Today’s beef…

I want to talk about one of my personal beefs as an antidote to the continuing political volcanic eruption that is the rise of The Corbynator.

What is it I don’t like? That list is a little long but for today I choose one subject, tattoos.

Now I can understand the idea of personal adornment as a way to feel good about yourself and enable you to stand out from the herd. That’s pretty natural, especially for those who suffer from the disease of youthfulness. But does that really mean you should permanently scar your perfectly good body to do so?

Look, you can choose to sport different hairstyles, clothing and makeup to make that personalised fashion statement and none of it is forever. That’s part of the fun. You can be a goth this week, a techno nerd the next and a cyberpunk the week after. It’s like dressing up and face painting for those who no longer want to play in the ball pit. You can even indulge in some henna body art or body paint based embellishments. They can be stunning to look at and, guess what, they don’t last. So when the wind changes you can make another choice and enjoy the chance to make another statement via the medium of your epidermis.

All that makes sense to me. What doesn’t is the idea of someone sticking ink tipped needles into a person’s flesh to leave an indelible mark. Why? Is it some kind of macho boast written into your skin? Do some people get off on the pain element of the experience? Is it a childish scream against society given physical form? To me it’s just another form of the herd like mentality that so dominates our culture. Everyone else has got a tat so I should get one as well.

Then there’s the aesthetic argument against tattoos. They look pretty awful. I’ve seen a lot of tattoos and none of them have left me breathless with admiration. From ugly blue green stars besmirching a young woman’s wrist to sad-not-saucy butterflies perpetually being sat on by middle aged women (on their buttocks, I don’t advocate the murder of avians). I particularly hate the fashion for tats across a lady’s decotellage. You know, the image that spans from one side of her chest to another just above the boobs. Talk about spoiling the view. The very sight of such ugly tat by numbers images leaves me heaving. They are even more distasteful when the victim tries to project a more sophisticated image by wearing smart evening wear that reveals even more of the epic fail that is the above tit tat. The only word I can use to describe this is “Yuk”. Of course you can get your face tatted. Yeah, that’s just so radical. Scar your face and then not expect others to judge you on it? Doh.

Everytime I see someone liberally splattered with ink I am reminded of the wise words of Ozzy Osbourne concerning tattoos: “If you want to be a fucking individual, don’t get a tattoo. Every fucker’s got one these days.”

Wise words from the true Prince of Darkness

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