limitations. The issue lies in transportation, particularly when traveling abroad. When returning to Korea from overseas, various food items are held up in quarantine and cannot be brought in. These include meat, processed meat products, fresh produce, seeds, and nuts. According to an article by the Policy Reporters' Group of the Korea Policy Briefing, processed plant foods such as canned goods and salted foods are not subject to quarantine. However, the relevant regulations are detailed, so one must check them carefully. Unless it is something like snacks sold at duty-free shops, it is difficult to buy and bring them back with peace of mind.

Even if I buy things from safe places like domestic travel, there are limits. It goes without saying, but food disappears once you eat it. Memories of local products don't necessarily have to remain as physical objects, but if I wanted to preserve them, I couldn't choose food. If I bought canned goods and kept them unopened, I could certainly preserve them, but the strange circular logic that something made to be eaten only remains as merchandise if I don't eat it leaves me feeling conflicted. In that regard, I am still debating whether or not to drink the mint tea I bought in Morocco.

After much deliberation, I headed to a local second-hand shop. There, I was highly likely to find items that clearly revealed a specific country or region. Although they weren't commercialized goods, I enjoyed the feeling of them becoming, in my heart, a one-of-a-kind "something bought in that neighborhood." Items sold at second-hand shops or flea markets aren't very expensive, so they weren't a significant burden for me, given my limited budget.

With those thoughts in mind, I couldn't tear myself away from the flea market in Penang, Malaysia. There was a specific local item I had originally wanted to buy in Penang: the official plates of a luxury hotel that had been operating in the region for over 100 years. I had simply been thinking, "It would be nice if they sold these," but when I arrived in Penang, I found that they were actually being sold at the hotel's gift shop. Perhaps that was why the price was over 100,000 won for a single plate. Considering the local cost of living in Penang, it was an exorbitant price.

After hesitating in front of those expensive local vintage plates, I went to a local flea market held on the weekend. In that place, where I was the only Korean, and indeed the only Northeast Asian, vintage dishes in the style of Penang Chinese were being sold for about 1,000 won each. I hadn't expected much and regretted not bringing cash; I emptied my pockets of every last coin to buy all the dishes, and I went back the next day. I am still using the dishes I bought back then.

In this way, my concept of local consumption is increasingly veering off the rails. In fact, I even have a piece of local pottery I bought halfway up a mountain. In Kumamoto, Japan, there is a village of relocated old traditional houses from all over the region. One of these houses is used as a hobby pottery workshop for retired local elders. Since they are amateur pieces, the price is around 3,000 or 5,000 won, but to me, this is truly a wonderful piece of local merchandise. I am currently finishing up my manuscript while pouring coffee into that cup and drinking it.

There are many different kinds of local products, and all of them may be the product of local marketing. Before globalization, all goods were, so to speak, local products. Globalization neutralized less competitive local products and created an unexpected counter-phenomenon: local preference. Since optimized goods can be found everywhere, products from specific regions that are less optimized actually become the "local" ones. I believe that savoring this paradox of modern society is also a way to enjoy the local.

With such thoughts, I will be wandering somewhere again. To the souvenir corner with postcards and T-shirts. To the refrigerators selling various local foods. To the flea markets and second-hand shops somewhere that is always familiar yet unfamiliar. As long as my knees allow. Because I often have to squat at flea markets.

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Park Chan-yong

A freelance editor formerly a magazine editor. Contributes to media outlets, writes books, and accepts all other possible offers. Accepted offers include television appearances, lectures, product planning, event planning, and exhibition planning. The title of the most recent book is *Sincerity for Old Objects*. Currently, I am writing a book about contemporary Korean brands.