You see someone with lots of tattoos all over their bad self and impulsively think, “Wow! Cool!”
The punk stance of tattooing was long ago appropriated by the mainstream and made banal, but somehow, we still think of a tattoo as the mark of a true rebel.
Even though it’s more common than cell phones, a tattoo eternally equals brazen individuality and the courage to march to one’s own defiant drum.
Is it because we admire these people for having seized control of their physical identities while enduring all that pain?
Because we look up to anyone with the nerve to make that kind of lasting commitment?
Or because we don’t quite know how to respond when confronted with all that shit, so we just pop our eyes and say, “Wow! Cool!”?