I’ve never wanted to ink up, but recent events have put me in a mood where I’m less afraid of how my mom is going to react (Sorry Tracey).
Growing up, the idea of getting a tattoo was kind of like getting a motorcyle, or not really socially acceptable.
I grew up suburban Birmingham (Cue the eye rolling), in the magical land of polo shirts, 16 year old’s with Range Rovers and country clubs on every corner.
If you ever get to hear me talk about Birmingham, you’ll hear a great deal of disdain in my tone. I was in the wrong place. Sure, I was blessed to be there, but it sheltered me from a lot.
So when I went to visit a friend over break, I had a few life-changing revelations.
Disclaimer: No, I’m not going to be a dad (anytime soon), unlike some stories I’ve heard already.
I discovered I mope a lot, or at least have been for a long time. It’s kind of an annoying trait.
Through this and other less important events, I discovered I am now seriously interested in getting a tattoo.
I know plenty of people with tattoos, including one with Amy Winehouse’s likeness on his….derriere.
I always believed that if I was going to get one, it would be for a reason that I wanted something with me permanently.
My parents told me the horror stories of tattoos gone wrong, I saw them in popular culture (See: NO RAGRETS, Know what I’m sayin’?) and most importantly I was deterred by my upbringing.
A few profound words stuck out and have since ceased the moping, despite the fact that some challenging moments have risen in that time. That’s how you get an idea for a well-done tattoo.
I believe in a tattoo for the right reasons. I believe in a tastefully placed tattoo (See four paragraphs above). It’s good something permanent like this came to fruition. It’s a great practice of commitment.