Tattoos

According to a Pew Center survey, over a third of Americans ages 18-25 have at least one tattoo, and the number is rising. Meanwhile, a Point poll indicated that only about 3% of Princetonians (some 150 students) are sporting ink. You’ve almost certainly never seen this many tattoos around campus, though, because a third of that tiny population admits their tattoo is only visible when the wearer is naked.
Indeed, one of the key attributes of Princeton’s small tattooed community is that they tend to be secretive about their tats’ existence. In my own wholly unscientific survey of a dozen students with tattoos, over half of them preferred that the general student body not know about their modifications.

The reasons behind such secrecy are probably the same ones that prevent most students from getting inked in the first place – cultural taboos and smutty associations. The trend was aptly summed up by proud tattoo-wearer Sonya Bishop ’10 (house-key outline, left forearm): “I think that a lot of people here are afraid to get a tattoo that could jeopardize their future as a corporate mule... Hopefully with the current state of the economy people will finally get that Weezer tattoo that they’ve always wanted on their knuckles.”

But as one of the few tattooed Princetonians (journalistic objectivity be damned), I wonder if we really are just afraid. Dreams of corporate indentured servitude certainly play a role in keeping tattoos rare and hidden under Princeton sweatshirts. However, when Princetonians do brave the needle, the results tend to share a few surprising qualities.

For example, my tattoo is a one inch, monochrome outline of a cicada (left hip). I got it the summer I turned 18, along with four of my childhood friends to remember the youthful bliss of our teenage summers. Simple, a bit weird, but also deeply personal, my tattoo isn’t for anyone but me. And I’m not alone. From one senior male’s re-creation of his late grandfather’s lucky coin (left thigh) to another’s Lion of St. Mark representing his family’s religious background (left wrist), tattoos at Princeton are almost always small and symbolic.

Princeton’s tattoos can get too serious, though. San Francisco’s Tattoo Museum notwithstanding, the tattoo will never be a form of high art. The historic associations of tattoos and the plethora of “Eat Steel, Motherfucker” armbands across the country will always make the art a campy (though permanent) medium. Strive for something too serious – say, a tiger ripping its way out of your shoulderblade – and you’ll end up a laughing-stock. Thus, while still deeply personal and symbolic, the best tattoos also exhibit an awareness of their often trashy associations. Consider the full-color Dr. Seuss goldfish on senior James Marvel’s shoulder blade, an icon he hopes he won’t tire of by age 40. Laugh if you want, but that’s a sign of a good tattoo. If you can’t laugh at your tattoo, or stand others laughing at it, then you probably shouldn’t have gotten it in the first place.

Tattoos will never catch on at Princeton. However, for those with something worth remembering, and a willingness to laugh a little at themselves, a tattoo might be just the thing. - James Burgess