It’s always interesting when someone I’ve known for a while sees my tattoos for the first time. This situation usually involves a co-worker. When I am dressed for the office, you can’t see any of my tattoos except maybe a glimpse of the space ship on my calf when I cross my legs or a couple of stars on my right shoulder if my shirt has a wide collar. Unless I’ve mentioned them, which I don’t unless asked directly, then you probably don’t know I have them. Just like I don’t know if you have a birthmark shaped like the state of Indiana on your left butt-cheek. It’s not the kind of thing you just blurt out in conversation cause you’ll get the “ew, too much information” stare. Unless you’re drunk, then all bets are off.
When an office-mate sees one of my tattoos for the first time, or even just learns that I have tattoos, I can actually see the preconceived notions they’ve formed about me crumble and new, more than likely innaccurate, notions take shape. Amy + tattoos is not equal to just the variable Amy. To me, tattoos neither add nor subtract anything to my equation, while to others they could be a negative 15 or a positive 5. (Look at the English major bustin’ out the math analogy!) Either way, they judged me when they first met me and now they are judging me all over again.
How do I know they judged me? Well the short answer is: cause they are human. We all do it, we can’t help it. It’s a trait that evolved so we could instantly tell friend from foe, a tribe we wanted to mate with, and a tribe we didn’t. When we hear someone with a thick southern accent, we think they’re ignorant. When we see a balding man in a convertible sports car we assume mid-life crisis. Yes, I know, “judge not, lest ye be judged.” But, it’s not the judging itself that is wrong. What’s wrong is when we think our judgements are true, when our judgements are set in stone. We don’t know anything about another person except what they tell us, and even that could be a lie. You can assume what you want, but you also must also be prepared to be surprised.
So, either my tattoos conflict with your vision of me or they confirm what you always thought. Either way, it’s just a fraction of who I really am.
