A few days ago I went with my friends to a part of Seoul called Idae. Idae centers around Ewha Women’s University, so the whole area is kind of this big girly paradise. Lots of cosmetics stores and cute boutiques. I figured it would be a good place to get my next manicure, of which I was in desperate need. My thumbs looked like naked mole rats.

I had only ever been to one nail salon in Seoul, so I didn’t quite know where to start looking. My friends and I passed by a few places that were kind of overpriced, and one that looked just a little too sketchy for my taste. Then we came to a sign that advertised manicures starting at $10. “What a deal!” said the penny-pinching midwestern housewife who lives in a small corner of my brain. We went in.

By “in,” I really mean “down.” This place was underground; so much so that we had to go down four or five flights of stairs before we reached the entrance. Also, the entrance was a dog gate. This confused me until I stepped over the dog gate and saw the dogs.

There was a pair of identical shih tzus flitting around in knitted sweaters, and a big pink doghouse in the middle of the salon. Okay.

I didn’t even notice all of this at first, though, because I was focused on something else: the dolls.

Now, I’m proud to say I’m not a particularly fearful person. I don’t have very many phobias I can think of. Spiders? I can take it. Heights? No problem. But dolls? Put that thing away in an airtight box inside a closet with a heavy door and a secure padlock. Or better yet, burn it. Dolls have creeped me out since childhood. So when I walked into a salon that was adorned with floor-to-ceiling display cases of more than 200 Barbie dolls (I counted), I was more than a little apprehensive.

There was the classic vintage black dress Barbie with startling blue eyeshadow. The limited-edition millennium Barbie. International Barbies dressed in the traditional clothing of Japan, Norway, India, Ghana and Brazil. Olympics Barbie. Lucille Ball tribute Barbie. Pregnant Barbie. Dental assistant Barbie. Space cadet Barbie. A whole case of bride Barbies. The way things were going, I was going to bite all my nails away before anyone got the chance to paint them.

After the usual routine of grunts, hand gestures, some broken Korean on my part, and a lot of help from my friends, I settled on a design and the manicure began. I started to relax a little, trying to ignore the pink-on-pink-on-pink-on-floral decor and the hundreds of plastic heads staring at me from yellowing plexiglass boxes. I watched some kind of Korean variety show that was comparing K-pop music videos to ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.

The owner of the salon chatted away at me in Korean while she straightened her hair, stroked her shih tzus and enjoyed an apparently delicious piece of gum. The dolls watched me.

I had a short conversation in English with the lady doing my nails, transcribed here:

“Where from?”

“Texas!”

“Ah, Texas cowboy!”

“Right on.”

Okay, maybe describing this place as a “salon of doom” is a little dramatic. In truth, my nails ended up looking fabulous. I like to think they resemble a pink-and-purple sunrise on a distant planet. Space cadet Barbie would be proud.

But those 45 minutes still feel like some bizarre fever dream. The next time my nails need a makeover, I think I’ll stick to one of the places near my school, or generally look for places with a little more windows and a little less copyright infringement. The dolls, man. I can’t do that again.

For more tales from South Korea, check out all my posts here.