When people first meet me, one of their favorite questions to ask is, “What do your tattoos mean?”
Good God, I can’t think of a question I like answering less.
If you want the honest truth as to why I’m covered in tattoos, get ready to be painfully disappointed with my response. With the exception of the tattoo I got to immortalize the man I love the most in this world — my cat Lars with his name spelled out in lovely round cursive in a big, black heart on my inner left arm — my markings don’t commemorate mottos, celebrate memories or express opinions.
No, that big black spider that I got inked on my ribs when I was 22 and reckless doesn’t represent anything. Neither does the lightning bolt painted on my other side. Nor do the designs carved into my skin in the shapes of classic-cut diamonds, fleur de lys, skeleton hands, deer skulls, human skulls and a half-sleeve of roses and daisies. And the ridiculous, unfortunate bow in the center of my back? Nope. That doesn’t mean anything either.
Mostly, my collection of ink is just the permanent repercussions of regrettable, and sometimes drunken, decisions to get tattooed on a whim. Also, to piss my parents off.
Does it work? I think so.
When I showed my dad the outline of the state of California I had drawn onto my thigh two summers ago, he looked at me, shaking his head in disappointment and said, “You know, Kate, for a smart girl, you do a lot of stupid shit.” Nailed it.
Still, as much as ruffling my parents’ feathers adds to the thrill of the permanent process, it isn’t my only motivation for getting tattoos. Actually, my interest in getting inked up began back in my formative high school years when I truly believed it was my destiny to grow up and be a groupie for a heavy metal band. At 16, I would have done the absolute naughtiest things to be waiting for Tom Araya, the lead singer of Slayer, in his dressing room after a ridiculously theatrical show of head banging and mosh pitting. If you want to get the job, you’ve got to look the part, and really, what’s more metal than skulls and spiders?
Unfortunately, these days, as a 26-year-old journalism graduate student, it seems less and less probable that my dreams of becoming a hardcore fan girl who exchanges sexual favors for VIP backstage access will ever be realized. You’d think that might be reason enough for me to quit tattooing myself with meaningless, evil looking symbols that are only going to make it harder for me to get a real job, but the truth is that I just can’t stop.
I’m addicted.
You think I’m kidding or over-exaggerating. But actually, I’m not.
According to statistics gathered and compiled from the Pew Research Center, Tattoo Finder and Vanishing Tattoo by Statistic Brain Research Institute in December 2013, the total number of Americans that have at least one tattoo is up to 45 million. That’s about 14 percent of the U.S. population. And Americans spend $1.65 billion dollars on permanent ink at the 21,000 tattoo parlors across the country. In fact, tattoos are in such high demand that one new body art establishment is being opened in the United States every day. The statistics also tell us that 29 percent of people with tattoos said their ink makes them feel rebellious, 31 percent said they feel sexier with their body art and 5 percent said they feel more intelligent. But these motivations fall behind the addictive quality that many people with permanent body art actually feel about the inking experience. Believe it or not, 32 percent of people with tattoos claim that they are addicted to getting them.
I seem to be case in point of the “once you start, you can’t stop” statistic. It’s why every couple of months, I feel this itch that I can’t seem shake to run into the nearest tattoo parlor and sit under the gun for a couple of hours.
In fact, just last week, unable to fight off the urge to get more ink any longer, I marched into Chameleon Tattoo & Body Piercing in Harvard Square and left with a deer skull encircled by holy light on my inner right arm. And right before my brother’s wedding next month, where as a bridesmaid, I have to wear a pink strapless dress? Yep. My parents and the bride are going to be thrilled, I’m sure.
Today, I have 12 tattoos. But talk to me again in a couple of months, and that number will most likely be higher. I’m already brewing up some ideas for my next ink endeavors. What design is next up for my forearms? Stay tuned.
Appreciate your honesty about getting inked. As J. P. Morgan used to say, there are good reasons and there are real reasons. Lately, it is fashionable to speak of the ‘”good” reasons for getting a tattoo. In my
case, I was attracted to tattoos since childhood when pre WWII European chocolate bars came with pictures, including those of folks sporting Japanese ink. Started getting tattoos in the military, continued past a Ph.D. and would have gotten some on my eighty-first birthday, were it not for my failing health and fixed income. Enjoy. You live only once.