I am a fairly intelligent being, yet there exists a sizable list of things I don’t expect to ever understand. Trigonometry leaps to mind. Also improvisational jazz. And pants that don’t come all the way up to your waist — but then I could fill an entire column with fashion trends that elude me.
So when a young friend was showing me her newest tattoo, I realized I had to add another item to my “I Don’t Get It” list.
Make no mistake — there was genuine craftsmanship in this “body art,” as I am informed it is now called. But for me, that could not outweigh the fact that it was, you know, a tattoo.
Let’s throw in a disclaimer before I go any further: I have prejudices about tattoos, due to both age and upbringing. When I was a young woman, tattoos were souvenirs of having served time in either the military or prison. (My uncle had a Navy tattoo, and I thought that was cool, being evidence of his initiation into an exclusive, macho club.)
But as far as my rather sheltered experience went, that was the extent of tattoos to be found on respectable people. Girls didn’t have them at all, and nice girls didn’t date boys who had them.
There. I have issues. Moving on.
You’d think that having gotten out in the world for a few decades, maybe I’d lose some of my tattoo bigotry, but the reverse seems to be true. The more widespread tattoos have become, the more baffled I am by their appeal.
For starters, I have yet to see a tattoo that was an improvement over the skin on which it was painted. There are few things more beautiful than unadorned skin, and permanently altering it is like trying to jazz up the Mona Lisa by scribbling a bunny rabbit on her shoulder.
All sarcasm aside, though, it seems to me that some people get tattooed with the goal of making themselves distinctive. The irony is that they already were, and I wonder if maybe they just didn’t realize their own uniqueness. Besides, once a tattoo has been designed for you, it can be copied.
I once was chatting with the wife of my next-generation cousin, both of whom sport multiple tattoos. She had about a dozen, including the baby footprints of both her children.
I asked what the appeal was of so many indelible markings.
She said: “Aunt Marian, I want my body to be a record of my entire life.”
Poor child, I thought. Her body will do that whether she wants it to or not.
I have seen some beautiful and clever tattoos. Pretty much anything you can paint on canvas, you can paint on skin. But in the end, I am always more impressed with the individual’s own natural beauty, and at most, distracted by the tattoos, no matter how great their artistry.
I began this column at the suggestion of an editor friend, and for months I’ve been procrastinating, because I have nieces and nephews and young friends who wear their body art with pride, and I am loath to criticize their choices.
Some of them got tattoos to memorialize friends that are now gone, or life events they felt deserved a tangible marker. I understand and honor that impulse, probably more than they think I do.
So, now that the ink is a permanent addition to their already special beings, I will learn to love it because it’s part of them. All I ask is that they leave a bare spot on their cheek for me to kiss. I like the original version of them, too.
And I have no idea where that needle has been.
Marian Kelly is a television news producer, comedian and motivational speaker. Her Web site is www.mariankelly.com. She lives in Joplin.
