한국국제교류재단

Kim Jong-gu is a master tailor with four decades of experience. Working tirelessly near Dongdaemun Fashion Town, a veritable hub of K-fashion in Seoul, he cuts and sews prototypes of the latest designs.

Clothes maker Kim Jong-gu cutsfabric at his shared workspace inSindang-dong, Seoul. He began tolearn tailoring as a teenager morethan 40 years ago. In 2018, theKorean government named hima “first-grade sewing specialist.”

Countless people dream of becoming fashion designers. They envision turning cloth into head-spinning name brand pieces. But to turn a design and cloth into a garment, it takes a third element: stitching. The backroom process, oftentimes overlooked, requires a high degree of focus, skill and efficiency.

Producing a perfectly tailored piece of clothing is difficult; it takes a long time to master, says Kim Jong-gu. He picked up a needle and scissors as a teen and has worked non-stop in the 40 years since. In 2018, he received national recognition as a “first-grade sewing specialist.” And while most of his peers are already retired, Kim keeps busy with freelance assignments, sharing a workshop, “Inseong Planning,” in Sindang-dong, Seoul. The neighborhood, located near Dongdaemun Fashion Town, is where the crucial finishing touches to K-fashion are carried out.

Kim’s workday isn’t much different from when he worked for a company. He wakes up early and after exercising at the gym in his apartment complex, has breakfast and is out the door by 8 a.m. He won’t return until after 8 p.m.

Five people share the workshop, producing samples and patterns independently within their own workspace and with their own equipment. Kim makes samples of clothing for internet shopping mall operators, Dongdaemun store owners, entrepreneurs wooing foreign buyers, and suppliers for home shopping channels.

Sometimes designers and clothing makers clash over the feasibility of a design. “It’s usually young, less experienced designers who make those demands, but you just have to explain it to them,” says Kim. “When they really don’t get it despite an explanation, then you make it according to their instructions and show them the result. Then they say, ‘Ah, I see now,’ and finally understand.

“For a garment to be a good item of clothing, technical experts need to put their all into making it, and both the designer and customer have to be satisfied. It’s no good if the person who made it is the only one who likes it. I guess that’s true for other lines of work, too. But I think you can only do this kind of work well if it fits with your temperament. You need to be direct and to the point, have good concentration, and be a meticulous person. And your ive has to be clear, too. In order to really perfect your skills, you should be someone who thinks, ‘This is my line of work, this is all I want to do.’”

Kim has a basic per-sample price for each kind of garment he produces, such as a jacket or dress, and he adds a fee for labor according to the difficulty of the specific design.

“You have to have quick judgment when you cut the fabric. Hesitation just wastes time. Clothes-making is a fight against the clock; you have to be done within the time you quoted to your client.”

Restored Respect
Kim also conducts one-time classes for the next generation of expert seamsters. He enjoys being around young people – and he has a lot to share.

Seamsters and tailors have a painful history in Korea. Jeon Tae-il, the most well-known martyr in the history of the Korean labor movement, was a tailor in Dongdaemun’s Pyeonghwa Market. He became enraged at how workers were forced to work long hours in unsafe sweatshops with no days off. On November 13, 1970, aged 22, Jeon set himself on fire outside his workplace, beseeching bosses to “comply with the Labor Standards Act!” His death kicked off a campaign for worker rights and led to the formation of labor unions in Korea.

Today, the majority of Korean seamsters and tailors are in their 50s. In Seoul, they mainly occupy the neighborhoods that surround Dongdaemun Fashion Town. Many spaces are run by couples or two or three relatives tackling subcontracted or sub-subcontracted work. The working environment has improved since the days of Jeon Tae-il, but they still work long hours for low pay.

“It’s no wonder there are so few people entering this profession. And while designers get plenty of recognition, that isn’t really the case for clothing makers,” Kim says.

“When I was learning as a boy, I’d get a smack every time I made a mistake, and when I was a young man I often thought of quitting because the pay was so little compared to the effort I had to put in, but these days I’m treated with respect.” The reason: hallyu (the Korean Wave).

Following K-pop and K-beauty, K-fashion is riding the Korean Wave. Recognizing this newest cultural export, the government is adopting policies to encourage a workforce of skilled clothing makers. Enrollment is climbing at the Korean Advanced Sewing Skills Academy (KASSA), where Kim gives special one-day appearances for which the sign-up lists far exceed the 20-seat limit. Since he wasn’t even able to attend middle school properly, Kim feels both embarrassed and elated when addressed as “teacher.”

“When my son was a boy, he said he wanted to become a clothing maker, too, but I was totally against it. Even then, the wages were still low and there was no social recognition. If we were having the same conversation today, I’d encourage him, but back then it didn’t look like there was any future in it. My son works at an IT company now and he grumbles about it from time to time. If he ever mentioned getting into clothes making again, I’d do my best to teach him.”

Kim was born in 1962 in Goheung, South Jeolla Province, the sixth child in a rural family of four sons and four daughters. The family relocated to Seoul and when Kim reached middle school age, his father secured an apprenticeship for him at a tailor shop. He received room and board at the shop but no wages.

Those were the years of industrialization at breakneck speed, which often forced Kim to work until midnight or even overnight before staggering to school in the morning. Remembering his father’s advice that a skill would be the only way for him to live well, he stayed on, resisting constant urges to quit.

These days, Kimmainly works oncommission forfashion designers whoneed prototypes oftheir latest creations.The nimble andprecise movementsof his hands bringdesigners’ ideas tolife.

Career Transitions
Kim didn’t attend an ordinary government-approved school. To be recognized as a middle school graduate, he had to pass a national exam, but he failed twice, victimized by work demands that had consumed most of his study time. Fortunately, finding a job was much easier. He embarked on a series of stints at tailor shops, honing his skills. But in the 1980s, the garment industry, which had helped propel Korea’s rapid economic growth, changed course.

“As off-the-rack clothes became more common, made-to-order suits lost popularity. I’d worked so hard to build up my tailoring skills, but there was no work. I had no choice but to get a job at a women’s ready-to-wear manufacturer.”

In the course of over a decade working for that company, he fell in love with and married one of his co-workers. His wife still works at the company where they met all those years ago.

Kim later ran his own womenswear factory, partnering with a former boss. But they went bankrupt amidst the 1997 Asian financial crisis. Next, they launched a brand together and opened nearly 50 stores nationwide. Eventually, rising labor costs forced them to move their business to China, where Kim steered manufacturing operations. After seven years in Weihai, Shandong Province, labor costs again became a thorny problem.

“We had around 180 employees and naturally, they expected their wages to go up as they became more experienced. The workers would go on strike, demanding higher pay, but our boss in Korea wouldn’t give them a raise and I just couldn’t take it. In the end, I left the company.”

Kim had been studying Chinese after work for three years at Shandong University, so he was able to move to Dandong after leaving his company. There he worked with an ethnic Chinese from North Korea, supplying clothing made in Pyongyang to South Korea. But even that work abruptly ended as inter-Korean political tensions sidelined economic relations. Kim had no choice then but to return to South Korea and work in another womenswear business, where he stayed for five years.

Now, as a freelancer, Kim enjoys the freedom of accepting or declining requests – and he knows there is work. “In this line of work there’s no retirement age, so I can keep going for as long as I want. I know other clothing makers in their 70s and 80s who are still going strong.”

Happy Freelancer
In his free time, Kim reads books. He has read the teachings of Confucius and Lao Tzu and books on history and economics, but his favorites are Dale Carnegie’s “How to Stop Worrying and Start Living” and “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” by Luo Guanzhong, which he has read more than 10 times. There’s an old adage that you shouldn’t befriend anyone who has never read “Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” you shouldn’t argue with anyone who has read it more than three times, and you shouldn’t even go near someone who has read it more than 10 times. But Kim says that the relationships between the various types of people and the strategies and tactics for winning a battle depicted in the book never stop being interesting.

When he was learning tailoring as a teenager, Kim didn’t have any dreams for his future, but he does now.

“I’d like to cut down on work, go on holidays with my family and read books and learn new things. When I lived in China, I traveled all over, visiting places like Mount Tai and Mount Paektu, but there are still so many places I’d love to see.”