I’ve never understood the widespread fascination with tattoos, especially when they reach a certain… saturation point.
Is there such a thing as too many tattoos?
Absolutely, in my opinion, and frankly, I think a lot of what I see today is really just body graffiti. It’s a concept I’ve grappled with for years, and the more I see it, the less sense it makes to me.
For a long time, I used to say that tattoos are fundamentally about covering the skin that you’re ashamed of. Think about it. We live in an era where we’re constantly bombarded with messages about body positivity. We’re told, day in and day out, that our bodies are beautiful, that we should embrace every curve, every freckle, every natural feature -- and yadda yadda yadda.
It’s all about loving the skin you’re in. So, by that very logic, if our bodies are inherently beautiful – these incredible, complex, unique canvases we’re given – then why on earth do so many people feel the need to cover them up, paint over them, or fundamentally alter them with permanent ink? It’s a contradiction I’ve never been able to reconcile.
It reminds me, vividly, of my school days.
Did you have those peers in school? The ones who would show up wearing super-nice, brand-new jeans – designer denim, sometimes – and then, by the end of the first week, they’d have taken scissors to them, ripped holes in them, or worse, scribbled all over them with permanent markers like a piece of paper. I remember looking at their clothes and thinking, "Why? Why would you deface something that was perfectly good, even beautiful, to begin with?" I never understood it. It seemed like a deliberate act of destruction, or at the very least, a bizarre attempt at individual expression that just resulted in ruining a perfectly fine garment.
The same exact sentiment applies, for me, to so many tattoos. Especially the ones that sprawl across entire limbs, backs, or even the whole body, creating what looks like a single, convoluted mural. Where is the body, the natural form, in all of that? It gets lost. What started as perhaps a meaningful symbol or a small piece of art often morphs into an overwhelming collage, obscuring the very canvas it’s supposed to adorn. It stops being about enhancing and starts being about covering. And I can’t help but wonder, what are you trying to distract from? What part of that natural, supposedly beautiful body are you so keen to hide or overwhelm with imagery?
This isn’t to say that every single tattoo falls into this category. A small, tasteful piece, strategically placed, can indeed be a personal statement, perhaps even an elegant embellishment. But there’s a distinct line, one that seems to get crossed with increasing frequency.
When the skin becomes merely a background for an endless tapestry of ink, when the natural contours and tones of the body are completely eclipsed, that’s where my skepticism deepens. It shifts from personal expression to something that, frankly, strikes me as a desperate attempt to stand out, or perhaps, to blend in with a specific subculture to the point of anonymity within it.
And ditto on piercings, especially the more extreme ones. The metal rings, the stretched lobes, the facial piercings that alter the very structure of the face. Are you trying to get attention by looking ridiculous? Because, to me, often, that's precisely the effect. It's a shocking statement, sure, but rarely one that conveys beauty or self-assuredness. Instead, it often projects a sense of defiance, a desire to provoke, or simply, a misdirected understanding of personal aesthetics.
Ultimately, while I respect people’s autonomy over their own bodies, I maintain that there absolutely is such a thing as too many tattoos, and too many piercings.
When the body itself is no longer the primary visual, but merely a heavily illustrated surface, it feels like a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means to truly appreciate and express oneself. It’s like buying a masterpiece and then painting over it with your own amateur scribbles. For me, the natural form remains the truest art, and covering it entirely with permanent ink often feels less like an enhancement and more like an act of deliberate, permanent body graffiti.