Getting Inked.

Personal observation, not ideology, no hate.

It is what it is.

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One thing I’ve noticed in Lisbon and in Porto among younger white American, Canadian and European women, especially those below 30, and not so much the men, is the proliferation of really bad tattoos.

Some are like a kid drew on them, with totally random designs seemingly inspired by an afternoon binge-watching Nicklelodeon - a cake here and a wine glass of tears there, with some obscure allusion to meaning discovered while on a bender.

I think getting a tattoo before was more of a rite of passage, it meant something important enough to you that you would etch it on your skin forever, until you die, and forsake heaven (in certain religions). Tattoo removal wasn’t an option. It meant making a decision that you are willing to live with for the rest of your life, when you are ready to do so, or in certain tribes, when you’ve earned it with your first kill.

Now it seems more of a badge worn to belong to the fraternity of the times. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as you got inked. It’s reversible, it’s fashionable, and it’s cool.

But damn, at least get a better tattoo artist. Oh wait, yeah, I get it. Good tattoo artists can be expensive, and rightfully so.

26 July 2025

Mercado do Bolhão

Porto, Portugal