My grandmother has always spoken her mind. She has never hesitated to tell me that she hates my hair, my clothes or generally anything else about my appearance. While, as a child, this used to bother me, I now actually find it somewhat funny. I don’t usually interact with people who tell me their opinions, negative or not, straight out the way that she does. When my family and I visited her over the Christmas holidays, as we sat in her nursing home bedroom, she happened to notice my newest tattoo. Now, I figured that this would happen eventually and I wasn’t disappointed by her response. She asked me what was on my arm and when I admitted that it was a tattoo, she scoffed and deemed it, and all tattoos, “trashy and cheap.” As amused as I was by her response, it did make me think about the changing perception of tattoos in our society.
The generation that my Grandmother grew up in had very different ideas about tattoos. In the workplace, it was nearly impossible to be hired while sporting visible ink, so tattoos on a person marked them as unemployable and, quite frankly, idiotic. It was an incredibly rebellious act to be tattooed when my grandmother was growing up.
Now, however, things have changed a lot. About half the people I know have tattoos, both adult and college age. Many of the people I know that work in the business world even have tattoos. Lots of companies these days couldn’t care less about a tattoo that you have, as long as it’s work appropriate and can be covered somewhat easily. Our society has greatly changed the way we look at tattoos, and personally, I think it’s for the best.
One thing my grandmother and others in her generation are missing out on is the fact that all tattoos tell a story. I’ve never met someone who had a tattoo that didn’t have a fairly personal and certainly interesting story behind it. Tattoos are a form of self expression that allow you to take ownership of your body and adorn it with the things you’ve been through and the people that you love.
My tattoos are so personal and precious to me and are way for me to demonstrate healthy and artful control over my own body. They remind me that my story isn’t over, that I’m free to be myself and stand as symbols of the things I love and hold in my heart. They have never been an act of rebellion and they have never been spontaneous or decided rashly.
One of my favorite tattoos was very recently done on my friend Josh’s chest. Over a year ago, when he was going through a hard time, I shared a poem with him that I thought would relate to his experience and give him hope: Holy Sonnet 6 by John Donne. A week ago, he got a line of this tattoo, “Death Be Not Proud,” inked across his heart in my handwriting, in remembrance of a great friend that he lost and in as a reminder that nothing is truly lost to death.
Stories like mine and Josh's can’t be told from simply looking at our tattoos, so you should never pass judgement on one until you ask. Next time you see a tattoo, especially one you might think is pointless, ask the person to tell their story. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by their answer.
I don’t expect my grandmother to change her perspective on tattoos any time soon and that’s okay. But I hope that with time, society will continue to grow and view tattoos as a form of self expression, art, and story telling, rather than, as my grandmother so aptly put, “trashy and cheap.”
