Want a tattoo? Wait until you’re 30
By: Shamontiel L. Vaughn
Tags: Tattoo Removal, Maturity, Tattoo Artist, Twenty Something, Tattoo

Want a tattoo? Wait until you’re 30

What melanin-rich people need to know about tattoos, tattoo removal

The pose that inspired my first tattoo — of five in the same spot. (Photo credit: Shamontiel L. Vaughn)

When I was offered a tattoo as a high school graduation gift, I was elated. I was (and still am) really into painting ceramics and black art, and a silhouette of two people in the middle of a cross-armed toast seemed like a wonderful idea. I brought my favorite photograph of me and my prom date in the same pose, and I told the tattoo artist that’s what I wanted. I made a point of telling him to change the facial features and hairstyle on my prom date, but he could make the woman look like me. I loved this tattoo at the age of 17. My father hated it. My mother thought it was cute. My older brother and his girlfriend (his wife of 21 years now) also thought it was cool; of course they would, it was their idea to pay for this graduation gift.

I got back to school to finish out the last few months of my senior year and heard “oohs” and “aahs.” The only thing that kept bothering me were the amount of people who knew the guy I went to prom with (and ridiculously asked could they have a solo photograph of just him because quite a few thought he was gorgeous) and kept saying, “He doesn’t look like your prom date.” My response, “Of course he doesn’t. He’s not supposed to.” A co-worker at my after-school job asked, “So what’s the point of it? Why do you have a prom tattoo if it’s not your prom date?”

Tattoo #2, first cover-up

I grimaced and marched my way back to the same tattoo artist, asking him to shade the faces in altogether and to write “Unity” underneath. My tattoo was supposed to celebrate love, black love and a united front — like many of my ceramic pieces. Voila! Problem solved, right? For a few years, yes. Permanently, no. When you’re 17, no one expects you to be married. Then came my late teens and early 20s when everyone would ask, “So is that your husband? They’re in the wedding reception pose.”

Tattoo #3, second cover-up

I sighed and realized “Unity” simply wasn’t enough, especially in my mid-20s when people really were getting married and I barely wanted to keep a long-term boyfriend. But I’d just published Change for a Twenty and had a glass “S” frame on my work desk with an attached image that said “Live to Write.” Obviously this would be a great choice. So I went in for tattoo number three (and technically cover-up number two). I asked for the wine-drinking couple to be covered up altogether and an open-book to take the place of it, with “Live to Write” on the top and bottom, covering the word “Unity.”

I should have known this was a bad idea when the tattoo artist asked, “How do you spell ‘write’? R-i-g-h-t.” I cringed, horrified that he didn’t know the difference between “right” and “write.” But I needed this tattoo done. And I preferred to have it done by a brown-skinned tattoo artist who I thought would know how to do cover-ups on darker skin. When he finished, I smiled. This was amazing.

Photo credit: Cottonbro/Pexels

Three tattoos down: Why cover-ups are tricky on melanin

Here’s what tattoo artists don’t tell brown-skinned people enough. You’re in a weird place when it comes to dark colors. If you use too much, the area will just appear black. If you use too little, once it heals, it will be too light. My tattoo artist chose the latter option. In turn, instead of the toasting couple being covered with a book, they reappeared through the book pages, which made the whole tattoo look like a comic book — and “Live to Write” scrolled on the outside.

Tattoo #4: third cover-up

Frustrated and not able to get a refund, I went to another tattoo artist — a white guy who didn’t know what shea butter or cocoa butter was, which was yet another warning that should have made me run screaming out the door. He did an amazing job of drawing the Chicago skyline over both of the faces. I knew he would; this was a professional shop, not someone’s den in an apartment with no heat. (Teenage Me was unbothered by this in the summer time, but I was clicking my teeth during the Comic Book Tattoo.)

Although the Chicago skyline and “Live to Write” didn’t make much sense, I was a Chicago writer, so I went with it. He did an amazing job lining it up just right. However, this guy was very much convinced that the Chicago skyline was pointless without adding a blue sky where my brown skin was still visible inside the book lining. I pointed out how pretty the tattoo was without it, but he insisted on a blue sky. After debating back and forth about it, I thought, “Well, he’s the expert. Why not?”

So he dove in to put blue ink on brown skin. I knew something was wrong by the nervous look on his face and a couple other tattoo artists looking from my arm to him to me, and then walking away. Then another one would come over. Then a third. From medium blue to navy, it all looked black on brown skin. I tipped him anyway, thinking it would eventually lighten up when it healed, like the last tattoo. He shook his head and handed me my money back with a “no thank you.” Uh oh. My Comic Book Tattoo transitioned into a Chicago skyline and then healed to look like a bible: a big, black bible on the arm of a woman who is agnostic. Oh, the irony.

From comic book to bible (Photo credit: Shamontiel L. Vaughn)

The lovely part about being in your 20s is you’re still in that know-it-all stage where nothing is going to stop your flow, so I walked around with my Bible Tattoo Arm (better than Comic Book Tattoo by far) and still wore all of my baby tees. I didn’t care for the tattoo, but I had a massive amount of baby tees and the body to rock all of them. There would be no tattoo that would get between me and my fashion! At the time, I was still focused on being a best-selling author — until I realized I was intrigued by journalism. I wrote book number two (“Round Trip”) and lost interest in fiction altogether, but I did not lose interest in writing.

Recommended Read: “Book Bumps” series on “Better Marketing”

Fiction writing transitioned into news and entertainment reporting, but now I needed those same free-spirited arms to show in Corporate America. And a big, black book on my arm was not going to do. So after visiting numerous tattoo removal locations, I found one that was honest but hopeful; it would take up to eight sessions (at $300 each) to get most of this tattoo off. I would be out $2,400, but meh, big deal.

Tattoo removal: The bedroom fight with my own arm

Although my 20-something-year-old brain shrugged off the $2,400, I thought it was too expensive to pay $30 for general anesthesia. I’d heard that tattoo removal felt like someone popping you repeatedly with rubber bands and thought I was tough enough to deal. Turns out I was — three times.

Clearly I still was the same scrappy kid who could fight if need be, but the problem was my opponent was living in my own body.

However, what anesthesiologists don’t emphasize is there’s a weird numbing feeling that can happen long after you leave the laser treatment center. After the first session, I went to sleep that same night and my whole arm went numb. I woke up feeling like something was leaning on the other side of me. I jumped right out of bed and started punching, kicking and slapping at the thing on the other side of me — only to realize it was my own arm. I had a whole kick-ass fight with my own arm just hanging there limp as ever. Clearly I still was the same scrappy kid who could fight if need be, but the problem was my opponent was living in my own body. Luckily, I was prepared for potential numbness during the next couple of sessions and calmed my inner Laila Ali at nighttime.

Tattoo #5: fourth cover-up

A few months before I turned 30 (on 11/11/11), I stared at my arm — and my credit card balance, which was $900 higher. Glutton for punishment that I am, I no longer wanted to pay for tattoo removal. I didn’t particularly want a tattoo anymore, but paying for a cover-up would cost me way less than continuing on with the rest of the $1,500. I’d lightened the tattoo up enough to figure out what to do next.