Casual Tattoos: The Art of Storytelling

Not too long ago, I sat down in Ex Libris with my good friend Ariana after a bit of a rough day. We started talking a bit about everything, and suddenly our conversation shifted to tattoos. She had gotten a bigger piece on her tricep a couple months prior, and was looking to get a new one soon. I wanted to get another one soon, too; I wanted to get a bunch of them, honestly. When she asked what I wanted in the future, I was stumped a bit. What did I want to get? I know I wanted more, but what exactly did I want?

Turns out we both felt the same way: we had these vague ideas of what we wanted on our bodies forever, but nothing set in stone. Except for the stick and poke she was planning on getting soon, anyways. Suddenly I started to think, shouldn’t you talk about tattoos with some certainty? Shouldn’t you know what you’d want to put on your body forever? The answer, I think, is not always. There’s a beauty in the casualty that’s been emerging for a while in our culture. You should write about this, Ariana said. And so I am, thanks to her.

There’s been a shift in the culture of tattooing, one that opens up multitudes of non-traditional styles. There’s a space for illustrative artists—expressionism, abstract work, minimalism, and surrealism have been on the rise compared to traditional counterparts (which are equally beautiful, don’t get me wrong). Stick-and-poke tattoos as well have been on the rise for a while, in comparison to the traditional gun. Artists have been creating more flash pieces, which are beautiful and efficient in their own right. There is a freedom, there, in opening up this space for artists of all kinds.

Tattooing is a remarkable art form, and it has a long, ancient history that signifies the human experience: from rituals and rites, to life and death. This history is paramount, and it’s essential to acknowledge it. It’s also important to acknowledge how lucky I am to exist in a culture where tattoos have become mainstream—I won't be seen as rebellious, nor am I very likely to be shamed or denied from a job position because of mine. I’m grateful to be able to have this agency over my body.

I got my first tattoo on September 16th of last year. The funny thing is, it was supposed to be 3 days prior, on September 13th. Friday the 13th, to be specific.

My long-time best friend Sofia and I had been wanting to get our first tattoos since forever, and this was a perfect opportunity. We didn’t have much money to splurge on commissions, and even then we didn’t really know what we wanted, anyways. We just wanted something on our bodies, plain and simple.

What better option did we have than spooky, discounted flash tattoos? It felt like we had a master plan, and for weeks we were giddy with excitement.

Friday the 13th came and so, finally, we went.

Our entire train ride was full of skittish nerves and undeniable thrill. It’s laughable to think back on now, how nervous we were. We played a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’d get tattooed first—winner goes second. I won, thankfully, and so I felt a little more at ease knowing she’d have to find out how it felt first (as bad as that sounds, but I know she’d feel the same way if it was me who lost). When we arrived and saw the huge line outside of the shop, we knew we’d be there for a while. We parked ourselves in the back of the line, and as time went on we decided to sit. We chatted with the group of kids to our left, a collective antsiness and boredom rising within all of us. I don’t even remember how long we were in that line—it had to be no less than five hours. We felt delirious at that point: our initial excitement was dwindling into exasperation, and at this point we started to give up. By no means were we upset at the artists: their job is ridiculously hard, and I can’t imagine the pressure and exhaustion that comes with a line of people down the block waiting on you for ink. We were just a bit mad at the world.

Eventually 10 o’clock hit, and the shop decided to give out vouchers for those who didn’t want to wait in line anymore. We got them, grabbed some McDonald’s, and wallowed in our misery. At that point, we couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous we felt. We went back on Monday, with the addition of her boyfriend Cody, and this time there was no line. We finally got to take a look at all the flash tattoos in the books (even though we had some idea of what we wanted already) and decide for sure. I saw mine, a broken wishbone with the text WISH ME LUCK! and immediately knew I needed it. I was drawn to it instinctively, and I didn’t want to overthink it too much. And so, I got it. Sofia first, me second, Cody last. It didn’t hurt, and when the needle hit my skin I just knew I could get more and more. I loved everything about it.

And I think there’s some magic in that. The three of us simply liked them, so we got them on our skin forever.

And no, I’m not promoting going and getting inked up on a whim (even though that’s kind of what we’ve been doing for the last couple of months). If it’s something that’s not for you, that’s completely fine. But if you’ve been on the fence or thinking a little too hard about it, I say go with your gut. Get something small in a place just for you, or get something big and bold that everyone can see. It is by no means a shallow form of self-expression for just wanting something that you think is beautiful or interesting on your body.

The ability to form a relationship with an artist you admire, to commission a piece with them because it means something important, is an absolutely beautiful thing. This memory, symbol, or tribute will stay with you forever. It’s an immortalization. I want to do it too, one day, when I’m ready.

But right now, I’m not. And that’s okay, too. I don’t have many at all, but right now my tattoos are an immortalization of the stories I have when I got them. Do they mean anything? Yeah, to some extent. I was drawn to the style of my artist’s flash, it resonated with me at that moment in a way I couldn’t explain. There’s a story behind them that I won't forget.