This is the Art of Living Well, a column from CULTURED that explores how tastemakers think about luxury: the luxuries that are free, the ones that cost way too much, and the little ones that punch above their weight.
For R.O. Kwon, the key to writing a sumptuous bestseller is incremental, everyday work.
It took the Seoul-born, San Francisco-based author 10 years to write The Incendiaries, her debut novel that would become a national bestseller in 2018. Moving at a pace of 300 words per day, Kwon honed her precise prose, which comes alive in Exhibit, a tantalizing tale of forbidden attraction between a young photographer and an injured ballerina. Already declared “the sexiest novel of the year,” Kwon’s sophomore novel investigates the things we risk—especially when it comes to desire. It’s no surprise that Kwon’s painstaking particularity translate to her own wellness. Whether sharing the Ren Hang photographs that inspired her latest book on Instagram, waxing poetic about skincare, or posting selfies with her signature black eyeliner, the author has honed her aesthetic perspective—and the rituals that work for her—to a T.
CULTURED checked in with Kwon in the midst of post-publication madness to discuss inherited rituals, the versatility of ginseng, and how she alleviates the heavy demands of the writing process.
When writing your second novel, Exhibit, was there an item that felt like a luxury that you turned to during that process?
If I didn’t have a writing ritual involving a giant silk shawl, I’m not sure how I’d have finished Exhibit. If I have the shawl around my shoulders, or even just in sight, I won’t do anything but work on my novel. No messages, social media, any of it; nobody’s allowed to talk to me. The idea is to create a holy space reserved for writing—and, to be clear, I also count reading, stretching, and lying in bed while thinking as writing time. The idea came from the virtuosic writer Ingrid Rojas Contreras, a friend who’s written about how rituals can help protect her writing time from intrusions.
Exhibit follows Jin Han, a young photographer, as she meets Lidija Jung, an injured ballerina, at an elaborate party outside San Francisco. Both these women are in ostensibly glamorous fields but need a lot of grit to succeed in them. How would they each define luxury?
Exhibit explores questions around what you’d risk for your core desires, what you might give up. Desires central to the book include appetites having to do with sex, ambition, and belonging, but Jin also delights in tasty food. She especially loves a tiny, exquisite Korean restaurant, Jinju, one she tries not to want too often. Jinju is fictional, but for a comparable dinner in San Francisco, you can go to Corey Lee’s slightly less tiny San Ho Won. For Lidija, a principal ballerina, luxury is having more time to dance. It’s not uncommon for a ballerina to have to retire in her twenties, and Lidija is intensely aware of how little time she might have.
What product do you use every day that instantly improves your mood?
An acupressure mat! I’m an evangelist about these. Incredible for my mood and body.
What is a splurge you reserve for special occasions?
For a particularly celebratory meal, I’ll get a hunk of Stilton cheese and an accompanying bottle of vintage port. I’m allergic to cheese, and have to load up on pills beforehand, but cheese is also by far my favorite food, and the combination of blue cheese and port—my god, the feast.
What is the biggest unexpected luxury when in the middle of a writing project?
Writing Exhibit came with joy, but also a lot of panic and anxiety—I’m a Korean woman, and people like me aren’t supposed to talk about sex, let alone write a novel centering physical desire, let alone queer, kinky desire. One day, while I was in the depths of panic, I went with a couple of writer friends—Ingrid and the brilliant Lauren Markham—to a spa. We soaked in a hot tub, dried off in a sauna, then dipped in a frigid cold plunge. The combination did wonders for my anxiety.
What’s your favorite smell?
Ginseng. I love it in a cocktail, in food, in traditional Korean medicine, in skincare.
What’s a luxurious ritual you inherited from someone in your life?
My partner has a gift for relaxing. Meanwhile, I can easily slip into patterns of working all the time and sleeping a few hours a night. I’ve learned a lot from him. He relishes a day of watching movies and shows, and ordering delivery; when I can, I love joining him.
What is the best thing you’ve put on your face recently?
I rely on the La Roche Posay Cicaplast B5 Soothing Repairing Spray, especially after I’ve gotten a little too aggressive with retinols and acids. The spray helps with repairing skin-barrier damage. I first learned about it from the very wise writer Arabelle Sicardi, who’s never led me wrong with their recommendations.
What is your favorite luxury that costs less than $20?
The potent Sulwhasoo First Care sheet mask. I depend on the First Care serum, too, but I’ll add the sheet masks before big events and photo shoots.
What’s a wellness ritual you think is overrated?
I don’t get manicures. I grew up playing a lot of piano, and one of the first rules of piano-playing is that your nails have to be very short. In addition, my mother discouraged nail polish, and it’s a habit that’s stayed with me. So, I’m fanatical about keeping my nails short, but don’t otherwise do anything with them.
Tell us about a hidden gem in your city that you visit to put some pep back in your step.
It’s not especially hidden, but Booksmith is a gem of a bookstore, and one you might miss if you’re visiting the city and not stopping by the Haight. Once you’ve bought books, you can go next door to Booksmith’s sister bar, The Alembic, for cocktails and an unforgettable Scotch egg.
What’s your favorite small luxury to give to someone else?
Sheet masks, always. I give them to writer friends on tour, as I know how rough travel can be on people’s skin; I take them to parties and dinners as host gifts; I pass along new favorites when I’m hanging out with a friend.
