Why I Am Getting A Tattoo

What’s the first word you think of when you see a tattoo? Is it tacky, or is it cool? If you asked the version of me who is afraid to give her real opinion, I would say: stupid. But, if you asked the real me, I would say: interesting. 

College became my first taste of freedom— the first time I could explore who I was outside my family’s expectations. I started small: dyeing my hair pink and purple, trying on versions of myself I was too scared to try before. And now, after a couple of years of trying random things, I feel ready to really take a step forward. Hence, I’ve come to terms with a number of reasons why I truly want a tattoo, and maybe more than one.

My cousins have no problem with them.

I never had an older sibling growing up; I was, in fact, the older sibling. And in a funny way, I had always imagined what it would’ve been like to have an older brother. Then, I finally got to meet my cousin Yogev.

Yogev was the type of guy who was really cool without even trying. He smokes weed out in public without a care in the world, nose piercing glistening in the sun, just radiating this calm, confident energy. The dude even got a massive snake tattoo winding up his arm the moment he landed in America, like some kind of badass. 

It really made me wish I had grown up with him, with my family from Israel. Sometimes I feel disconnected from who I really am, not knowing half of my family or heritage. Then, when I finally met my cousins, I realized, “Oh, I just grew up in the wrong country.” 

When I got the chance, I asked Yogev about his tattoo and nose piercing; just wondering why the heck he did it. To him, it was nothing. He got it because he felt like it; that’s really it. There were no deeper worries, no overall twisted, doomed fate for his future: just that he wanted to express himself, and then just did it. 

Although in reality, the meeting between Yogev and me was awkward, he helped bring about my own personal awakening: That I am allowed to exist the way I want; that I can do those quirky things I’m embarrassed to show to the world— because it’s who I am. And now, I know its heritage.

I am forgetful, so I need reminders.

One thing to know about me: I forget everything. It would be cute if it happened every so often, like forgetting names or forgetting my phone somewhere, but it’s become more than just a simple problem now. 

Now it’s not just about little things like where I set my phone, but about the bigger things too: my goals, my growth, my promises to myself. Sometimes I write reminders on my hand, as if ink can hold me accountable. Maybe that’s part of why the idea of a tattoo draws me in— a permanent reminder of who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. My memory may fade, but I want something that doesn’t.

I have grown an appreciation for cultures with different views on tattoos.

Across the world, tattoos have long been more than art. In Polynesian, Māori, Native American, and ancient Egyptian cultures, they’ve marked identity, achievement, protection, and belonging. These traditions remind me that the body can be a canvas of meaning and a living record of a person’s journey.

So, if our bodies already tell our stories through scars and experiences, why shouldn’t we be allowed to add to that story on purpose? 

I have let my family’s opinion dictate my life choices for too long.

For too long, I’ve let my family’s opinions decide what I do. They’ve always said tattoos make you look less valuable, less beautiful— as if self-expression were something to be ashamed of. They are not bad people, but their beliefs are rooted in different things, and they simply have never resonated with me. Yet, as a people pleaser, living under those circumstances stopped me from trying to be myself. To the point where I’ve gotten good at convincing them and myself that I hated the idea of tattoos.

But if I truly despised tattoos, I wouldn’t be drawn to people who have them. Tattoos have never stopped me from befriending or even dating anyone. In fact, I admire someone I’m close to more if they have tattoos. 

The truth is, I’ve met incredible people with tattoos— kind, smart, and complex. No matter the person, anyone can have a tattoo. And although my family may feel it’s like a stain on your soul, I am growing to understand it is nothing but another mark on your body, making you more and more your own kind of person.

You will only experience this life once.

To our pre-existing knowledge, you will only have the memory of experiencing this life once. This is the only life that I will be Stephanie Cohen; no other times will I experience this particular version of myself in this particular time, nor live it again. 

Although we are conscious vessels inhabiting these meat sacks that keep us alive, in the end when we pass away, it is very clear one thing disappears and one thing stays: your consciousness disappearing, and your body inevitably staying behind. No one has any idea where your mind goes. It’s not like when you die your body disappears either. 

So, why should it matter what anyone else thinks? It’s in your best interest that while you’re alive, you should do whatever the hell you want with your body while you still have this version of you— alive and clearly conscious. So do that stupid hairstyle, regret something, or better yet: get a tattoo— love it or regret it. But the fact that you’ll feel anything will mean that you are simply alive and experiencing. And to me, that is enough to convince me to finally be unafraid of the risk of the unknown.

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