It’s such a badass aesthetic. With their modern Western roots in defiance or crime, tattoos are the perfect pennant of our times. Authoritarian governments and hyper-individualization under late-stage capitalism usher in the right conditions for tattoos. Modern socio-economic ailments nourish our common desire to be seen, to rebel against the norm which has become on par with injustice. So, I got four, all at once.
But they were fake. Temporary tattoos that fade into your skin after the familiar sticker-like application of the temporary tats from cereal boxes. In 24 hours, everyone believes the lie. And it lasts up to two weeks. As of this writing, I’m five days into the journey and only the one on my hand is fading (understandably – I wash them regularly throughout the day).
Since I’ve had these tattoos, my world has changed. But the more interesting question, I think really is, why not get real tattoos? I’ve asked everyone I know with tattoos ‘why’? The best answers tend to fall somewhere in the ‘to mark a significant part of my life’ category. Getting them because ‘it has significant meaning’ is, I find, a kind of tautology.
When you get to know someone, what truly creates connection is knowing what’s important to them. Or, in other words, what ‘has significant meaning’ for them. But this needn’t be tattooed. As a wise man once said, nothing is permanent. I only had to look as far as the first few tattoo designs I’d dreamt up as a young adult to think ‘thank God I didn’t get those.’ And that is why I don’t have permanent tattoos. Even the relatively good reason of ‘marking a significant part of my life’ seems tautological in this age of the digital documenting of everything.
I want to know that I’ve changed, to know that my efforts in self-growth have been realized in some way. But not by looking back at old choices. Rather, by observing the beauty in my present life, the joy of present-day interactions and tiny daily miracles, and being in gratitude, presently.
But getting tattoos that look real gave me a broader perspective. In stores, strangers with tattoos complimented mine. On the park paths, eyes lingered on them followed by smiles that lingered just a little too long. Co-workers with tattoos wanted to know more about mine. They told me the stories behind theirs. A date with tattoos was inspired by the idea behind one of mine, even though she knew it was fake. So it became obvious. Tattoos still are what they always were. A banner, an ensign, a badge for the world signalling that there are unapparent parts of you that you need others to see, others to hear, others to love. In short, tattoos are a way of connecting to others in this hyper-individualized world.
That’s a beautiful thing. We are nothing without one another. Tattoos seem to be an expression of that. And so, I think I might get one: the fake one that was most popular amongst those I talked to about them. The one I’ve wanted for 15 years. Because I’ve wanted to be seen and heard and connect for far longer than that.
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