Is a Tatoo Ever Just a Tatoo?

Last week I had the honor of being a critic at the Seattle Central Community College photography portfolio review. I came away absolutely overcome and somewhat intimidated by the creativity, energy and unstoppable confidence the students had. It is wonderful to see creative people transcending their mediums and becoming adept in all forms of artwork whether that is photography, film or design. Technology has changed the business for the better and these students are taking full advantage of that fact.

Some of the most astounding creativity, the part I wasn’t there to officially critique but naturally did given my interest in sociology and design, was in the tattoos and piercings I saw on display. All but two of the young women I met with were either pierced or tattooed or both. Not just a little nose ring here or a dainty butterfly there. I’m talkin’ full on graphic novels from shoulder to wrist; chest tattoos covering cleavage and clavicle, elaborate license plates aka: trampstamps peeking out of low cut jeans, eye brow piercings, tongue piercings, nose, lip, cheek, you name it, I saw it and it was tatted and pierced. Let me restate once more, these were lovely young women with gorgeous skin, nice figures and beautiful hair. The same girls, who in my day babysat for extra money, ate Sunday dinner with grandma and wrote thank you notes with smiley faces—regular, girl next door girls with modern day fairy-tales and cheap jewels adorning their nubile bodies.

At first I had a hard time focusing on the work in the portfolios, I was distracted by the colorful narratives decorating forearms, knuckles and neck napes. A woman talked enthusiastically about her work and all I could see was the jewel above her lip moving in sync with her expressions. “That must hurt,” was all I could think. “How does it stay in place I wondered? Is there a back to it, like an earring? What happens if it gets infected?” I worried. “And if she gets bored with the piercing or suddenly finds it inappropriate will it haunt her with an unsightly gaping hole?” These were the things I pondered while this woman—this talented woman was presenting the work she had labored over for two years.I tried to focus. I told myself I was dated, old; a fuddy-duddy but I couldn’t take my eyes off the jewel bobbing above her lip.

Another woman, a Natalie Portman look-a-like had a goolish story sleeve on one arm. It made me wonder if the other arm, the one without the tattoos, got cold sometimes. “What will happen,” I projected, “when her arms get flabby and the stretched out sleeve starts to pill? Clearly there will be a cosmetic remedy for that? Maybe a business idea for me?” Finally I focused. I forced myself look at the work. I was impressed again and again. Eventually I lost sight of the tattoos and the piercings and began to see the work for what it was…fresh, pure, skilled and original, not unlike what I saw on lips, chests, calves and wrists.

Later that evening when I got home I dug the business cards out of my purse that I had collected from the group of hungry budding photographers. I wrote notes on each card to remind me about who did what and what I liked about each of their portfolios. I chicken scratched details of what each person looked like so I could put a face to the work. Naturally I noted who had what tattoo and who had what piercing—clear markers to help me identify each one.

This got me thinking….what are tattoos and piercings all about anyway? Is it a generation’s attempt to create their individual identity? Is it a form of promoting a storyline like people do on Facebook and twitter? Has this culture of ours become so generic in our Gap and Old Navy fashion that we can no longer make a statement with our clothes and instead we are moved to stand out on the canvas of the skin? Or are tattoos just modern day war paint signifying the battle of a homogenous conformity? Or simply this generation’s attempt at anti conformists conforming? I asked my fifteen year old stepson what he thought tattooing and body piercing was all about. I ran a couple of my sociological theories up the flag pole with him. He shrugged and said “you’re over thinking it, sometimes a tattoo is just a tattoo. It’s like art, you buy a painting you like and you hang it on a wall. It’s no more complicated than that.”

But I don’t agree. Like shopping, when shopping is never really about shopping, piercing and tatooing are never as simple as just hanging a piece of art on the surface of your skin; it’s so much more than that. If there is one thing I have learned from The Great American Apparel Diet it is that presenting oneself in the sea of people is vastly more complicated than getting dressed in the morning or buying a new ensemble in a store. Self expression, regardless of your medium, is an attempt to prove you matter in a larger world. Tatooing and piercing, I am conviced, is just one other form of doing that. These artists are once again trancending their medium and expressing themselves in anyway they know how–there is real beauty in that.

Sex in The City, A Real Review from a Fashion Hungry Girl

A few weeks ago I saw Sex in the City2 with a group of girlfriends.  We LOVED it.  Heeee-larious!  And the clothing—frickin’ wow-A!  Loved it. Now, that said, I have read so many reviews that pan this movie as “politically incorrect,” “offensive,” “raunchy,” “blah, blah, blah.”  Many of these reviewers are men and are the same people who heralded movies and television like The Hangover, The Wedding Crashers, The Office and Arrested Development.  Talk about Politically Incorrect, Offensive and HILARIOUS!  Is this a double standard for female comedy?  Men can get away with scatological, sexist, stupid humor yet women have to play it safe?  Another reviewer said it was strange to take the foursome to the Middle East to unfold the story.  Can you say “willing suspension of disbelief”?  Well, all I can say is it was much more believable than many other movies that require you to forget all about reality, e.g. Avatar, Ocean’s 11, Thelma and Louise.  Sex and the City 2 reminded me of a feel good movie that entertains, along the lines of Jack Lemmon, Tony Cutis and Marilyn Monroe in Some Like it Hot, or Shirley McClain and Bob Hope in The Apartment.  These movies are meant to make you laugh out loud.   

I loved my girls on the big screen; I loved their fashion, their raunchy talk and their touching conversations (sometimes motherhood just sucks).  I say “back off boys” and suspend disbelief because this movie rocks, especially for those girls jonesin’ for a fashion pick-me-up!

When Shopping Would Have Saved Me Money!

Last week was weird for me.  I turned 47 which wasn’t particularly monumental other than I am one year closer to 50 and I am not buying any clothing “presents” for myself these days.  While the birthday went off without a hitch, for some reason I felt unsettled.  I finally decided that it was my hair.  I told myself I needed something new-ish, fresh-ish, young-ish.  Now, a little background– I have only had one haircut style in my adult life.  I wear it short and sometimes shorter, blond and sometimes blonder. As you can imagine going for something “new” can be the difference between a half inch and an additional foil or two. 

Earlier in the month I met a spunky, modern girl at the reception desk at one of my client’s offices.   Hovering on the young end of her twenties, she had great hair, an age appropriate earring in her nose and a cute tattoo, the kind she will hate when she is 47.  Compelled by her flawless youth I asked, “Hey, where’d you get your hair done.”  Flattered and excited to be giving a woman like me fashion advice she told me  “my guy downstairs is amaaaaaazing.”  After a little TMI she scrawled his name down on a business card and handed it over to me.  Last week, in my moment of needing something “different,” I dug her lipstick soiled guy’s card out of the depths of my handbag and called him.  I booked a 2.5 hour appointment for haircut and color.   Certainly, I told myself, he could do something Fresh-ish!  

Can you say hair debacle!  Yikes.  He told me “I’m not sure I like you in short hair” (that should have been a sign).  He said he wanted me to “grow it out.” I won’t drag you through the details of my afternoon with the long-hair-loving stylist, other than the fact that it cost over $200 smackers and I came away with a beige poof job.   The guy used a round brush on my hair…need I say more?

When I got home my husband, who never notices when I get my hair cut, asked me if I was going to coin my new look  “Carol Brady Returns.”  Later that night at writing group my fellow writers told me, “That’s the worst haircut you’ve ever had.”   

Upon waking the next day I made a phone call and scheduled the “fixer cut”.  It was time to go to the renowned Super Swank Salon that I had been avoiding for years, (though it came highly recommended).  It is one of those places that  people name drop, it was so cool that it was so uncool in my mind I had refused to go.  But now, the only thing that could remedy my situation was something upber cool.  

I entered the swank, shiny, chic Salon—pronounced “Say-lawn,” complete with espresso bar and cocktails, and was immediately comforted by the modern haircuts all around.  I had to ask myself, “why haven’t I been here?” I checked my coat, grabbed a sparkling something or other and met with my short-haired, funky, stylist.  I was in good hands.  An hour later and another 100 bucks sunk I had a very short but very cute hair cut.  The only problem was….she cut off $100 worth of color (from the day before) and now I looked like a speckled bird.   My super chic stylist offered to color it but at that point I wasn’t about to “pay more.”  Plus it just felt wrong coloring my hair two times in two days.  The last thing I needed was for my hair to fall out.  

I feel like I need to say this,I am not high maintenance.  I am the kind of girl who wears her hair super short so she can get ready super fast.  Really.

At home my husband laughed at my hair.  He said, “now you look like an exotic bird from that Planet Earth video”.  If he knew how much I had paid at that point I am certain his attitude would have been different. 

The next day, at the end of the day and certain that the hair was not getting better, I made yet another call to a non discript,  local hair dresser a few blocks away from my house and two doors down from Safeway.  I told her in a panic “I am on my third day of a bad hair fiasco that needs fixing right away.”  She calmly made an appointment and assured me that it wasn’t the first hair mistake of the day she’d fixed (good to know that hair disasters are alive and well all over the place).  $100 dollars and another two hours later  I had my hair the way I wanted it.  Short and blond, sans speckles. 

So why am I telling you this story?  My hair story?  Because if I had been buying clothes I would have filled my car with new items, gone home, tried them on and then returned most of them.  I would have tried on different styles, studied myself in the mirror and then made some decisions.  No dobut I would have wasted a lot of time making a few trips to the store, to buy and return.  But in the end I probably would have spent $200 instead of $400.  I would have clothes in my closet and not hair on the floor.  Now, I’m not saying I wish I could shop, but last week it would have saved me some money and several hours in the salon chair.  Sept. 1st cannot get here soon enough!