Tattoos are not what they used to be. I’m not sure if the years of mainstream print, social, advertising, and published media hasn’t a clue of what the ink means, or they just don’t care. And it shows. It bothers me that tattoos haven’t been explained well to a world that no longer uses them effectively. Sure there are remote places that still abide the traditional values of it, but the grand majority does not. As a product of recycled messages and tangled motivation, I can only explain why I cannot have any permanent tattoos.
I cannot have a tattoo because of where I live. I’m from a western society heavily affected by its past. I’ve read too many books referencing to the earlier centuries of the British Islands, France, and Spain being callous toward non-western societies. Anything outside the western civilization was considered at a level of savagery. The ink and scarring was firmly coupled with lowly, uncouth people—and it didn’t help that tattoos were souvenirs amongst sailors. To make it worse, the reintroduction of ink to the masses was a market for circus’ and people zoos. Odd enough the fetishizing and poor exposure didn’t dissuade some persons of royalty or high status from getting tattoos. It’s just wasn’t something they mentioned at parties.
I noticed tattoos are for rebels. What the Western Perspective has done to Tattoos is label their beholders as angry nonconformist—despite tattoos signifying a decided conformity. As an occupant of the middle class my existence weighs on a relatively squeaky-clean presentation. In other words: assimilation. Agreeable body-modification is limited to corrective/plastic surgery, haircuts, contact lenses, and microderm abrasion. Which means my parents and their friends and coworkers and bosses think and believe tattoos are an undeniably no-no. “For criminals and hussies,” judged my grandmother. None of the conventional people of my family have tattoos but they do have deep-set frowns or disappointment toward anyone tattooed. This includes my cousins that look like ink-blots, and my sister resembling a well-travelled envelope. My younger relatives took to it like underage drinking. I’m not against what they did. I just wish they chose better art.
The final evidence of westernization is treating tattoos as proofs of dangerousness, Otherness, and exoticism. The western presentation for tattoos is a cheap ground of subtext. Tattoos were intended to evoke position, rank, and occupation in a positive way, but none of that transferred into the western sphere. I noticed that I live in a machine that profits from alluring and picturesque bodies and tattoos do not fit into that mainstream equation. Unless a loaded message is involved. I’m not sure if I find it pathetic or insensitive of how many shows and movies validates a “bad boy” by his outsize tattoo the same way a dinky one converts a woman into a “sex kitten”. There are a few exceptions, but many leap to sideshow antics for ratings.
My second claim as to why I cannot have a tattoo is how it’s stigmatized. The uniqueness of tattoos has been twisted into joke. It’s often used as the result of poor judgment that no well-intentioned person would do.
Besides the concept of “Tramp Stamp” existing, there is a general recurring novelty that tattoos are obtained during a careless phase of the individual’s life. Because no levelheaded person would want a tattoo. And as unbelievable as it sounds, there are teams and bundles of childish adults who flop into tattoo parlors after hours of drinking, or after losing a bet to be stained with a cheap image of poor character. Where’s the dignity in that? Why is the tattoo a punishment? Admittedly, it does help there is a military following to counteract the foolishness with messages of enduring-brotherhood, but it leans into the “bad boy”, “wild lifestyle”, sailor-division that doesn’t help my argument.
Another reason I have a problem with tattoos is how it will affect me. Frankly, in the real-life, tattoos aren’t marketable. A coworker was shocked into silence when I answered that I would get a tattoo. Specifically, that I have a tattoo along my face, neck, arms, and hands. Suddenly I was not as attractive and it confirmed something I had considered. It’s not the quality of life that I’m worried about; it’s my quality of income. Tattoos are not welcomed in any workplace. If I got an honest-to-goodness, prominent, meaningful tattoos that I would never hide my station in life would be stunted. I would be in love with myself if I had a facial tattoo, but I would have to wear makeup in order to be interviewed anywhere descent. If I had a full-body design, I would have to wear turtlenecks and slacks all year long—unless I stock up on Dermablend (“Go Beyond the Cover” Youtube) to significantly undermine my intentions.
Despite existing for thousands of years, for some reason, tattoos are sidelined as a trend. As in, nowadays, it’s too easy to get a tattoo. I do like that certain places can have twelve shops to a neighborhood, but at the same time, that’s what’s wrong. Past the grungy exteriors, each and every one of them has a binder full of clipart. It can be opted out for those who know what they want but that binder has a lot of meaning in it. It’s no different from a fast food joint, and some of pictures in that binder are plucked from faraway places and chosen by those who don’t know better. A friend was requested to draw a Tribal Tattoo and she answered “Which Tribe?” and I was so proud of her. There are six separate continents, a host of mainlands, a flurry of islands, and an incalculable number of people and distinguished clans with individual systems and illustrations to comprise what the Tribal tattoo is. It completely went over the inquirer’s head. I can’t have a tattoo because so many people are chasing a recognizable piece of bad imagery. Another teensy thing is one doesn’t choose tattoo, the person is to be ordained with one—but no one talks about that because who’s going to trust a stranger to brand them with a design without say-so.
After all the proportional information, I know what I’m capable of. Unfortunately, I have thought it through enough to distinguish I am more than likely going to love tattoos from afar. The last and underlining reason for my unconsummated bond with permanent ink is because I’m indecisive.
My indecision is reinforced by the idea that tattoos are a mistake. Currently, they are no longer permanent, just long-lasting. Tattoos are intended as a life-long commitment, yet tattoo removal exists. I’m afraid if I finally obtain my wishes, I would have to research dermatologists as well. In my kid years, I wrote on myself with fountain pens and sharpies. If I didn’t like how certain lines were squiggled, I would rub it out and fill it back in. No matter how bad or unbalanced my ink job was, it would wear off. That luxury does not extend to tattoos. The ink will dull over the years but isn’t going to rinse off in the shower no matter how much I scrub it. And come to think of it, I never made a decision that I had to live with. I can’t imagine having a single image to get used to for the rest of my life.
The second reason for my hesitation is because I’m aware there is a proper manner of doing Tattoo. My world is powered by instant, digital, renewable satisfaction. How could I possibly be prepared for a tattoo when I have access to ebooks, torrents, and caffeine-powered adrenaline? There is no longer a place to wait for something, anything, to develop. Nothing is actually earned; nothing is as hard-to-get, anymore. Tattoos produced by physically jabbing a needle-brush/pick and rubbing the wound with soot is now a method of the minority. Call the inkjet we use now an improvement, but it totally took out the most important part of getting a tattoo: pain.
The dominant reason I cannot have a tattoo is because of the pain. Pain, in general. I’m afraid of that sensation, and I do my best to avoid it altogether. To-date, I can’t take a blood test without blubbering. With that in mind, I was once very determined to sign up for a blood-drive and I was so psyched about it that I didn’t donate. If I can’t take a medical needle, how am I expected to handle a tattoo? “Does/Did it hurt?” is common response to inking and that irritates me so much because it will hurt. Ignoring conventional standards, Tattoos are supposed to hurt. How else are you to know you deserved your image if you didn’t have to suffer to obtain it? Due to the original measures, Tattoos are a painful process. And it was because of how the constant pain was handled by that child, woman, or man it dignified them as a enduring force. The bigger the tattoo, the more commendable and valuable that person was. It separated the mature from the frail. Frankly, with my easy-peasy living, if I attempted to have it my way, I would have to be made of something more than my surroundings. I would have to be someone else entirely—unless I lose a bet and wake up with a hangover. Not ideal.
Tattoos have a big impression on my sense of understanding. For me, they are not an impulsive act but a very serious decision. They represent orientation, family, and maturity. Given my place in life, I can no doubt comfortably live without a tattoo. But beyond the assimilation, I can’t help feel my reality is unfulfilled without one.
Works Cited
DermablendPro. “Go Beyond the Cover.” Online video clip. Youtube. Youtube, 11 Oct 2011. Web. 9 Oct. 2013
