Now I know I’m going to piss off the majority of my friends. But I’m just worried. There’s an epidemic in our country, but no one’s saying a word about it. Not the doctors nor the politicians. Not the Karens nor the Kevins. It’s a silent sickness. Well, not too silent. There is the buzz of the tat gun repeatedly jabbing your skin. Oh, and the “cha-ching” of the cash register. They don’t “cha-ching” anymore, do they?
I’m 44. And when I was a kid, I can’t remember ever seeing any tattoos on people. The first tattoo I think I ever saw was the animated GI JOE character called Shipwreck. He had, what’s very popular today, an anchor on his forearm arm. And back then, only a select few of WWE wrestlers sported some tats. Here, you can follow the sickness of tattooing by watching the Undertaker’s arms over the years.
Now animated sailors and real-life animated wrestling characters seem to fit the bill of getting tattoos. But then the NBA began to feel the effects of this emerging disorder. And I do mean disorder in a mental health kinda way. Call me Judger McJudgerson. It looked like getting tattoos became mandatory on the basketball courts. Guys were covered in them. It looks like this started right around the turn of the century. I believe Allen Iverson was patient zero.
The infection grew. And made it to our police stations. It used to be mustaches that every fellow officer had to procure to consolidate their identities. But now, instead of mustaches to appear as cops, it’s full tat sleeves. I wonder if it’s some kind of intimidation technique. Maybe bad guys cower when they see brightly colored coyfish and random tribal patterns on their arresting officer. The millennium did bring an influx of military personnel into our police force. Maybe one hand tattoos the other.
So how in the hell did tattooing reach the heartland of our country? I’m wondering if it had anything to do with a little reality show about a bunch of tattoo artists called Miami Ink. It was on around 2005. I loved that show. There was always some deeper meaning behind the tattoos normal folk would get. Normal folk. I’ll get to them in a sec. But then I started seeing older people get hearts with names and dates or faces of their loved ones. I’m talking grandmas getting inked up for the passing of family members.
Sure, maybe I’m a dinosaur. A Travis-saurus Rex. My little brain and little arms can’t grasp loftier notions associated with tattooing. So lemme back off for a second. No wait, I lied. Okay. When did suburban college graduate yoga instructors feel the need to get half sleeves? Hundred percent you’re thinking of a white girl. Seriously. Normal-ass normie people have been infected with a disease that society deems normal. Like plastic surgery. But I digress…
The medical community has described people who get multiple or large tattoos as being the most anxious. I understand some tattooing is used to cover up scarring memories of abuse. Literally, covering up the scars. I can understand that. And believe me, I try, I try, I try. I remember seeing Anthony Kiedis’ back tat of a falcon or thunderbird in their 1991 music video for Give It Away. And I couldn’t comprehend why someone would do that to themselves. It did look cool. But then, not long ago, I saw Ben Affleck has a huge back tat. No offense, once old Benny dipped his toes into the ink pool, the back tat should’ve retired.
I’ve been watching friends of mine up the ink on their bodies but much later in life. My friend Javier who’s two years older than I am, gets a full forearm tattoo of some Harry Potter something or other. My friend Rick, ten-ish years older than me, just got that spooky-ass Silence of the Lambs death’s head hawkmoth on the back of his neck. Yes, he’s running out of “parking spaces”. I’ll out my friends but not my family members. I have to see them this Thanksgiving.
These days, 33% of adults have at least one tattoo. 22% have more than one. I guarantee you those numbers are modest. None of my family or friends have been asked about their tattoos in any poll. The WWE, NBA, and NFL look like they spend their off nights in the ink chair. Both Wall Street and Main Street roll up their professional sleeves to reveal their colorful ones. And everyone who falls in the never-would’ve-before category may have fallen victim to trend-chasing or something more insidious.
It used to be rebellious to get tattoos. Now it’s rebellious not to. It used to make you unique or badass. Heck, the Romans used tattoos to mark their criminals. Now some sweet girl named Sarah who works at Bank of America has one. It used to be the people who robbed banks that had them. Now it’s their bank tellers. It used to be the people in the prisons now it’s the prison guards. It used to be the rough guys on motorcycles with tattoos on their arms of “Mom” in a heart and now it’s cheery delivery dudes on bicycles with full-leg sleeves.
Don’t shoot the messenger. I calls ‘em likes I sees ‘em. I see more ink than I do skin. And on the most unlikeliest of people. I’m an armchair scientist watching a virus slowly spread from the fringes of society across every facet of modern living. You know, I wanted to get a tattoo once. A raven in flight with one wing down my arm and the other across my back. Then I woke up one day and the craving was gone. I felt inoculated. One, it would’ve been hella expensive. Two, I was total chicken shit anyway. And three, I’m a grown man, dammit. Why the FUCK do I want a bird hugging half my body?!
