Jessica Wilde's Blog - Posts Tagged "inked"
Life as an Illustrated Woman
For such a simple thing, tattoos inspire some heavy duty opinions. I’ve never met anyone who was like, “Meh, I could take ‘em or leave ’em.” Most people pass judgment at first glance. Especially older women I come across in airports and grocery stores. They either sneak peeks full of surreptitious curiosity, or fail to hide their shock and horror at what I’m sure they view as a walking, breathing wall of graffiti. It’s a throwback perception, to when the only inked-up characters were dicey outlaw bikers and violent longshoremen.
Other people find my illustrated bits the height of coolness, as if putting ink on skin somehow makes a person inherently edgy and interesting. I think tattoos endlessly fascinate people because they are a near-permanent commitment, and so many people fear committing to anything.
Truth is, things have changed like they always do. Nowadays? The soccer mom watching her daughter play on some Saturday in suburbia is as likely as not to have a butterfly on her ankle or a rainbow on her shoulder. College kids graduate with degrees in finance and biology, and half sleeves of Japanese koi or scenes from the Simpsons on their backs.
Maybe I was just ahead of the curve. I’ve considered my body a canvas for as long as I can remember. I personalize and decorate my home with art that means something to me and embodies my style. I do the same with my body. I don’t take my tattoos too seriously, but other people sometimes do.
That said, one of the weirdest tattoo experiences I ever went through had nothing to do with judgment. I was at the London Tattoo Convention, greeting fans in a booth. A guy came over to the booth, pulled up his shirt sleeve, and showed me his arm. He had copied my Alice in Wonderland arm sleeve tattoo down to a T. I mean, he really had to study photos of me to get the details right. Aside from just plain creeping me the hell out, he had committed a major tattoo-world faux pas: you never, ever copy someone’s tattoos.
That’s just the one off, though. Most of the time in my day-to-day world, the tattoos fade into the background. They’re no more relevant or attention-grabbing than my hair color or the jeans I’m wearing. Yeah, every once in awhile I step out of the shower, catch myself in the mirror, and think, “Holy fuck, I have a lot of tattoos!” Then I towel off, feed Sophie, and get on with my day. The not-sexy reality? Tattoos decorate your body; they don’t define anyone.
Other people find my illustrated bits the height of coolness, as if putting ink on skin somehow makes a person inherently edgy and interesting. I think tattoos endlessly fascinate people because they are a near-permanent commitment, and so many people fear committing to anything.
Truth is, things have changed like they always do. Nowadays? The soccer mom watching her daughter play on some Saturday in suburbia is as likely as not to have a butterfly on her ankle or a rainbow on her shoulder. College kids graduate with degrees in finance and biology, and half sleeves of Japanese koi or scenes from the Simpsons on their backs.
Maybe I was just ahead of the curve. I’ve considered my body a canvas for as long as I can remember. I personalize and decorate my home with art that means something to me and embodies my style. I do the same with my body. I don’t take my tattoos too seriously, but other people sometimes do.
That said, one of the weirdest tattoo experiences I ever went through had nothing to do with judgment. I was at the London Tattoo Convention, greeting fans in a booth. A guy came over to the booth, pulled up his shirt sleeve, and showed me his arm. He had copied my Alice in Wonderland arm sleeve tattoo down to a T. I mean, he really had to study photos of me to get the details right. Aside from just plain creeping me the hell out, he had committed a major tattoo-world faux pas: you never, ever copy someone’s tattoos.
That’s just the one off, though. Most of the time in my day-to-day world, the tattoos fade into the background. They’re no more relevant or attention-grabbing than my hair color or the jeans I’m wearing. Yeah, every once in awhile I step out of the shower, catch myself in the mirror, and think, “Holy fuck, I have a lot of tattoos!” Then I towel off, feed Sophie, and get on with my day. The not-sexy reality? Tattoos decorate your body; they don’t define anyone.
