The popular, yet less than socially acceptable act of getting tattoos is a trend dating back thousands of years. These permanent designs have held a range of purposes, such as symbols portraying status, declarations of love or religious beliefs and even labels of punishment. According to Cate Lineberry, some of the earliest tattoos occurred 5,200 years ago, and were found on an Iceman discovered around the Italian-Austrian border back in 1991. The randomized markings found on this man, mostly around the joints, suggested that the tattoos could have been used to alleviate joint pain, thus allocating them a therapeutic purpose.
So my question is, if tattoos were so common in the past, why are they so negatively received by society today? At 21 years old, I have three tattoos so far and definitely plan to get more. When I decided to ink my skin, I naturally told my sister and a select few close friends, who all expressed undoubted support and as much excitement as me. However, I also received concerned expressions from others who did not share my sentiment for tattoos.
“What about when you need to go for interviews?”
“What about your career?”
“What about when you get old? Aren’t you afraid of the sagging?”
“What about stretch marks?”
“What about skin infections?”
“What if you get bored of it?”
The infamous questions every tattoo wearer has heard from family, friends and even strangers. I’ve stopped wondering if the questions are asked out of genuine curiosity and concern or if they are intended to illicit fear or worry. Either way, these musings haven’t stopped me from sleeping at night or getting tatted. Why do we have this unfounded notion that because someone has permanently etched designs of importance or no significance on their skin, they are unfit for certain opportunities of employment; or that beneath the colored skin hides a background of delinquent nature? Why must I feel shamed when I am greeted with prying, judging eyes on the subway as people assess the black markings on my otherwise clear skin? The answer is, I should not and I no longer do.
There was a time when I would hide my tattoos. At first, I convinced myself that I wasn’t “hiding” them per se, but instead I was saving them solely for myself and my enjoyment. I would hide them from my mother, who at first didn’t approve. I would hide them at work, although they were small and easily missed, which would prove troublesome in the summer when I had to wear long sleeves in the blistering heat. I would hide them in public, on the train, bus—anywhere I was alone with no friendly eyes in sight. But now, I roll my sleeves up and wear low back cut shirts and dresses to flaunt my beautiful designs. The only issues I have with them are that I don’t have more and that I don’t have an ink master I trust in the immediate area.
A few parting words I have for anyone who has entertained the notion of tattoos, serious or not: the skin you wear is your own. You have to live with it, no one else. Tattoos aren’t bad or wrong. They are intimate and sentimental, used for a plethora of purposes including covering scars, engraving memories and for sheer fun. Either way, you have nothing to lose except space on your skin—and maybe a fair amount of money, but it’s worth it, right?—I do, however, implore that you research proper establishments for any body modification endeavors you wish to undertake. Don’t jump blindly into anyone’s chair and allow them to put contaminated needles to your skin; that’s senseless and dangerous. With that being said: free your skin.
