what your stolen wi spa shirt says about you
"there is no way we would have bought the shorts. it's only fun because you have to steal them."
The morning before my flight out of Burbank, I stopped by Maru on Hillhurst for an obligatory matcha latte (this was after my style-spotting session at Courage Bagels). It was feeling cramped inside, so I shimmied past two panting french bulldogs and a bougie baby stroller and sat on the outdoor bench to wait for my drink.
My ears were perked up for the sound of my name, but all of a sudden I hear the most dramatic runner’s exhales ever known to man. My head whips to the left. There’s a jogger headed in my direction. He slows down as he passes the Maru line (intentional?), giving everyone enough time to clock his t-shirt.
It was a regular white t-shirt that said WI SPA in all-caps. The letterform had a slightly organic, quirky quality…the W had a triangular loop in the middle, and the bar in the A sat slightly off-center.
If you don’t know what Wi Spa is, then the shirt just looks like random merch for a spa called Wi.
But if you *do* know what Wi Spa is, then the connotations of the shirt run deep.
Let’s get into it…
Wi Spa is an LA institution, practically synonymous with Korean spa culture.
This is not because it is particularly fancy or exclusive. In fact, its relative accessibility is what sets it apart. For a daily admission fee of $30, you get access to their massive haven of soaking tubs, saunas, and steam rooms. It’s open 24/7, so you could come detox after a night of drinking in Ktown (which people do!).
When you arrive at the spa, you are given a uniform to wear in the coed areas. It includes a standard boxy cut t-shirt and a pair of elastic waistband, knee-length shorts. The spa asks that guests return the uniforms by tossing them in a laundry hamper on their way out. They are washed and dried for the next guest to use.