KOREANS MAKE UNLIKELY PURVEYORS of HIPHOP FASHION
HERALD NEWS
ED BEESON
Yong Suk Kim doesn't know a thing about hip-hop. But she does know something crucial about the direction its fashion is taking.
"It used to be big and baggy," the 50-year-old Korean immigrant recently said. "Now they are getting a little smaller."
Kim is the co-owner of Dr. Sports, a downtown Paterson clothing store that specializes in urban fashion -- the colorful, imaginative and often luxury-priced gear made by street-savvy designers such as ENYCE, Pelle Pelle and Miskeen.
But the clothier does not look the part. Clad in a cardigan sweater and imbued with gentle politeness, Kim possesses a grace that does not mesh with rap's rough edges. The speakers in her store pound hip-hop music from the radio station Power 105.1, but she said that in the 20 years since she and her husband opened this shop, she still does not understand rap, its rambunctious beats or slang-heavy lyrics.
But if that's what the local market wants, she said, then that's what the local market gets.
Or in the words of Jae Jang, a Korean-American whose family runs two urban fashion stores downtown: "We can't always be Korean people. We have to fit in. That's how the market is."
This is a testament to how Korean entrepreneurs have discovered and filled niches in the urban market.
Korean immigrants in the United States are vigorous entrepreneurs, more than many other ethnic groups. According to U.S. Census data, including the 2002 survey of business owners, the approximately 1.25 million Koreans living in the United States own about 158,000 companies. They also own about 1.3 percent of the country's retail stores, despite being about 0.4 percent of the population.
This means that there is about one Korean-owned firm for every eight Koreans living in the United States. Comparatively, about one in 14 whites, one in 50 Latinos and one in 59 blacks own businesses.
By appearances, however, the market of Korean-owned firms is not terribly diverse.
"Most every Korean-American who has a business runs a Laundromat, a nail salon or a clothing store," said Jang, 21, of Paramus.
Retail stores are particularly attractive to Korean immigrants, according to Kyeyoung Park, an associate professor of anthropology and Asian-American studies at the University of California, Los Angeles, because many manufacturers, wholesalers and designers are Korean themselves. From a communication and integration standpoint, this makes the line of work easier for an immigrant to enter.
This is how Jang's family wound up in the urban fashion business. After his family came to the United States in 1991, an uncle, who had arrived six years prior and ran several stores, taught Jang's father everything he knew about retail.
"We have to put food on the table somehow -- this was the best way," Jang said.
He and his family operate both My Shirts Co., on the corner of Main and Ellison streets, and Pro-Action Sports up the block. These stores specialize in the flat-brimmed baseball caps and limited edition sneakers that no self-respecting hip-hop head would leave home without.
What distinguishes a hip-hop merchant from a nail salon clerk or a launderer is the cultural insight it provides. Korean sellers of hip-hop fashion have a privileged eye into the world of urban youth culture, which is a lifestyle unlike almost any other. It is full of flashy but coded messages that perpetually change from one style to the next. To know what is cutting-edge in hip-hop style, one needs to be an obsessive insider.
Or else a cagey entrepreneur.
"The punk rock style, that's going to be the new thing," Jang said, citing the appearance of wallet chains, tighter jeans and gothic-looking T-shirts on leading rappers.
Yet despite their association with the American dream, small businesses are not necessarily desirable ventures for many Korean immigrants. In addition to such businesses' volatility and long hours, Park said, many Koreans must wrestle with the stigma of being a merchant, which occupies, in Confucian societies like Korea, the lowest social rung.
"If you're true Confucian, you are not supposed to pay attention to material things," said Park, author of "The Korean American Dream: Immigrants and Small Business in New York City" (Cornell University Press, 1997).
"Of course," she added, "that is not true anymore."
Despite the need to be versed in hip-hop's ways, many Korean shopkeepers clearly do not adopt the lifestyle. "We consider it a business before anything else," said Jang.
Though he wears hooded sweatshirts and stylish sneakers, Jang said his personal life is fairly Korean, including much of his music and his friends. He said he was inspired to strengthen the ties to his homeland, which he left in 1991, when he started to lose his grasp on his native language.
Still, Jang is popular among his largely black and Latino clientele. This is partly a result of his affability and partly his innovation in the urban fashion market.
A senior at Montclair State University studying retail marketing and merchandising, he watches the market in ways that his father cannot. Noticing how color coordination is valued among hip-hop fashionistas, he and his older brother John began creating customized baseball caps that match the unique color schemes of limited-edition sneakers.
The brothers stoke the market, and likely save money, by ordering the New Era-manufactured caps in limited runs of 45 to 90 pairs. So far, this venture has been successful. Most orders go through the store's Web site, myshirtsco.com, and can sell out within two hours. Jang recalls with some astonishment how he watched two customers in the store grapple over the last cap of a run that matched a popular version of Nike Air Jordan sneakers.
The brothers now boast that the Internet business more than doubled last year, to six figures. Orders have come from as far as Australia. Local customers include Paterson Mayor Jose "Joey" Torres, who orders custom caps embroidered with his nickname. And once Plaxico Burress, the New York Giants wide receiver, browsed the store, though he soon scooted out when he was recognized.
Jang also bolsters his store by selling rare sneakers, an offering that is rare outside of trendy sections of New York.
That too has been popular. He estimates he's sold about two-thirds of his 600-pair sneaker collection, some fetching as much as $1,000 a pair. His most valuable sneakers are a pair of Nike Air Forces inspired by the Sony PlayStation game console. Only 150 pairs were manufactured, Jang said, and they were given exclusively to high-ranking Sony executives and sports celebrities. He paid a pretty penny to procure them and will sell them for $3,500.
On the heels of his college graduation, Jang and his brother John are set to take over his parents' two stores. While this means 10-hour days, seven days a week -- the hours his retiring parents once worked -- he says his commitment lies in downtown Paterson.
"This is what we're betting all our money on," Jang said.
There is no guarantee of a return. Paterson is, after all, a struggling city, and trying to sell premium-priced fashion where many struggle to make ends meet is hard indeed. Yong Suk Kim, the co-owner of Dr. Sports, said her downtown business has been in the doldrums. It occasionally forces her to undercut profits to move product. "After 9/11, everybody suffers hard," she said.
An older man entered her store. He asked in a raspy voice the price of a long-sleeved shirt by Miskeen, a designer whose hand-painted shirts and jeans adorn many popular rappers.
"Those are $72," Kim said.
The man started to waver.
"But it's on sale now," Kim added. "$55."
The man was still not convinced. "How about that one?" she said, pointing to off-brand shirt.
"No, I want Miskeen," the man said.
"Oh," Kim said, "you know your fashion."
But it wasn't enough. The man left empty-handed with vague promises to return.
Reach Ed Beeson at 973-569-7042 beeson@northjersey.com.
