I have a Twitter account that I keep (I’m RockstarCarlene), and one of the people I follow is Demi Lovato (ddlovato). This girl is a diamond in the rough, a rising star, Barbara Streisand in Funny Girl. I love watching her perform, and that means that as a 26-year-old I regularly tune in to the Disney Channel and download songs from Camp Rock onto my iTunes. That is more than mildly embarrassing, but when I set out to write a blog about myself, making myself look cool was not on the agenda.
Miss Lovato had a Twitter post a while ago that irked me (irked or not, I still think she’s fab). She posted that if she didn’t have to be a good role model for her fans, she would have tattoos and piercings. If I’m doing the math, that means that tattoos + piercings = bad role model. Going by that equation, and given that I currently display both tattoos and multiple piercings in my ears, the entire purpose of my blog is moot.
What is it about this type of self-expression that invites such criticism? I hear it from friends of mine all the time – “Tattoos are trashy,” “Well, your tattoos are okay but I normally hate them,” and even from my own husband-to-be, “I wish you didn’t have them, but I love you no matter what.”
My own personal tattoos are reminders of the hardest times of my life, a life that has survived everything from extreme poverty to sexual abuse, and all the normal tough stuff, too. They’re colorful. They have a good message. Yet, I feel like a shoplifter anytime I catch someone’s eyes flicking towards my wrist…guilty. As though my little cursive reminder to “Let it go,” a reminder that once jolted me from a downward spiral of self-mutilation, is a dirty thing.
“Hi, my name is Carlene. I am a girl with tattoos. I’m also a small business owner, a musician, and a wonderful person.” Can people look past the ink on my skin, the tiny earrings up my ears, and see that for themselves? If I put my brave front aside, the truth is that it hurts my feelings. It makes me want to hide behind long-sleeved shirts and long pants 12 months out of the year, makes me want to make excuses that I was 18 and stupid when I had them done.
I wasn’t 18 and stupid, I was 19 and knew exactly what I was doing. When I’m home by myself I love my tattoos – I love my guardian angel fairy on my ankle and the phoenix on my back that marks my father’s death. I love my reminder on my wrist that keeps me from ruining the relationships in my life by not fighting over foolish things.
So maybe the real truth is, “Hi, my name is Carlene. I am a girl with baggage who sometimes needs help remembering to be grateful for the small joys in life. I have trashy tattoos and overly pierced ears. I like that about myself, and I understand that maybe you don’t. I’m okay with that.” Criticism is okay; hiding who I am in the face of it is not.
Carlene song lyric of the day, from Scars (copyright 2009):
…and if you check her sleeve, her story is there for the world to see…
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2 Responses to “Being a girl with tattoos”
I for one love tattoos in any and all forms. I love the stories that go with them, their meaning or lack of meaning, the specific points of time that they bookmark for people, and their artistry. Not to mention they are hot. Next time you are in Philly I will demand to see them and will need to discuss them and look at them again and then we can drink to them. I say “PHOOEY” to people who have a problem with them.
I will plan on it! Can’t wait