Making Peace With My Lower-Back Tattoo
By Leslie Price
Sometimes I forget about it entirely, but the re-emergence of low-rise pants and the upcoming summer season reminds me of my decision, years ago, to get a lower-back tattoo.
Who was that person who, at age 17, thought it would be a good idea to get a dragonfly inked atop their (my) tailbone? How much of this impulsive thrill seeker, who also went sky diving and got a belly-button piercing, still lives inside of middle-aged me, who’s afraid to roller skate or walk on ice for fear I’ll break something?
I know I’m not the only one with a secret hidden below my belt. There are many of us. We walk among you in the grocery store, say hi to you at school pickup. I asked a few about their tattoos, if they felt like I did. And even though many were embarrassed, their stories do mostly share a note of sweet, youthful naivete.
“At the time the low-rise hip-huggers were in style...I showed that piece off any chance I could get. Nowadays, my high-rise mom jeans hide not only the belly pooch but [also] the bad decision made two decades ago.”
As Dina Gachman writes in her article for The Girlfriend, “One Friday night in the late 1990s, I walked into a tattoo parlor on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles, alone. I’d been there once before, to show the artist a drawing I’d done that I wanted permanently inked on my back. The design can best be described as a naked tree-angel goddess, and it was inspired by my mom, who once told me that the best things you can give your children are roots and wings.” Later in life, she describes herself as eager to get it removed. “Was this giant naked tree angel ever really me, or did I just fall prey to the 1990s fever dream of grunge?” she asks.
A common thread in the replies I received goes along the lines of “I barely think about or look at that ugly old thing!” The placement is a blessing in that way, I guess. Said Amy: “Mine is a design my 17-year-old best friend made me that includes a moon and a star and rays of light. I’m mortified by it. I hide it from my children and only wear high-waisted bikini bottoms.”
Kelly: “I have a Grateful Dead bear tramp stamp I got when I was 15. Full of regret now as it’s faded and looks insane but thankfully I never have to see it.”
Tiphanie: “At the time the low-rise hip-huggers were in style...I showed that piece off any chance I could get. Nowadays, my high-rise mom jeans hide not only the belly pooch but [also] the bad decision made two decades ago.”
Lanie: “I have an infinity symbol on my lower back — got it when I was 15 with a very bad fake ID. My mother always told me I love you to infinity...hence the tattoo. She hated it but grew to appreciate it. She passed away when I was 25.”
Rebecca: “I got a lower-back tattoo when I was 18 and covered it up when I was 27 with a different tattoo. The original tattoo was a full-color sun with wavy rays (Sublime-ish), even though I asked for a simple black outline of a sun. When the guy finished and showed me he said, "you were sitting really well, so I thought I'd do something extra for my book," and I was 18 and too shy and naive to object. When I was 27 after a breakup, I covered it with a big, fully black circle, which I really like.”
Hello, World!
“What’s the point of agonizing over something that now I can honestly laugh at? It doesn’t have to be that serious.”
Almost immediately after I got it, sadly, my tattoo made me excruciatingly embarrassed. It was worse than uncool; it was THE uncoolest. Small, blobby and black, one of its poorly sketched wings peeked out of low-rise jeans and bikini bottoms. But the past year has put a lot in perspective; what’s the point of agonizing over something that now I can honestly laugh at? It doesn’t have to be that serious. I have a lot of empathy for myself at 17, a naive kid from a small town who, at college, was being exposed to people with a lot more wealth and worldly experience. I was also living life in the moment. As stupid as my tattoo is, I remember why I got it; I was living alone for the first time and I had never felt so free. I wanted to commemorate that in a permanent way.
Life changes you. Some of those marks are invisible and some are not; much of it is beyond your control. This is one of those things that aging teaches. My body is different than it was 10 years ago. It bears evidence of carrying a child, of stress and sleepless nights, and of almost 40 years on this earth. I used to think I could and would erase these physical changes somehow. Maybe through food choices, exercise, supplements, or skincare. But I’ve realized that that’s a fallacy. It’s a part of the story of my life. Even if I lasered it away, that stupid thing will always be a part of me.