"I hope to achieve a slimmer, oval face from the procedure," Kim says. "I just want to better myself. My wants may be drastic, but I'm not trying to look exactly like someone else."

Dr. David A. Koslovsky, a maxillofacial surgeon at Columbia College of Dental Medicine, performs the V-line operation regularly, though he has a different name for it. "I perform corrective jaw surgery," he says. "This is first and foremost a functional procedure for when teeth are misaligned. It does have an aesthetic benefit, but that's not why we do it. It's a complex, risky procedure. You could have permanent numbness, and there have been cases where people have died from this operation."

It's also extremely painful. The jaws are wired together for six weeks, and it can take six months for the swelling to disappear. But the danger and the physical pain -- and the possible confusion of seeing a totally different person in the mirror -- is seen as a small price to pay by many Korean American women. To understand why, you have to go to South Korea.

Remarkably, one in five South Korean women has had some form of cosmetic surgery, compared to around one in 20 in the U.S., according to the International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons. A powerful Korean consumer culture over the past two or three decades has made Korean women equate beauty with professional and economic success. Feminist criticisms of body objectification are barely heard, and the racial argument that this surgery is a form of "trying to look white" has faded -- due to the rise of Korean pop music culture. K-pop has created a completely new beauty aesthetic that nods to Caucasian features but doesn't replicate them.

K-pop culture -- think "Gangnam Style" -- and its look have spread across East Asia and into the Asian community in the United States. This popularity -- and the value placed on the surgery behind the stars -- has meant that South Korea is now synonymous with medical tourism, and has established itself as an epicenter for all sorts of cosmetic surgery.

Mihija Sohn, Miss Korea 1960 looks nothing like Sung-hye Lee, the winner of Miss Korea 2012. Miss 1960's face is full, her nose is flat, and her eyes are small. Beauty in the 1960s had a very natural slant to it. Women were expected to enhance rather than alter their physical beings. This is in direct contrast to the identikit images of contestants in pageants over the last decade, where contestant pageant teams often feature a consulting surgeon on staff.

"Older standards of beauty were big body, wide hips, and good to make baby," says Bae Seonghee, a 16-year-old schoolgirl from Gumi, South Korea. "Eyes there were slanty and sleepy." Seonghee giggles and hides behind her long bangs. She's elbowed by her classmate Kang NaYeon on her left, and she shrugs and looks up again. "Pretty is a small head, big eyes, and high nose and forehead," she says earnestly. Seonghee is practicing English as part of her school curriculum, and she motions to different parts of her face as she speaks.