By Michelle Woo and Nina Ahn

Instead of settling for another year of boring Twix or Skittles, why not give kids their sugar fix the Korean way?

We at KoreAm had the laborious job of digging through the shelves at our neighborhood Korean market and putting these individually-wrapped confections to the ultimate test:

our taste buds. Here are the results:

1. Choco-Pie

For those seriously intent on impressing the neighbors, this smores-like cookie will drown all those little witches and ghouls in the certain delight that only chocolate, marshmallow and soft graham crackers can induce. GRADE: A

2. Pepero

Good luck trying to eat just one. When passing out these crunchy, chocolate-dipped sticks, remember the following phrase: “One for you, two for me.” Trust us. GRADE: A+

3. Melon candy

Appropriately reminiscent of frozen melon bars, this hard candy will take the kids right back to the hot, lazy days of summer. Not too sweet, but also somewhat forgettable. GRADE: B

4. Walnut soft candy

A clean, bite-sized shape. A moderately chewy consistency. A nutty, yet slightly artificial flavor. What’s not to enjoy? Starbursts better watch out. GRADE: B+ 

5. Milk caramel candy

We were anxious to try these (there’s a cute cow on the bag!), but upon placing the white Tootsie-roll-like logs into our mouths and taking a bite, we let out a simultaneous “Ew.” Way too sweet and sticky.  GRADE: C+

6. Kanchyu

Remember Koala Yummies, the Japanese chocolate-filled cookies shaped like everyone’s favorite Australian marsupial? Well, these are similar but not half as scrumptious. Oh well. New generations won’t know the difference. GRADE: B 

7. Pumpkin candy

This candy does what so many candies do not. It actually tastes like the real thing. But this pumpkin-flavored chewy candy is almost a little too real. Sans the sweet and the spice, this oddly-textured candy disintegrates way too quickly after only a couple of bites and doesn’t exactly scream “winner.” GRADE: C

8. Nurungji

These little round hard candies aren’t bad — if you like the taste of burnt sweet rice. Apparently, we do. We can suck on these bad boys all day. GRADE: B+ 

9. Ginseng candy

Bleh! Maybe this ginseng-flavored hard candy tickles your halmeoni’s tongue, but for the rest of us? An unpleasant cross between cough-drop and Chinese herbal medicines; don’t be surprised if your front yard is tee-peed after handing these out to the neighborhood kids. GRADE: D

10. Chungu chalddeok cookie

A little weird, but surprisingly yummy.

The outside of the snack is crumbly and cookie-like, but the inside has a texture reminiscent of mochi. It’s a winning

combination. GRADE: B+

11. Fresh-Pie

A fruity alternative to the Choco-pie,

this strawberry shortcake-esque dessert doesn’t quite stand up to its chocolate brother and may not be worth the cost, but you won’t find too many kids

complaining about sweet strawberries, shortcake and cream filling. GRADE: B

By Michelle Woo

Photographs by Eric Sueyoshi

Bobby Kim is cool.

He knows it. Those in his industry know it. The herds of guys standing around at his L.A. block party on this sweltering Labor Day afternoon — they know it, too.

He’s not a musician, actor, model or anyone whose face you’d see splashed across billboards or in the pages of People magazine. He’s just a 27-year-old guy who found a way to turn a bunch of hobbies into a career.

We’d like to call this a story about fashion, simply because it would make things easier, but Bobby might protest. Fans of his streetwear brand The Hundreds, or “the kids” as Bobby refers to them, know it’s about more than that.

So instead, this is a story about a lifestyle project. One early disclaimer: If you love buying sweaters in bulk at the Gap, The Hundreds probably isn’t for you. Chances are you just won’t get it.

But those who do understand it, and, in many cases, live for it, have come out in droves to spend their summer holiday hanging out in front of The Hundreds retail store on the corner of Fairfax and Rosewood. Armed with handheld fans and water bottles, boys in slim-fitting jeans and girls in oversized sunglasses make attempts to mingle over the blaring deejay set.

Bobby, donning a black cap embroidered with the words “The Hundreds Is HUGE, Inc.” is bombarded with handshakes, hugs and compliments. “Are you Bobby Hundreds?” one kid asks. “Man, I just want to say I love what you’re doing.”

To trend-watching industry folks, being cool comes down to a formula. They’re zeroing in on this fast-rising company, which, evidently, has gotten it right. Co-founded by Bobby and his friend Ben Shenassafar four years ago, The Hundreds refers to the streetwear brand and an online magazine, both of which are inspired by the young duo’s roots within the Southern California skateboarding, punk and hip-hop subcultures. The clothes are chased down relentlessly by in-the-know buyers and are now carried in more than 160 stores across the globe. The corresponding online magazine, TheHundreds.com, anchored by Bobby’s daily blog posts on what’s new and fresh in the streetwear scene, attracts a whopping 12,000 to 13,000 unique visitors a day.

“The Hundreds has taken off faster than any other brand I’ve ever seen,” says Aaron Levant, director of Agenda, a San Diego streetwear trade show that brings together star companies such as Crooks & Castles, King Stampede, 10Deep, Obey, and, of course, The Hundreds. “Bobby’s blog catapulted the speed of the brand immensely. It’s required reading for anyone in the industry.”

What exactly is streetwear? While those in the scene — known in the industry as “streetwear heads” — might drop an ambiguous response like, “It can’t be defined,” the clothing genre began as a rebellion against mainstream commercialism. Those who didn’t want their sense of style to be decided by some rich designers with European accents — or even worse, by Urban Outfitters, which Bobby calls “the Starbucks of contemporary fashion” — decided to create their own gear. Many of these upstarts began with T-shirts bearing parodies of familiar logos: Kraft became “Krap,” Tide became “Jive,” Snickers became “Slackers.”

Today, the streetwear genre encompasses a much broader style vocabulary, which includes ’80s pop colors juxtaposed against standard black or white, cartoon-y illustrations and political symbolism. The Hundreds most recent collection features tees with phrases like “The strong take from the weak, but the smart take from the strong,” “Old Scool” and “The Porch Life.” They’ve also got hats embroidered with the company’s atom bomb logo, print hoodies, plaid button-downs and jeans.

The scene is still pretty much a boys-only club, but streetwear heads are diverse in race and interests. “Before, you were either the Sean John kid or a DC Shoes kid,” says Bobby, who has a calm, laid-back demeanor. “Streetwear totally eliminated those categories. You can be a black kid, a white kid, you can skate, you can surf, you can listen to punk music.”

As long as you know the style.

The Origin

Sitting at an outdoor table at Schwartz Bakery on Fairfax Avenue, interrupted at various moments by the sounds of ambulances and police sirens, Bobby tells his rags to way cooler rags story. He was born and raised in Riverside, Calif., a manure-scented suburban city 55 miles east of L.A. The middle child of three, he grew up with modest means. When his immigrant parents couldn’t afford to buy him new clothes, he rummaged through neighborhood swap meets for socially acceptable attire: white tees, Dickies’ shorts and Converse sneakers. “That was L.A. style for the guy who doesn’t care about style,” he explains.

Bobby classifies himself as a child of the early ‘90s. While his teachers lectured on European history and algebra formulas, he’d combat his boredom by doodling cartoons and graffiti-style letters along the borders of his notebook paper. When he got home from school, he’d flip through books of Garfield and Calvin & Hobbes comic strips, tape up skateboarding posters in his bedroom or rock out to tunes on his Sony Walkman. His friends were mostly white, black and Latino.

“I was listening to hip-hop in one ear and heavy metal and punk in the other,” he says, figuratively. “I grew up with all of it.”

Bobby says he had a rebellious side. At home, he’d push aside his homework to create sketches of T-shirt prints and logos. In comparison to his younger and older brother, who eventually became an aspiring lawyer and a pastor, respectively, Bobby was more of a dabbler, never wanting to lock himself onto any given path. “I’m not the biggest fan of authority, rules or anything organized,” he says. “I can tell stories for days about all the hell I put my poor parents through.”

Still, he made good grades and attended the University of California, San Diego, where he majored in media and communications and triple-minored in psychology, theater and computing arts. During college, having always loved to write and take pictures, he started his own alternative zines and snagged an editing gig at Transworld’s Stance, a San Diego-based lifestyle magazine for male teens. In the meantime, he maintained a Web site called BobbyKim.com, where he posted his illustrations, tinkered with graphic design and blogged about street culture.

After graduating, Bobby moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in writing and photography. He got by on a handful of freelance jobs for small magazines, but after 9/11, the opportunities seemed to dry up. With his bank account draining and his future a blur, he figured it was time for a change. He decided to apply to law school.

“My parents were ecstatic I was finally doing something with my life,” he says. “I was just looking for a normal job to pay the bills. I thought I could work during the day and all that other stuff — writing, art and photography — would just be for fun.”

Fast forward many months later when Bobby found himself churning out endless legal notes as a first-year student at Loyola Law School in Los Angeles. He was fed up. “Law school strips you of all your creativity,” he says definitively. “I knew this wasn’t for me.”

Bobby shared his miseries with his classmate Ben, who also cringed at the thought of donning a tie every day and slaving for The Man. Ben’s real passion was for art, music and design. A moment of revelation came one night when the two were studying in the library.

“We were bored out of our skulls,” Bobby recalls. “We started thinking of ideas for how we can make money by doing something that’s fun. We just wanted to do something, anything, to ease the pain. I wanted to start a cool project where I could use all that I have amassed in my two decades of life. I told him about BobbyKim.com.”

Ben loved the concept. “We were trying to come up with another way to live our lives and this was it,” he says.

That summer, with only $400 to invest, the two launched a T-shirt business and online magazine and called their venture a “lifestyle project.” Bobby did the bulk of the creative work, reading tutorials on computer illustration and doing most of the writing, while Ben stationed himself on the business side.

They named the project The Hundreds. “Saying that something is happening by the hundreds connotes a great deal of force,” Bobby explains. “There’s energy and strength in numbers. Although, the less sexy answer is that I was playing around with the typography and the letters looked cool.” They took on the aliases Bobby Hundreds and Ben Hundreds.

Bobby created designs and put them on T-shirts using a makeshift screenprinting press in the backyard shed of a friend’s house. “[The designs] were really horribly bad,” Bobby now admits. “One was like a big letter ‘H.’ Another was of a rapper holding a microphone.” But with pride in their work at the time, he and Ben hit the streets, hoping to chat up shopkeepers and convince them to pick up their collection.

One of their stops was the ubertrendy shop Fred Segal, known for stocking everything that’s cool. They sat down with a guy who just happened to be one of the store’s buyers and presented him with black-and white copies of their catalogue. They explained to him the brand and the story behind it. They talked about street culture and how they wanted to influence it. The guy looked at their stuff, told them he liked what he heard and placed an order. The shirts flew out the doors.

Bobby and Ben both decided to finish law school, taking classes that could be pertinent to the business like negotiation and copyright law, while working on The Hundreds during the summers.

To build capital for the brand, they also started a lower-end streetwear line called Playing For Keeps, which is carried in more mainstream urban fashion retailers such as Against All Odds and Journey. Bobby says it’s a different type of brand for a different type of clientele.

As for The Hundreds, the designs got better and the fan base grew.

“We just ended up taking off,” Bobby says.

The Formula

Bobby wants to get one thing straight.

“No malls,” he declares. “No Nordstrom. No Macy’s. Every month they ask us and we say no. We’re going to try to do that for as long as we can. The essence of streetwear is that you don’t want to look like everyone else. We’re keeping it exclusive.”

Like some streetwear brands that have come before them and many that have followed, The Hundreds relies on a specific business formula that incorporates high-end pricing, limited distribution and the catering to an “underground” audience.

Bobby says he refuses to take the same route as Von Dutch, an independent streetwear company that blasted into the mainstream with its signature-stamped truckers’ hat. What started as an anti-status symbol was soon sighted on Paris Hilton, Justin Timberlake, Ashton Kutcher and every other Hollywood type in town. “You would find six stores selling them on the same street,” Bobby says. “They were even in airport souvenir shops. They made hundreds of millions of dollars and, yeah, good for them. But no one cares about them anymore.”

Instead, he aims to mimic the strategy of Shawn Stüssy, a Laguna Beach, Calif., surfboard shaper who, in the 1980s, created a T-shirt brand that was embraced not only by surfers, but by skaters, hip-hop artists and DJs. He utilized the same business model as luxury accessory brands like Louis Vuitton and Gucci, but brought it down to the streetwear level. Fans didn’t mind sifting through the racks at specialty shops and paying extra cash for limited-edition pieces. For them, the duds were more than T-shirts. They represented the California lifestyle. While the brand eventually reached the mainstream, it didn’t lose underground appeal.

For Bobby, it’s all about a careful balance of attracting loyal fans, while keeping a cap on the brand’s growth. He says his gear has been sighted on numerous celebs, from DJ AM to Jamie Foxx, but he doesn’t like to publicize that. “The kids don’t want to know that Ludacris is wearing a Hundreds hat in his music video. It dilutes the brand. They think, ‘Oh, it’s becoming too big. I need to go find something more obscure.’ These are the kids who need to get their clothes at some random hole in the wall shop where the guy at the counter is always a jerk. When people ask them, ‘Hey, where did you get that?’ they want to say, ‘Oh, you don’t know? Well, you can’t get one. Good luck on eBay.’

“Our goal is longevity,” he adds. “It’s not about blowing out and into the ground. You need to keep them hungry. You need to keep them coming back for more. We put some hats for sale online and they sold out in three minutes. People said, ‘Next time, you need to make more.’ I said, ‘No. Next time, I need to make less.’”

Mid-conversation, Bobby is stopped by a kid walking down the sidewalk wearing a cap and white tee. “Bobby Hundreds?” he says. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m a huge fan. Could I get your autograph?”

The kid’s name is Jonathan Campos. He’s 18 and goes to Santa Clarita College. He says he’s been following the brand for about a year.

“I just thought it was really cool and original,” Campos says. “No one else has this stuff. It’s really underground. It’s not too well known.”

On a sheet of spiral notebook paper, Bobby sketches a picture of a bomb and signs it “Bobby Hundreds.”

“Here ya go, man,” he says.

“Thanks,” Campos replies. With his fist in the air, he adds, “I’m gonna keep supporting The Hundreds!”

Still, not everyone shares the excitement. Sergio Ornelas, a writer for the Oakland-based alternative newsweekly East Bay Express, mouthed-off about the whole streetwear movement in a column titled “I Hate Rap Fashion”: “What annoys me is how this sh-t wants to put up some front of being down with the ‘streets.’ It’s not even on a ‘hood level — it’s just straight-up ‘Hey, rich kids! Let’s earn Cool Kid Points with overpriced limited-edition footwear!’”

By industry standards, The Hundreds gear is moderately priced: about $30 for T-shirts, $26 for the basic hats, $118 for hoodies and $129 for jeans. But even Bobby admits he’s often surprised when 16-year-olds come into the store and drop hundreds of dollars like it’s nothing.

“My mom would’ve jump-kicked me in the face if I asked her to buy me $200 jeans,” he says. “Personally, I still can’t justify buying any piece of clothing that’s more than $100, unless it’s for snowboarding. And even then, it better be lined with Gore-tex and Swarovski crystals.”

But the kids are committed to the brand in other ways, too. “Some have gotten tattoos of our logo, which is a little crazy, I think. But you don’t see that happening with some Macy’s brand.”

The Grind

After finishing up at the coffee shop, Bobby offers the reporter and photographer a quick tour of The Hundreds empire. Leading the way, he walks past a shop selling all kinds of streetwear gear, such as artistically-altered sports team caps and neon-accented athletic shoes. “What up, Bobby?” one employee calls out. Bobby turns to him to share a friendly fist pound.

Bobby says that in the two years that the company has been based in the Fairfax District, the area has evolved from an epicenter for small, Jewish-owned businesses to a concentrated streetwear hub. Along the strip are high-end skate shops Supreme, SLB and Diamond Supply Co., Deadline, known for its conceptual tees, and Reserve, the flagship boutique for streetwear mega-company Freshjive. Bobby has lauded these stores and others on the Web site.

Ricky Li, 31, a manager at consignment-based sneaker store Fight Club Los Angeles, says Bobby strolls down the street pretty often, visiting fellow shopkeepers and checking out what’s new.

“He’s a standup guy,” Li says. “He’s doing a lot for the Fairfax community. Everyone around here likes him.”

Bobby makes a left turn at The Hundreds store, a narrow establishment with an all-black exterior, and walks into an alley.

“That’s Bob,” Bobby says, pointing to a homeless man sitting on the street and plucking at a banjo. “Bob guards the alley.”

He walks through the door into the first-floor showroom, where “Intern Matt” is organizing the latest shipments of merchandise. Stacked underneath folding tables are cases of Red Bull and beer left over from the block party.

Upstairs, young men sit at computers, creating designs for the next collection. When they spot Bobby heading their way, they chuckle about his latest antic — squirting ketchup on a photograph of a naked model taped on the wall near one guy’s desk.

“Do any girls work here?” the reporter asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Girls and The Hundreds don’t work well together,” Bobby says.

The Hundreds staff of around 17 is diverse: white, black, Asian and Latino. Bobby says that many in the streetwear scene assume that he’s white, since he doesn’t disclose his last name on his blog or post many pictures of himself. “When they see me, they’re like ‘Oh my God, you’re Asian,’” he says.

Bobby believes his parents accept his career path, despite some early fears. “I think they’re happy for me, although they’d never tell me that,” he says. “They always knew I was into art and cartoons, and I ended up doing what I was passionate about.” Today, he lives with his wife, Misa, in L.A.

Ben calls Bobby over to a table. The latest shipment of hat samples just came in.

“Nice, nice,” Bobby says, plowing through the box. “Didn’t these colors come out great?”

The Hundreds recently launched a small women’s collection called Tens and will be opening its second retail store in San Francisco this fall. From there, Bobby believes the sky is the limit.

“I call us the Lost Boys,” he says of his team. “We’re fighting the pirates, the authorities, the corporate blood suckers. I do this out of love for the culture. This is what I live and die for. This is my everything.”

Bobby Kim is a businessman, an innovator, a poster child for an underground scene that’s emerging by the moment. He turned what he loves into what he does.

Now that’s cool.

Street Scene

Here are three more KAs adding flavor to the L.A. streetwear circle.

Methamphibian – Peter Kim

In the mind of Peter Kim, sneakers can do more than get you from Point A to Point B. They can be an artistic expression.

The graphic designer, known in the urban fashion scene as Methamphibian, fuses the classic designs of brands like Nike and Converse with splashes of bright paint, fabric appliqués and black-and-white sketches. The urban-style kicks are revered by streetwear heads, with limited-edition pairs selling for as much as $1,250 on eBay.

“We believe that clothes do not make a person who he or she is,” Kim writes on his Web site, www.methamphibian.com. “It is the individual that defines the clothing.”

Foreign Family – Richard “Chad” Moon

Never able to find T-shirts that looked and fit right, Chad Moon got fed up one day and decided to create his own. In 2003, the struggling K-town artist and a few of his buddies launched a brand called Foreign Family. All of the designs are hand-drawn and each has a strong meaning behind it.

“Our company is named Foreign Family because we are all foreign in what we do, who we are and what we are all about,” says Moon, 25, who now runs the company with his partner, MR44. “The family part comes from my wanting to build the company with friends and bringing everyone together as a family through designs and concepts.”

Fakesickness – Kyubum “KB” Lee

When Kanye West needed someone to design logos for his T-shirts and promotional album covers, he turned to KB Lee. (Lee and Kanye’s then-fiance went to high school together).

That’s how the Korea-born graphic designer got his start. Today, Bobby Kim calls Lee the “secret weapon” for all the coolest brands in the industry. In 2003, he started a company called Fakesickness, which does freelance design work for a variety of streetwear clients such as Stüssy, X-Large, Motive and The Hundreds.

“I’m not just trying to solve my clients’ problems,” says Lee, 25. “I want everything I do to fit with their vision. Some people want dope new stuff that no one has ever done before. I can do that for them.”

By Chris Paek

So you’re not quite Ivy League material. Tough break, but it’s nothing to hang your head over. Korean students are thriving in every type of school this country has to offer. From mega-universities out West to small liberal colleges tucked away in rural areas, there’s a whole world of higher education available to you, many of them with an active Korean American network.

High-caliber learning environments, first-rate professors — these “other” schools have more to offer than you might expect.

So, tell your mom and dad to quit sobbing. As prestigious as the Ivies are, the best four years of your life can be had just about anywhere. Remember, it’s not the name of the institution on your diploma that matters, it’s what you do with it.

Carleton College

Northfield, Minnesota

Don’t Just Join the Club … Create One

Undergraduate enrollment: 1,980

Asian American population: 10%

Type: Private, Liberal Arts

Setting: Rural

Tuition/Fees: $36,156

Room/Board: $10,220

Perennially a top-tier liberal arts institution, Carleton pays much more than lip service to the pursuit of diversity; it’s a mission statement inseparable from the identity of the school. Countless clubs and organizations abound here, all student-initiated and school-supported. It’s a testament to the enthusiasm of the student body and to the school’s firm commitment to fostering multiplicity. “Because we all know each other, if you just hear about an event, you’re likely to attend it, rather than being at a big school where you might think, ‘Well, it’s just another event,’” says senior Joo Ree Richards. “There’s a more personal feel to our school.”

n The Scene: The Twin Cities (Minneapolis and St. Paul) is the happening place to head for a night out, although it’s quite a distance — 30 miles north of Northfield. Consider attending on-campus KASA events at Asia House, where the Korean food is catered.

n Notable: Bizarre traditions abound at Carleton. The looniest of these is the Rotblatt, an annual softball game that lasts for as many innings as the college has had anniversaries. This year, Carleton will be celebrating its 141st.

Emory University

Atlanta, Georgia

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Undergraduate enrollment: 6,646

Asian American population: 18%

Type: Private

Setting: Suburban

Tuition/Fees: $34,336

Room/Board: $10,220

Rolling roads paved with red bricks. Cottage-like buildings that scream Southern comfort. Welcome to Emory, the charming belle of elite academic institutions. The homey décor of the campus accurately reflects the closeness of the student body. “You’re constantly running into the same people and you gradually get to know them all,” says junior Hannah Shin. “It’s a really intimate campus.” Situated in Dekalb County, a quiet suburb about 20 minutes away from the bustling metropolis of Atlanta, Emory offers students the best of both worlds. The school is also known for attracting notable speakers and events (this month it welcomes his Holiness, the Dalai Lama). Next year, Emory will open its doors to students across the country as it plays host to the 22nd annual Korean American Student Conference (KASCON) in March.

n The Scene: Check out Bistro New York just off Interstate 285. Students tab this place as one of their favorite noraebangs.

n Notable: Emory is popular in Korea, which would explain the high volume of international students on campus. The link was established in 1893 when Korean activist Yun Chi Ho became the school’s first international student. After graduating, he returned to Korea where he went on to write the South Korean national anthem.

RICE UNIVERSITY

HOUSTON, TEXAS

THE MOST BANG FOR YOUR BUCK

Undergraduate enrollment: 3,049

Asian American population: 18%

Type: Private

Setting: Urban metropolis

Tuition/Fees: $26,106

Room/Board: $10,250

In Texas, bigger is better, although students at Rice might disagree. Located in the heart of Houston and home to more than 3,000 undergraduates, Rice University is one private school that won’t cost you an arm and a leg. Tuition is well under the national average of $30,367. Even with the lower tuition rates, students can still expect private school-type attention from their professors: the student-faculty ratio is a cozy 5:1. Rice also takes pride in its tight-knit community. “It makes it easier for people to get to know each other,” says senior Jeeyun Lim. “Our social network is stronger than other schools in terms of the Korean community.”

n The Scene: In Houston’s Koreatown you’ll find clusters of Korean grocery stores, bakeries, noraebangs and, of course, restaurants. Seoul Garden, known for its kalbi and award-winning bulgogi, always seems to be crowded.

n Notable: The undergraduate architecture program at Rice is second only to Cornell. Rice’s Shepherd School of Music is also one of the nation’s best.

University of California, Los Angeles

Los Angeles, California

THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER

Undergraduate enrollment: 25,432

Asian American population: 38%

Type: Public

Setting: Urban Metropolis

Tuition/Fees: $7,034 (in state); $26,102 (out of state)

Room/Board: $12,420

UCLA students enjoy an abundance of pretty much everything. Ideally situated in the posh college town of Westwood, it’s just a stone’s throw away from Hollywood and the Santa Monica beach. “The location is perfect,” says junior Shannon Lee. “It’s an endless possibility of exploring, finding social outlets — just being a college student.” With every possible resource at their fingertips, from award-winning student-run publications to ethnic, political and religious clubs, Bruins should only have to worry about taking it all for granted.

n The Scene: Los Angeles is home to the biggest K-town in the country, nearly a mini-Seoul. The activity on campus is vibrant as well, with events like the annual Korean Culture Night, which brings the entire student community together for a student run Broadway-like production.

n Notable: Diversity at UCLA takes an interesting twist. Asians make up 38 percent of the student body, making them the majority group on campus. Hence the nickname, University of Caucasians Lost among Asians. UCLA also boasts one of the top Asian American studies departments in the nation.

University of Oklahoma

Norman, Oklahoma

The All-American College Experience

Undergraduate enrollment: 20,580

Asian American population: 6%

Type: Public

Setting: Suburb

Tuition/Fees: $5,110 (in state); $13,399 (out of state)

Room/Board: $7,003

OK, so the University of Oklahoma doesn’t exactly seem like a haven for Korean Americans. With a 76-percent white student body, OU is part of the Southern Baptist cluster, otherwise known as the “Bible Belt.” The social scene is dominated by Greek life and the emotional climate of the school rises and falls with Sooner football. It may come as a surprise then that 1,400 students from 95 countries are enrolled in OU, making it No. 1 in international student exchange agreements around the world. While neighboring cities are not as accepting, says sophomore Esther Chong, “It’s very different when you come back to Norman. Everyone is pretty open-minded here.” The KSA at OU hosts welcoming parties for new students and Korean fairs, as well as Korean Culture Night, which drew more than 500 people last year.

n The Scene: The city of Moore, a 15-minute drive away, is home to approximately 2,000 to 3,000 Koreans. With emerging Korean markets and restaurants, many anticipate that Moore will eventually become Oklahoma’s official K-Town.

n Notable: This year, The Princeton Review named OU one of its “Best Value” colleges. The school is also ranked first per capita among public universities in enrollment of National Merit Scholars and among the top five in the graduation of Rhodes Scholars.

University of the Pacific

Stockton, California

Catering To Students’ Best Interests

Undergraduate enrollment: 3,535

Asian American population: 31%

Type: Private

Setting: Urban

Tuition/Fees: $28,980

Room/Board: $9,210

PHOTO; F-College-Pacific 1.jpg, F-College-Pacific 3.jpg

The University of the Pacific, located 40 miles south of Sacramento, offers students a blend of small school personality with big-school variety. With 11 different schools and more than 80 majors/programs of study to choose from, UOP students can choose from a wide array of classes. The quantity, however, takes a backseat to quality. More than half of UOP’s programs are inter-disciplinary, meaning that the school promotes experiential, hands-on learning. “The school hires distinguished faculty that provides an environment conducive to students’ learning,” says senior Phil Lee. “They challenge us to go above and beyond our normal learning experience.”

n The Scene: If you need a break from all the “hands-on” learning, make your way to Pleasanton and look for the Royal Tofu House, supposedly boasting the best sundubu north of Los Angeles.

n Notable: UOP has a four-year graduation guarantee for all students, given that they meet a short list of requirements. Those who need more time benefit from the university’s promise to pay tuition until the degree is finished.

University of Virginia

Charlottesville, Virginia

THE NEW IVY

Undergraduate enrollment: 13,353

Asian-American population: 10.9%

Type: Public

Setting: Small City/Suburban

Tuition/Fees: $8,690 (in state); $27,940 (out of state)

Room/Board: $7,435

PHOTO; F-College-UVA 6.jpg, F-College-UVA 2.jpg

In addition to boasting the No. 2 ranking among public universities nationwide in the latest edition of US News and World Report, the University of Virginia provides a wealth of resources that smaller schools could only dream of offering. AT UVA, academia is not only emphasized, it’s revered. Placing No. 1 among state schools in producing Rhodes Scholars, UVA is famous for not awarding honorary degrees; you must earn them academically. Its sprawling campus often overshadows the small, suburbanite college town. Yet Charlottesville retains its own unique identity, particularly in its deep-rooted tradition: “Everywhere I walk, I can see that the town has a romanticism to it because of the aged brick and historic restaurants,” explains Joanne Kim, a junior nursing and philosophy major.

n The Scene: Several Korean restaurants are nearby campus, including the appropriately named Korean House. While there are no Korean markets, students can still stop by the Oriental Food Market on Carlton, a pan-Asian grocery that will satisfy your late night kimchi cravings.

n Notable: While students partake in the Fourth-Year Fifth ritual — where fourth year seniors drink a fifth (750ml) of alcohol the day of the last home football game — these kids have brains. UVA undergrads have a 92.4 percent graduation rate.

— Brian Shin

University of Washington

Seattle, Washington

Much More Than Just Academics

Undergraduate enrollment: 27,836

Asian American population: 28%

Type: Public

Setting: Urban

Tuition/Fees: $6,385 (in state), $22,131 (out of state)

Room/Board: $8,337

Student activity at “U-Dub” isn’t dampened by all that rain. In fact, the Huskies are avid socialites, taking full advantage of the slew of events throughout the year. “Dawg Days” opens up the festivities in the fall as students are introduced to the many clubs and organizations the University has to offer. Lawna Palooza turns the campus into a carnival atmosphere, complete with rides and concession stands. The annual Bite of Asia offers students the opportunity to sample various ethnic food. “The Asian population is huge,” says senior Helen Kim. “It makes it easier for Asian students to bond with one another and become familiar with the school, academics and networking.” Fittingly, its KSA, the largest ethnic club on campus, offers its members a dizzying array of social events, including Club Night, Kimchee Bowl, a food bank drive, talent show and comedy night.

n The Scene: K-Towns can be found in nearby cities like Tacoma and Lynnwood, but students prefer downtown Seattle. Restaurants like Wasabi Bistro and Oasian are popular choices but they don’t hold a candle to the almighty Starbucks. You’re in Seattle, after all.

n Notable: Rain to Seattle is like sunshine to Southern California. The unofficial uniform of a typical UW student? A heavy-duty umbrella, a Nalgene water bottle and of course, a North Face jacket.

Wellesley College

Wellesley, Massachusetts

A Safe Haven For High-achieving, Motivated Women

Undergraduate enrollment: 2,318

Asian American population: 26%

Type: Private, Liberal Arts

Setting: Suburb

Tuition/Fees: $34,994

Room/Board: $10,826

Thanks to small class sizes, Wellesley students have ready access to professors who challenge them to think critically and openly. The all-female college has a reputation as a sanctuary for a variety of voices. “People feel more comfortable here,” says junior Olivia Park. “In many ways, it’s a safe space not only for women, but for people who are normally scrutinized in society.” A couple years ago, a Korean-language department was created after students lobbied for Hangeul to be included among the courses.

n The Scene: There is no official K-town in Boston, but the neighborhood of Allston on Harvard Avenue has all the Korean amenities you will ever need. Students also suggest sailing on the Charles River, a pastime unique to the New England area.

n Notable: During finals week, some professors are known to invite students over for milk and cookies. With the students gathered, the professor will read them children’s books in an effort to help de-stress for their exams.

HED; Ones To Watch

Check out these college kids making waves

Joo Ree Kang Richards, 22

Senior, Carleton College

Psychology major

Specialty: Community Service

Adopted by white parents and having grown up in Spearfish, S.D., Joo Ree Richards didn’t have much exposure to the Korean community. While at Carleton College, she spearheaded a mentorship program that pairs KA Carleton students up with local Korean adoptees. Richards says the program fills a need in the predominantly white community of Northfield. “I just want this program to be a way for adoptees to feel more comfortable with who they are,” says Richards. “I want the kids who come to our program to feel at ease about being Korean.”

Keum Sung Kim, 23

Senior, Loyola University Chicago

Communications major

Specialty: Soccer

Finding life in America difficult after immigrating only seven years ago, Kim turned to soccer, a game he loved back in Korea. “If I didn’t play soccer, I wouldn’t have friends because I wouldn’t have a social life,” said Kim. “It helped me hang out with American guys.” In only a few short years, the midfielder has stockpiled the accolades, earning the League Newcomer of the Year award in 2005 and making the All-league team twice. After spending the summer with Chicago Fire’s development team, Kim hopes to play professionally in the U.S.

Eddie Lee, 21

Senior, Harvard University

Government major

Specialty: Politics

OK, so he’s an Ivy Leaguer, but Eddie Lee’s story is too good to pass up. Months before graduating from Harvard, he decided to take a voluntary leave of absence. Believing he needed to be part of a bigger cause, Lee dropped his studies temporarily to join the Obama campaign. His parents disapproved at first, but Lee earned their vote of confidence after demonstrating how committed he is to the Illinois senator’s candidacy. “This is something that I’m always going to look back on and be very proud of,” he says. “There’s nothing that I believe in more than this campaign. My whole life, I’ve always wanted to be someone that’s willing to drop everything for something I believe in.”

Story and Photographs by Bill Stephens

It’s mid-morning at the Koreatown McDonald’s on busy Western Avenue just north of Seventh Street. Outside, a dozen older Korean men sit under a large red canopy at small Formica tables. They clutch coffee cups, read Korean newspapers, chat and play Korean chess, called janggi.

The area is around 1,000 square feet and less than inviting. Nails stick up from the roof to prevent vandals and a sign on the wall reads: “Private property. No trespassing, loitering, drinking. Violators will be arrested and prosecuted.” Minor landscaping and a lone palm tree soften the nearby asphalt parking lot, but not much.

Young men and women of various ethnicities rush in and out of the fast food restaurant, located next to a hotel. But the Korean seniors here on the patio are in no hurry. It’s a hot day, but the red canopy shades them as a cool breeze flaps the American, California and McDonald’s flags.

Many gather around two men embroiled in a close game. Gambling is kept to a minimum — at most $1 a game.

The group sports a variety of hats — baseball caps, straw hats, porkpie hats. One or two men sit alone nursing coffee, the rest are caught up in conversation.

One sits down next to me. “Hello, I’m Mr. Han,” he says. He wears a tidy shirt, sunglasses, and has a friendly, wrinkled face.

“I’m Bill.”

We shake hands. I tell him I’ve noticed the group and am interested in hanging out and observing. Exploring L.A.’s varied landscape is one of my hobbies, and I’ve been curious about this place ever since I heard about it from a Korean friend. It seemed like an unusual place for Korean seniors to gather daily, and I wanted to know more about its history and clientele.

Mr. Han says he’s a 73-year-old retired widower. He comes here regularly to drink coffee.

“Why here?” I ask.

“I like this place,” he says. “Mostly retired Korean men come here. The McDonald’s employees who work here are nice and don’t bother us. A few homeless also sit here, but don’t bother us either.”

He says some Korean men come from a long distance to hang out on this patio. One man buses in every day from La Crescenta — 25 miles away. The patio starts getting filled at 7 a.m., and many stay long into the afternoon.

Mr. Han says he’s a university engineering grad who served in Vietnam as a Korean Marine captain. Koreans, he says, did some of the toughest fighting in Vietnam, and a number of his men died. He’s been living in Los Angeles for 35 years. He likes it here, especially the weather. Once a mechanic at a Beverly Hills hotel, he now lives alone on his monthly social security check. I learn that some of these men rely on either social security or welfare.

“Korean seniors like this McDonald’s because they give us a senior discount on coffee: 75 cents per cup.”

“Why not a Korean coffee house?” I ask.

“Too expensive — $3.50 per cup.”

The men hovering over the janggi game suddenly get loud — somebody has won. Mr. Han smiles. “Sometimes there are three janggi games going at once here on the patio.”

A Latina McDonald’s employee then walks onto the patio and reminds the men not to throw cigarette butts on the ground. She smiles at the players.

“No game. No game,” she says.

 But it’s a half-hearted scolding. She walks back inside. The games continue.

***

I return to the McDonald’s on Western two days later and see familiar and new faces. Today there’s no janggi. A dozen Korean men, mostly seniors, chat away in Korean. Some smoke, some read newspapers. Today, the large middle table has boisterous, cheerful talkers and laughter frequently fills the air.

A Korean woman wearing an Operation Desert Storm T-shirt occasionally pops up to get coffee or ice cream for one of the men. For this, I’m told, she receives a 25-cent tip.

I strike up a conversation with 68-year-old Jung Min Kim.

“How often do you come here?” I ask.

“Three times a day,” he says.

“Why?”

“My friends are here.”

Mr. Kim tells me he likes the place, that the McDonald’s employees are nice. He immigrated to the U.S. in 2004 and now lives on the outskirts of Koreatown. He has a wife and son back in Korea, and a son in L.A.

At 11:15 a.m., the patio grows silent as the men read their newspapers. One man gets up, walks across the parking lot, sits under a tree and reads. 

A very old Korean man arrives with a cane and a large bag of carryout food. He sits down and sips his coffee. He squirms when a homeless woman sits across from him, but moves his stuff slightly and ignores her.

I duck inside for a coffee refill and chat with the Latina manager.

“How long has this McDonald’s been here?” I ask.

“Twenty-two years,” she says. “It’s designed in the old McDonald’s style and we want to keep it that way.”

The concept is somehow fitting.

***

I arrive next on a Saturday. The patio is crowded, and a few men wave to me.

I get a cup of coffee inside and find an empty seat outside. Today, two janggi games are progressing.

I start talking to Paul Kim, who is watching the game. He came to the U.S. in 1982 and had a plumbing business in L.A. Now retired, the 69-year-old frequents this McDonald’s every day.

“Here I can drink coffee and see friends,” says Mr. Kim. “It’s a special place. Korean seniors have been coming here many years.” 

More than special, this place is world-renowned, at least according to Mr. Yang, a wiry man with glasses in his 60s. He tells the story of one man from Reno, Nevada, who traveled all the way here to join in on the camaraderie.

“This Seventh and Western Avenue McDonald’s is a famous place among Koreans,” he says. “People in Seoul even know of it.”

Mr. Yang has lived in L.A. for 20 years. Now retired, he once owned a sewing factory and patronized this McDonald’s on his breaks — back then the congregating took place inside. When indoor smoking was banned in California, the McDonald’s built an outdoor patio and the group followed. The fellowship grew when Korean seniors frequenting recreation centers heard about the smoker-friendly spot. Mr. Yang says it’s always been a diverse crew, pointing to a doctor of Oriental medicine and a construction worker.

When the chain restaurant raised the coffee price for seniors to $1, the group complained until it was lowered to 75 cents.

At times, says Mr. Yang, homeless people hassle the group for money. “But the homeless have been coming here a long time too,” he notes.

“Why is it mostly Korean men here?” I ask.

“Sometimes Korean old ladies come here too,” he insists.

The same Latina manager comes out to the patio.

“No game,” she says to the men. “No game.”

They wave and claim they’re on the last play. She smiles and goes back inside.

“She’s a nice lady,” Mr. Yang says. “This place is good, unique. If they closed, I don’t know where these Korean men would go. This isn’t the only McDonald’s in Koreatown, but Korean Americans favor it.”

As I get up to leave, I take a last look at this odd coupling of generic globalism and Korean immigrant seniors within hyper-modern Los Angeles — a place of idleness and friendship. A place of fast food and slow men. A place that represents classic Americana, but where elderly Korean immigrants gather to feel closer to a birth country miles away.

By Nina Ahn             Photographs by Eric Sueyoshi

In most department stores, they’re hidden somewhere between baby clothing and lingerie: dresses that more closely resemble potato sacks than a woman’s curvy figure. Yes, we’re talking about the plus-size women’s section where the wardrobe is generally limited to conservative separates in dark colors or awful patterns. They’re styles that many wouldn’t be caught dead in, and yet, may have no other choice.

According to Largesse, an organization that promotes “size esteem,” the average American woman wears a size 14 — although the generally fashion-backward styles available to plus-size women proves that the retail industry isn’t yet convinced that stylish plus-size clothing can sell.

The market has been pretty much wide open, which is why, three years ago, husband and wife Yul and Christina Kwon launched Missphit — advertised as “Plus size clothing for the trendy, curvy fashionista.”

Yul’s parents, now semi-retired, owned a missy and plus-size fashion company mostly catering to private labels for almost 20 years. In 2000, Yul was recruited to take over the family business. The Georgetown graduate who had experience in advertising and a finance degree from Boston College returned home to Los Angeles to learn the trade.

Not long after he started, he began receiving requests for more contemporary, current styles. His parents had paved the way in the plus-size market with budget-friendly options, but they catered to older, more conservative women. The industry needed a shake-up, and Yul saw an opportunity.

“The business in the past was always about price, price, price — just try to get big, private label orders,” explains Yul. “Now let’s do something where we can develop a brand, an image, and people come and know what our fit is like.”

Around the same time, Yul quickly found himself falling for Christina, a new designer for his company. Having studied in Paris and a graduate of Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising in Los Angeles, Christina was raised in Korea but came to the States to pursue a career in fashion design.

“We were a little careful because we were working together,” says Yul of their budding romance, “but all the pieces and emotions were there.” They started dating only a few months later and married in 2006.

So for the past three years, Yul, who heads the business side of the company, and Christina, who heads the company’s team of designers, have reached out to department stores and boutiques literally all across the world trying to promote their brand of bold, curve-hugging novelty tops, which retail for around $40.

Yul, 31, is the quintessential confident businessman, rolling out plus-size industry stats and talking up his new line without skipping a beat. Christina, 32, on the other hand, is shy and prefers to leave the talking to her counterpart. (When asked what she enjoys about her line of work, she says, demurely, “Simple question! Just growing the business with my husband.”) The Kwons’ yin-and-yang relationship seems to work well within Missphit’s daily operations, as the brand has gained industry cred.

“There are very few designers in the industry that are devoted to novelty tops. They just assume that the plus-size woman is not fashionable,” says Catherine Schueller, a plus-size media spokesperson and former Ford plus-size model. “Yul and his wife have managed to really hone in on what needs to be done in this market.”

And although they have Dillard’s on board and a few more department store deals in the works, the real turning point came after “American Idol” performer LaKisha Jones wore one of their halter tops during the show’s sixth season. Suddenly, a flood of requests started pouring in to Missphit’s Web site.

“They were saying, ‘I don’t live near a Dillard’s. Where can I buy it?’” recounts Yul.

Always the entrepreneur, Yul set up an e-commerce store on the Web site to capitalize on the buzz from what was now known as “the ‘American Idol’ top.” Although sales have not been as good as he had hoped, Web site visits have slowly risen despite. They haven’t invested much in advertising, but continue to receive e-mails from thankful customers.

Unlike most plus-size clothing that simply works off a standard sample size (usually size 6) and simply increases the proportions, Yul and Christina work with what are known as fit models: plus-size women who try on the clothing and give feedback on how to perfect the sample. Missphit also employs a patternmaker who has the experience and know-how to fit the clothing specifically for a plus-size woman’s curves.

“We don’t fit them just on your standard plus-model body type,” says Yul. “We’ll go for all different shapes. We’ll go for shorter and rounder. We’ll go for tall and glamorous or voluptuous. We just try to find something that fits everyone.

“Some companies say, ‘Let’s just make it big and make sure it covers your body.’ [That ends up] like a sack. We’re going to try and make the curves correct.”

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