I started studying for the hair license and immediately regretted not picking a smaller bag

Signing up for the class at the academy near Sinnonhyeon

I honestly don’t know why I thought this would be a quick thing to knock out on weekends. I walked into that hair beauty academy near Sinnonhyeon station last month because I figured, hey, having a license might be useful if I ever decide to pivot, or at least it’s better than just sitting around. The tuition was somewhere around 1.5 million won for the full package, which felt like a massive chunk of change to drop on a whim. The place was packed with people who looked way younger than me, mostly students or people clearly trying to break into the industry professionally. I just wanted the certification, but realizing I had to sit through modules for scalp management and basic hair styling that felt a bit redundant for my actual goals was the first hurdle. It’s funny how you walk in thinking you’ll just breeze through the technical stuff, but then you realize the instructors are pushing you to treat this like a lifetime career, even if you’re just there for the paper.

The reality of carrying a mannequin head home

Nobody mentions the equipment. Or maybe they did and I wasn’t listening. Walking around with that heavy black bag full of mannequin heads, rollers, and enough clips to hold a house together became a social burden. I had to take the subway back home after the evening sessions, which usually ran until 9 PM or 10 PM. You’d think by a certain age you’d be past carrying around a plastic head with synthetic hair, but there I was, trying to hide it in the corner of the carriage so I wouldn’t startle anyone. It’s physically exhausting, and my shoulders were killing me by the third week. I kept looking at the students who seemed so excited about the 3D skin analysis or the new scalp diagnostic tools the academy brought in, while I was just struggling to get the wave pattern right on the mannequin.

Why scalp certification felt like an unnecessary extra

They kept trying to upsell the scalp management certification. They argued it was a necessary skill for the modern hairdresser, something that would distinguish me from the crowd. It sounded like good logic, sure, but I was already barely keeping up with the standard hair cutting and dyeing curriculum. Spending another 300,000 won for an extra certificate when I haven’t even passed the state exam yet felt like a stretch. I watched a few girls in my class get really into the scalp massage techniques, and they looked so peaceful doing it, but my hands were just cramping up. It’s one thing to see a cool demo at a place like that Olive Young Beauty Mansion in Seongsu, and another to actually spend six hours a day practicing on a fake scalp that doesn’t feel anything like a real human head.

The endless state exam preparation

The practice tests are relentless. I spent two weekends straight just doing the same roll-and-pin technique until my fingers were practically bleeding. It’s not even about being artistic anymore; it’s about meeting the strict requirements of the examiners. You have to place the rollers exactly in the right spot or you fail the mock exam. The instructors would hover over us, saying things like, ‘If you do it this way, you’ll pass,’ but they never really addressed the fact that this isn’t how anyone actually styles hair in a real salon. There’s a huge gap between what they teach for the license and what people actually want when they pay for a haircut, which is something I find hard to reconcile.

Still feeling uncertain about the goal

I’m halfway through the program now, and I find myself wondering if I’ll even use the license once I get it. I see people discussing the credit bank system for a full cosmetology degree and it sounds like a totally different commitment level. Sometimes I think about just quitting and focusing on a shorter makeup lesson or maybe something completely unrelated to the beauty field. The whole experience hasn’t been a light hobby, that’s for sure. I’ve put in enough hours that walking away feels like a waste, but staying feels like I’m just accumulating a set of skills for a world I’m not sure I want to enter. I’ll probably finish the course because that’s just what I do, but I don’t feel that sense of clarity everyone says you get when you start a new path. It’s just another thing I’m doing, and some days, it just feels like a long, expensive chore.