Stingray is a far cry from the backroom biker shops typically thought of as the standard in tattoo parlors. Instead this shop, nestled among student apartments in Allston, has a vibrancy reflected in its diverse clientele. Thirty-six percent of young Americans have a tattoo, according to a 2003 Harris poll, and Stingray owners Brenda Wynne and Scott Matalon aren’t ignoring the opportunity to help college students ink themselves up with expendable income.
From layout and location to merchandise and technology resources readily available to customers — Wynne and Matalon strategically planned every element of their store.
LAYOUT
The shop, which the two longtime friends opened last year after months of planning, has “location, location, location,” according to one of the artists, at the corner of Harvard Avenue and Cambridge Street. Wide windows leave nothing to the imagination for the customer; walking by, you might be able to peek into someone’s appointment.
The reception area, where Peaches — the shop’s bearded dragon — resides, is part computer workstation, waiting room and consignment shop. Brightly lit, with the cleaning facilities and “biohazard” bin in plain view, Stingray is the antithesis of the unclean, unfriendly shops or kitchens where illegal inking parties were held before tattooing was made legal in Massachusetts in 2000.
The shop could be mistaken for anything other than a body art Mecca, with artists milling about the office. Wynne, who said she does “a lot of the managing stuff and yelling,” makes sure everyone in the reception area is “all set.”
This presentation is the exact idea the two surprisingly sparsely tattooed friends had when they flushed their nest eggs into the ’90s sixth- fastest growing industry. Tattooing fell just behind bagels, cell phones and the Internet in industrial growth, according to a 1996 US News and World Report.
“It’s a chance to do something we love. It’s something that’s prime time. It’s come into its own and there was a chance to do things a little bit better than what people expect from a tattoo shop,” Matalon said.
THE “HAPPINESS BUSINESS”
Not working out of an existing business, and having three times the usual space, Wynne and Matalon had the opportunity to revamp the look and feel of the typical tattoo shop.
“I think a lot of shops are designed from the artist forward,” Matalon said. “We became very customer-centric.
“We’re in the happiness business,” he continued.
The longtime-Allston resident and New England Conservatory of Music graduate applied the know — how he gained from his former business — a multimedia company that was one of the first to use the Internet.
“Those lessons I learned, I said, ‘Let’s apply it from the moment a person walks in,'” he said. “They should be in a big, well lit, easy-to- see place that isn’t mysterious.”
The shop’s five artists, despite not being the focus of the business, appreciate the push towards a friendlier atmosphere, complete with candy and board games.
Marshfield resident and artist Miles Robinson, 28, who began tattooing at a 24-hour shop in Alabama six years ago, said the shop’s location and break from the ordinary keeps customers and employees happy.
According to Robinson, in an effort to be more legitimate, shops are becoming more corporate, with less under-the-table cash and more income taxes and payroll systems. Matalon, whose first company retained 15 of its original 20 employees after 10 years, said the owners try to be good to the artists.
“A lot of shops don’t have that loyalty,” he said. “It’s not built around my great tattooing. It’s built around these guys.”
NICHE MARKETING
Rather than have customers make multiple appointments and fruitlessly look for the exact right piece to give the artist, Stingray brings art to the customer via a custom piece of Flash library software, running in-house on all of their computers. The owners say they are the only shop in Boston to provide computers and Flash so readily.
Six thousand images have been loaded onto the software so far and customers also have the Internet and search engines like Google at their fingertips. For those a little more traditional, the shop displays Flash, the design of a tattoo printed on paper and portfolios. An especially daring customer could ask the magic eight-ball shelved under the portfolios about their potential ink.
“You can sort and search by any subject,” Matalon said. “You want tribal, we have 60 pages worth of tribal, 1,200 pieces of tribal. If you don’t see what you want there, you go online.”
This eliminates the time between the customer’s initial visit and the actual tattooing.
“They want a monarch butterfly. Okay, great. We find the artwork quickly and close that gap, so they’re happy with what they want,” the New York native said.
The process doesn’t stop there. Once the customer has the perfect image of a spotted leopard or the correct Chinese symbol, the shop needs the right artist to do the work.
“Each artist is their own brand,” Matalon said.
The shop does five to 10 tattoos and about seven piercings a day, with some Saturdays seeing up to 20 tattoos for the two artists working each shift.
“You gotta have a niche,” Wynne said. “People spend their whole lives looking for one.”
Robinson focuses on religious black and gray, while Mike Helz specializes in “the gory stuff” and Andy Regan studies Japanese.
“When you open a brand new shop, you cannot have any bad work walking out the door. Ever,” Wynne said while working on one of the many computers in the reception area. “It takes years to build up a name.”
BEYOND THE INK
Part of keeping customers happy is keeping them entertained and giving those who walk by the shop a reason to stop in other than getting inked or poked. A maze of consignment clothing and gifts flood a third of the shop, featuring music from local artists, lace bustiers and baseball shirts, products running the gamut almost as much as their clientele. Like tattoos, the clothes are meant to “create a sense of individuality.”
Matalon said he was initially surprised by the quality and quantity of unique items from local designers and admits there are “not a lot of places around that do this kind of consignment stuff.”
“There’s the dollar store and the brand-name store,” he said. “Then there’s Stingray.”
In addition to the tattooing and consignments, the shop offers body piercing and permanent make-up. Stingray is one of only two shops in Boston approved to do the procedure legally. The alternative form of tattooing, according to Matalon, is especially marketed at active or older women who don’t want to be hassled by putting on makeup, usually consisting of a bit of eyeliner or other color.
“I wanted to be a complete service shop,” Matalon said.
But the desire to be everything to every person can be hard to focus, presenting the year-old shop at a crossroads.
“That’s one area we’ve been struggling with as we grow, is the identity of Stingray and our marketing efforts,” Matalon said.
“We’re trying to take the marketing and create these little vertical focuses,” he explained, “instead of shot-gunning Stingray out there, saying we’re all things for all people.”
Part of that is marketing the right artist to the right crowd. Stingray flyers advertising permanent makeup are placed in locker rooms at gyms and health clubs. Robinson’s card is showcased at rock and roll festivals. Helz, who spent time in Japan studying the art, is marketed at Asian clubs to “people who will appreciate it,” Matalon said.
“You have to put the right artwork in front of the right people,” he said. “The market will respond to that artwork.”
As for the future of the shop, and the industry, Matalon and Wynne hope to continue the relative success of the business and perhaps open a Stingray II. But the overpopulation of artists and shops, like the technology boom of the ’90s, will eventually drop down to the cream of the crop.
“I think it’s going to be a period of weeding out as the customers have gotten more sophisticated and have more options,” Matalon said. “It’s become a billion dollar business.”
