A few weeks ago, I was refused a tattoo. At a tattoo parlor. By a tattoo artist. At 1 p.m. on a Sunday, prior to consuming any Bloody Marys. I’m approaching 40, self-employed, and am generally used to doing whatever I want with my own body. (That last one was a joke.) This is my story.
A brief historical aside: I got my first tattoo on my shoulder at age 19—my goddaughter’s name, about one inch long. (Yes, I was a godmother at 19. I’m from a special place.) My friend Jeff Zuck did it and he did a nice job and my dad is his dentist so he actually had a (lame) reason to turn me down, but chose not to. Thanks, Jeff.
My second tattoo is on my right wrist. It’s a curly little letter “C” which stands for Carl, who was the kitten I adopted during my divorce in 2007. Another buddy, Maxwell Brown, gave it to me and was nice about it but he was just starting out and was a little nervous about defiling my un-tatted arm. He powered through. Thanks, Max.
My third tattoo is on my left forearm and it says “ownlife” in tiny script. Yes, it’s newspeak from the book 1984. I used to date El-P. Everything makes sense now, yes? For that one, I walked into a parlor near my house in Manhattan, East Side Ink, where I’d heard Rihanna had gotten a tattoo. I don’t remember the artist’s name, but I received the tattoo without incident in 2009.
Now, fast-forward a few years. I gave birth to a human female (through my vaginal opening! Get the joke now?) in 2013 and have wanted since then to get her awesome name tattooed on the side of my neck like dream weaver Freja Beha Erichsen. I’ve also wanted an Aquarius symbol for quite some time but couldn’t figure out which style or where to put it, until my friend Sasha agreed we’d share the tattoo and each get one half of this version. One Sunday afternoon, we walked into New York Adorned, perhaps the hipster-est tattoo parlor in New York City. Whoops!
As soon as we arrived and told the woman at the counter what we’d like, she said, “You can discuss it with the artist’s assistant but I’m not sure they’ll let you get a neck tattoo.”
Let me!
Okay, here’s where I admit that this response didn’t entirely surprise me. This was the third time I’d been told that: once at a parlor where I just immediately walked out—granted, I’d had a few wines, so I don’t feel like putting them entirely on blast for that one—and once by my cousin Josh, but it was more of a hypothetical refusal since we were just sitting in my yard and not in his tattoo parlor. But the folks at New York Adorned did some next level shit, which is why I’m telling you about it. It is my job.
After a brief wait, this Kyle Mooney on “Inside So-Cal” looking (and sounding)-ass dude named Josh walks up. I show him the Aquarius tattoo. Even though this will be my friend Sasha’s very first tattoo and it will be visible on his wrist, Josh doesn’t bat an eye and we move on to talking about the tattoo I’d like in honor of my only child.
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