MY STORY – TATTOO TABOO

By Lisa Timpany
Full article from the February 2004 edition of Australian Reader’s Digest

Never judge a book by its cover.” My mother gave me this advice at a young age. For
months afterwards I read books that had plain, boring covers before realising that I
preferred Dr Seuss and Hans Christian Andersen.

I also learned that this saying applied to humans. At the age of six I went grocery
shopping with Mum and saw a tall man wearing a black-studded leather jacket, black
scruffy jeans and black steel-capped boots.

I know I was far too young to be fashion conscious but I loved the rainbow colours on
his face, neck and hands. He looked like one of the pictures in my colouring-in books.

“Look Mum,” I said. “That man’s allowed to draw on his face.”

“SShhh!” my mother hissed. “Don’t stare.”
“Why?” I asked, puzzled.
“Because he’s not a nice man,” came the reply. I wasn’t satisfied.
“Why?” I asked again.
“Because he’s bad.”

This was my introduction to the world of tattoos – and my first lesson in reading
between the lines. Parents don’t always practise what they preach. By immediately
assuming this man was “bad,” Mum had treated him like an old, musty book whose
dustjacket wasn’t worth reading.

Since that occasion tattoos have fascinated me. The kaleidoscope of colour
emblazoned upon someone’s skin can be both beautiful and grotesque. It can
illustrate a person’s dreams, their passions, or an event in their life. The only limit
placed upon “getting ink” is your imagination – and imagination knows no
boundaries.

At the age of 20 I decided to join the ranks of the dermagraphically decorated. But
my decision was not put into action for another two years. It bothered me that
tattoos held the stigma of belonging to criminals and bad people. I knew that not all
people with tattoos had served time in prison – my own criminal record was limited to
three speeding tickets. Did that mean I was “bad” too?

I started observing people with tattoos in public situations, to see if my idea of

obtaining more pigment still felt like a good idea. At nightclubs, which are veritable
human libraries, people didn’t care who saw their exposed flesh, whether they were
tattooed or not.

Eventually I came to the conclusion that, irrespective of whether I was tattooed, I

would always be classified. Like a book, people form an opinion about you and me by
certain characteristics each of us have. By getting a tattoo, I knew I’d come under
public scrutiny if I ever decided to expose it. But was I prepared for that?

Two months later I walked into a tattoo parlour during my lunch hour to make an
appointment. I was greeted by three heavily tattooed skinheads wearing black. There
was a moment of silence when I desperately wanted to hide, and had to remind
myself that instead of stereotyping these men as skinheads they could simply be
suffering from premature baldness.

The men may have looked rather intimidating but they were very polite and took
great pains to reassure me that tattoos didn’t hurt – much. A lady with multiple facial
piercings answered my queries and booked me in for a tattoo that Friday. She was
helpful, professional,efficient – all the qualities you’d expect in a checkout operator.

Friday finally arrived. I went to the tattoo parlour after work and met Barry the
tattooist, who wanted to be certain I knew what I was getting into. After assuring him
that, yes, I did want to be permanently marked for the rest of my life, he made his
preparations.

I sat in a chair with my back exposed, waiting in dreaded anticipation. Bzzzzz, the
whine of the needle reminded me of a drunken bumblebee on a kamikaze mission.
And it was heading directly towards me! Clenching my fists I prepared myself for
pain. The sensation was similar to being scratched by a cat – nonstop! After ten
minutes my skin went numb, and 40 minutes later my tattoo was completed. I now
belonged to the branded bunch.

Five years have passed since my venture into tattoo terrain and I now have four
tattoos. One of them covers half of my back. But my personality hasn’t changed. I
am still Lisa. I don’t expect everyone to embrace tattoos. However, I have come to
learn that once you overlook a person’s skin colour, facial piercings, hairstyle and
clothing, more often than not an interesting and unique person lies beneath. If only
you look between the lines.

Lisa Timpany, 27, is a graphic designer from Invercargill, New Zealand. She is a
former president of her local Toastmasters club and plays the piano.