Tattoo You: The Normalization of the Rogue
There was a time when tattoos were only for sailors and ne’er-do-well’s. Those times are over.
There was a time when tattoos were only for sailors and ne’er-do-well’s. Those times are over.
There was a time when tattoo parlors weren’t on every corner.
There was a time when getting a tattoo wasn’t a right of passage.
There was a time when having a tattoo signified that you were more than likely a “bad seed” or sailor rather than a mid-level IT manager.
Now I like tattoo’s. I can’t entirely be certain where that comes from other than my mother hating them…ahhh, that must be it.
My mother claimed to hate two things — motorcycles and tattoo’s.
Obviously, as soon as I could, I acquired both.
Ultimately, I found that my mothers disdain for tattoo’s wasn’t real. After I showed her my first tattoo, she simply said “Oh, that’s nice dear.” While I don’t think she liked them, she never disowned me…like she did when I got my ear pierced, but that’s a story for another time.
That said, I don’t think she would’ve pictured a world where there would be conventions, contests and television shows about them. In any event, that’s what happened.
Somehow over the past thirty years, tattoos have become as American as apple pie.
I got my most recent tattoo yesterday and someone asked me “What’s the occasion?” I didn’t have an answer…because there isn’t one. I’ve moved beyond having some sort of life moment to memorialize with ink on my body.
Then the follow up question was, as it always is, “How many tattoos do you have?”
And then “Where are they?”
Well, here you go:
The Beginning: The Black Rose
The story — It was 1989 and I was getting ready to go to art school in NYC and wanted something to mark that. At the time, in Connecticut, there were only two tattoo parlors. At least they were the only ones listed in the Yellow Pages (remember those). One was in Derby and one in Hartford.
For logistical reasons, I picked Derby.
Hunting down this long forgotten tattoo parlor, I had about $80 in my pocket. The only thing I remember was the guys name, Zee. I asked him what I could get for that and he said “Well, a rose.” Figuring a red rose wasn’t really cool, I went with the black rose. I was a rebel with a dark soul. Ha.
Zee got to work on my left shoulder and about one hour later I had my first tattoo.
Unknown to me at the time was that it was a song by Irish band, Thin Lizzy. Also unknown to me was that a black rose was sometimes used as a code word for Ireland, when English law prohibited direct references to Ireland as a nation. And sometimes they would tattoo a black rose this on themselves to identify them from the British.
Maybe subconsciously, I was channeling my Irish heritage.
Of course, I wouldn’t find that little bit of information until many years later. Rather than explain that it was all I could afford, I just let people attach whatever they wanted to it…which was usually nothing.
Looks a little like a tree here, but I assure you it’s a rose.
The Black Panther
The story — I was visiting Los Angeles for some reason. On our last day there we went to a tattoo place in Venice Beach. That is about all I can tell you about this one. It has no story and is probably my least favorite tattoo.
Thankfully, it’s hidden on my right leg.
Dormant tattoo period 1991–2009
The Ring Finger
The story — I had finally graduated with my bachelors degree and was recovering form a heartbreak. I figured what better way to mark that then to get a tattoo on my right hand ring finger.
Tattoo enthusiasts will ask if it goes all around my finger. It does. Fingers are a little tricky and aside from the face, probably the single most visible area on the body.
The Bar Code
The story — private…but yes, the numbers have significance…and no, the bar code is not functional.
The Gift
The story — I’m not the easiest man to shop for. So for Christmas one year, my then girlfriend gave this to me. Well, to be clear, she didn’t do it. She got Brooklyn based tattoo artist Karen Glass to do it. (Rufus is wondering what the hell I am doing.)
The Skull
The story — After my mom passed away, I was a bit out of sorts. Naturally, I figured a tattoo would shake me back to normal. So I rang up Karen Glass again and we worked out this skull and put it on my left calf.
It did not have the desired result and did not shake me back to normal. Time is the only thing that can do that.
The Black Bands
The story — no story here. I just thought they looked cool. And they do.
The Finger Skull
The story — I like skulls. And I happen to like finger tattoos. So, I combined the two and this skull ended up on my left middle finger.
The Cross:
The story — No story to tell. I like both skull and cross imagery and ran across this and wanted it.
A friend asked if I was getting religious because I had a “bunch” of cross tattoos. I’m not sure one Celtic cross qualifies as a “bunch” but rather than than squabble I said, “Maybe I just like the letter t.”
I wasn’t up for having an argument that my Celtic cross wasn’t always exclusive to Christianity. There’s a pagan heritage to cross imagery where it was used “to explain the interconnection of the world”, ‘nuff said.
Located on my back this is hands down this is my favorite tattoo…so far.