Tattoos and Nice Boxes
It was a brilliant plan you know. I told Pat, official blog pesterer that I would not write another post until I got his article for InContext. I figured that I would not only get the article that way but would also have the perfect excuse not to update without constant pestering. Of course I didn’t count on Pat writing not one but two articles long before I was prepared to update. So a deal it a deal.
I have been struggling with what to write. Inspiration simply has not been striking lately. Maybe it’s that I’m not watching much TV and am spending way less time on buses that there are fewer things annoying me these days, at least things that are worthy of blogging. Then, earlier this evening I was having a conversation when an idea for a topic came up.
It happened again the other day, I was at work and reached for something behind the desk. As I did so someone standing beside me caught a glimpse of my tattoo. Their response was typical of most people who see it, something along the lines of “YOU have a TATTOO?”
Maybe it’s that I have had it for nearly three years now and I got over the shock of having one long ago but the response always surprises me. That line is usually followed by a “you don’t seem like the type.” I assume by this they mean that I am not a sailor, a former convict or a biker but I thought those stereotypes were losing popularity. It seems everywhere you turn someone has a rose or a butterfly on their ankle and the old ‘types’ don’t seem to fit anymore. What they actually mean is that I seem to ‘nice’ to have a tattoo. Or at least that’s the impression I get listening between the lines.
Perhaps it’s the tone some people use when they say ‘nice’ which makes it sound less like a compliment. I am nice, or I like to think so. And yes, in a lot of ways I suppose I fit quite nicely into the nice girl label. I’ve never smoked, don’t really drink and I like school. I don’t swear much. Model child right, my parents must be thrilled. I’m not complaining. I like who I am but it seems unfair to be to assume that the ‘nice’ thing, precludes you from anything society deems remotely rebellious.
My getting a tattoo did not come as a surprise to anyone who knew me well. I had, after all, been talking about getting once since I was eleven or twelve. It was generally a matter of when and of course what. In later years I said as soon as I quit dancing (tattoos and even ear piercings being a big no no in the highland dance world). I believe my mother’s response when I told her was “oh did you.”
Getting a tattoo did not change who I am. I was the same person when I walked out of that room that I was when I walked in. More to the point, I am still the same person after people find out I have it, that I was before they knew. It doesn’t make me less ‘nice.’
That said, sometimes I wish it would, not because I don’t like being perceived as nice but because I don’t like the narrow ‘nice-shaped’ box I’m expected to fit into. It is limiting and suffocating. Was the tattoo about rebellion? No but it was probably in part an attempt on my part to prove that I was not just a quiet little girl and to puncture a few holes into that ‘nice-girl’ box of mine.
I have been struggling with what to write. Inspiration simply has not been striking lately. Maybe it’s that I’m not watching much TV and am spending way less time on buses that there are fewer things annoying me these days, at least things that are worthy of blogging. Then, earlier this evening I was having a conversation when an idea for a topic came up.
It happened again the other day, I was at work and reached for something behind the desk. As I did so someone standing beside me caught a glimpse of my tattoo. Their response was typical of most people who see it, something along the lines of “YOU have a TATTOO?”
Maybe it’s that I have had it for nearly three years now and I got over the shock of having one long ago but the response always surprises me. That line is usually followed by a “you don’t seem like the type.” I assume by this they mean that I am not a sailor, a former convict or a biker but I thought those stereotypes were losing popularity. It seems everywhere you turn someone has a rose or a butterfly on their ankle and the old ‘types’ don’t seem to fit anymore. What they actually mean is that I seem to ‘nice’ to have a tattoo. Or at least that’s the impression I get listening between the lines.
Perhaps it’s the tone some people use when they say ‘nice’ which makes it sound less like a compliment. I am nice, or I like to think so. And yes, in a lot of ways I suppose I fit quite nicely into the nice girl label. I’ve never smoked, don’t really drink and I like school. I don’t swear much. Model child right, my parents must be thrilled. I’m not complaining. I like who I am but it seems unfair to be to assume that the ‘nice’ thing, precludes you from anything society deems remotely rebellious.
My getting a tattoo did not come as a surprise to anyone who knew me well. I had, after all, been talking about getting once since I was eleven or twelve. It was generally a matter of when and of course what. In later years I said as soon as I quit dancing (tattoos and even ear piercings being a big no no in the highland dance world). I believe my mother’s response when I told her was “oh did you.”
Getting a tattoo did not change who I am. I was the same person when I walked out of that room that I was when I walked in. More to the point, I am still the same person after people find out I have it, that I was before they knew. It doesn’t make me less ‘nice.’
That said, sometimes I wish it would, not because I don’t like being perceived as nice but because I don’t like the narrow ‘nice-shaped’ box I’m expected to fit into. It is limiting and suffocating. Was the tattoo about rebellion? No but it was probably in part an attempt on my part to prove that I was not just a quiet little girl and to puncture a few holes into that ‘nice-girl’ box of mine.
posted by Megan at 11:00 PM
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