Rethinking Tattoos

I'd never given body art much thought.\nIt seemed like a dangerous, rigid culture, in which I -- a Catholic-schooled, perpetually optimistic small-town girl -- had no place.\nAs a little girl, when media formed my opinions on essentially everything, I took in the large, inked convicts I saw on "Cops" with wonder and fear. Later, with years of life experience and a media-literate mind, I viewed the "tatted" as interesting, artsy folk with whom I had little in common.\nAfter all, I've yet to read anything by Proust, most of my wardrobe comes from Target and Old Navy my knowledge of rock 'n' roll history extends little beyond last week's Top 40 and my hazy knowledge of art history stems solely from an intro class required for my major.\nDon't get me wrong. My life hasn't been an uninterrupted bubble bath, but I've never experimented with drugs or violence or the hard streets of ... anywhere, and I've encountered little intolerable pain or sadness.\nSo when I agreed to get a tattoo, primarily for compelling writing material, I thought it would be a hoot for me -- thoughtful but not traditionally "hard" -- to become an anomaly in tattoo culture. \nFriends disagreed.\n"That is the worst idea I've ever heard in my life," said one especially honest peer. \nHe may have been right, considering I've never actually wanted a tattoo. Even as I entered Skinquake last Saturday evening, I still didn't. I'm not attached to any symbol or image or icon. I like to trivialize tattoos with my endlessly funny (only to me) jokes about barbed wire around my bulging bicep.\nI was intimated to walk into the parlor, despite the Subway next door. Probably my two favorite interests are gender studies and sandwiches, so seeing the illuminated yellow sign felt like home. Nonetheless, I had culturally constructed ideas about personality-less, inherently bitter men grunting behind a needle-filled countertop, unwilling to answer some young miss's questions about their art.\nClose friends -- and my editor -- smelled my fear, and volunteered to accompany me to the place, where my prepositions could not have been more off. \nFor one thing, I was offered beef jerky within 10 minutes of entering the one-room studio -- which was more well-lit and less bloody and smoky than I could have ever imagined. The artists were all men, but they were smiling, eager to answer my questions and receptive to my dry, sometimes meaningless humor. And, as aforementioned, they were more than willing to share their dried beef products with me.\nIt took more time to figure out what I would have branded onto my foot -- the location of the tattoo, I knew for sure -- than to actually have it drawn on … permanently.\nAfter 10 full minutes of outlandish suggestions from friends (a dream catcher, a vicious-looking cobra, and, of course, barbed wire were especially hilarious), I decided to go with the word "hark!" in a script font, on my left foot, just above my toes.\nWhy, exactly, would I get a basically abandoned English word put onto my foot -- for the rest of my life?\nFor one, I've been using the demanding word (which literally is defined as "listen") the past several months, mostly because it's quirky and drew chuckles from friends, since no one, excluding actors in historical theater, has used it since 1746.\nSo the chap who would later stick a needle into my skin for art, and humor's sake, had me sign a waiver, pay the fee and take a seat on his long white chair, comparable to what one might find in a dentist's office. I pointed this out to my companions before climbing on, with nervous laughter.\nDid it hurt? Vaguely. It was more of a tickle, or, as a fellow friend with a tattoo says, "like cat scratches." \nI walked from the place feeling not necessarily proud, but experienced, satisfied with what I'd just done -- something so novel to my lifestyle. It was, if nothing else, absolutely refreshing.\nUpon deeper reflection, it occurred to me that my new tattoo reflected in a larger way my personality and my perspective on life. I take myself seriously only when life situations absolutely call for it. At the risk of sounding shallow, I encounter the world as if it can all be enjoyed, laughable. I acknowledge that inherited privilege -- and an overall fortunate life -- contributes to this perspective. I am grateful for that. And even if (or, when) I feel deep resentment in later years for this ridiculous mark on my foot, I will hopefully be able to take comfort in the fact that, at the time, it was exactly what I wanted.\nThis narrative was never intended to advertise for Skinquake, but I can't help but acknowledge Little Dave's (my tattoo artist) patience and gentleness with my lack of tattoo knowledge and previously unmarked foot. He was never condescending. He was never frustrated or unkind.\nI don't necessarily encourage everyone to go indulge any tiny inkling of desire they may have for a tattoo. I did it mainly for life experience, and interesting journalism.\nI do encourage, however, open-mindedness, optimism and giving anything (except, like, most illegal things) a shot once.\nIt can't hurt -- at least no worse than getting a tattoo does.\nOh, and Mom, if and when you read this -- go ahead and give me a call.