Tattooed and Pierced: The journey to reclaiming your body

From tattoos to piercings, body modification is more than just a cosmetic change for queer folx—it is a tool for self-determination

Hours before my 25th birthday, I decided to get my first tattoo. A friend asked me to swing by a tattoo studio with her and her sibling and I jumped at the opportunity. After years of being subjected to HR professionals giving me unsolicited advice on corporate-appropriate attire and looking “presentable” at the workplace, I was ready to take control of my body. 

I had always felt a strong connection to wolves, which were a frequent subject of my sketches. So I chose a design of a howling wolf off the Internet, which I then had inked on my forearm. Since then, I have considered enhancing this tattoo. However, this initial foray into body modification not only affirmed my agency over my physical self but also sparked a creative desire to use my skin as a medium for self-expression. 

For many, the act of body modification is not just about aesthetics but about reclaiming their own body and redefining how they view themselves. 

An inescapable social stigma

For S (they/them), getting their first tattoo was a deeply thought-out decision. “It is a phoenix breaking out of a cage. I’ve been a big fan of Harry Potter since school, and so I’d spent a lot of time thinking about the design from a young age. I was certain  that I wanted a massive phoenix—the idea of it breaking out of a cage that was too small to contain it, means something to me. It is a reminder of who I feel like I am at my core and who I want to be,” they say about their first and only tattoo. However, for S, the process of getting the tattoo was far from comfortable. “Even though I had thought about it so much, when I finally went to the artist, I feel like I gave up my voice and went along with what they decided, and that is something I regret.”

Like S and myself, many folx get their first tattoo or body piercing merely to experiment with their style. A tattoo, however, is permanent, and being unhappy with the design that is etched on your skin forever or sitting through an uncomfortable process can leave a lasting impact. This discomfort is further exacerbated by the social stigma that exists around tattoos. In a 2017 study in the United States, it was observed that respondents rated people with a tattoo on their arm less favourably than those without one. The 13 personality and character traits that the rating was carried out on included honesty, intelligence, trustworthiness, and success, among others—all of which are arguably arbitrary social markers. 

“Your physical appearance doesn’t have anything to do with your capabilities, except, of course, if that’s what your job is about. Having tattoos does not have anything to do with being professionally capable or otherwise. My work has always spoken for itself,” clarifies Joh (she/her), a 35-year-old living in Bengaluru, who has gotten 16 tattoos so far, with no intention of stopping there.

For others, like 28-year-old Spandana (she/her) who works in the arts sector, tattoos are an extension of who they are at work. Between 2015 and 2024, Spandana got 10 tattoos in all, and has mainly worked with two artists. “One of them is a popular tattoo artist in my small hometown. I got a mildly painful one by them that had me involuntarily twitching. In hindsight, I didn’t like the way he reacted to that. I don’t think I’ll go back to him, except to get some of the original stuff redone,” she shares, reflecting  on the experience. Spandana’s story brings an important issue to light: as more people experiment with getting tattoos and body modifications with little guidance, how can we ensure that the process feels safe and comfortable?

Acknowledging bodily autonomy

Today, 26-year-old Triparna (she/they), is a tattoo artist who goes by the moniker bananatatz. When asked about the intimate process of tattooing clients, they share  the experience of witnessing their pain during sessions. “It’s a journey; there is pain, perhaps some tears, some moaning and groaning—it makes me feel connected to them. Each tattoo feels so intimate and I get emotionally involved.”

As with any physically intimate process, informed consent becomes crucial to the process. These are, after all, deeply personal experiences that transform the way we see ourselves and how we are perceived in the world. Our bodies essentially are a canvas for the tattoo artist, and getting inked involves trusting them with abandon and vulnerability. Therefore, open discussions about the design and pain essentially acknowledges our bodily autonomy and prioritises our personal comfort.

For many, tattoos are a tool for radical self-expression as well as resistance, as it was for Triparna’s grandmother. As a 21-year-old widow, Triparna’s grandmother was subjected to paternalistic comments regarding her body, “Some of the men in her part of the village [in Odisha] asked her to get her face tattooed to protect herself [sic]. She declined to get it done on her face, but she was not opposed to tattoos itself. She had three tattoos on her arm and was one of the first few people with tattoos that I was ever exposed to. She even had a septum piercing,” says Triparna. By reclaiming an oppressive tool, Triparna’s grandmother made her tattoos a force of joy for herself.

Forced tattooing, especially of women and young girls, mushroomed in colonial-era India as a way to keep them under patriarchal oppression—even as missionaries banned culturally significant tattooing practices, describing them as “savage” in other parts of the world, like the Samoan Islands. These are likely to have shaped the stigma around tattoos today.

Ensuring comfort and care

As the tattooing process is often a painful one, creating an environment that engenders honesty and open communication is important. “For instance, if I’m tattooing someone’s bum, I’m going to be stretching and prodding the area a lot. While it can feel awkward, I tell [the clients] to let me know if there is any discomfort, and I’ll stop,” says Triparna, emphasising informed consent during the process. Joh agrees: “An artist who understands that tattoos are an extension of a person and not cookie-cutter designs will work with you to create a design that you’re happy with. It’s important to feel safe and at ease during the process. My favourite [tattoo] artist spoke to me about the process, cracked jokes during the session to ensure that I was comfortable, and kept in touch afterwards. Today, he’s more of a friend than just a tattoo artist” she adds, explaining how tattooing is not just about creating a work of art, but one of giving care.

Thirty-year-old Naisha Richmond from Shillong is widely reported to be the first woman to become a machine tattoo artist in northeast India. In 2020, I got a tattoo from her around my ankle. I realised how sensitive my shin bone felt, as she filled in the motif. To help me get through the final stages, she gave me a big bar of chocolate, distracting me from the pain. This exemplified the extent to which a good tattoo artist cares about their client’s comfort. “Tattooing brings me a sense of peace and fulfillment. Since they often mean something to the client, watching the joy on their face makes the process worth it,” said Naisha. 

Triparna concurs, sharing, “As an artistic process, I lose myself in tattooing. Everything around me ceases to exist because my focus on the client’s skin and my needle has to be sharp. Sometimes, I feel like I’ve entered a different realm altogether!” For her, the process is “meditative”, even making her more emotionally invested in her clients.

Forging bonds with others, and ourselves 

Regardless of who we are and how we identify, many of us may seek the help of cosmeticians to change our appearances, whether it is to realign our teeth, address a balding patch on our head, a prominent, discoloured  rash on our skin, or even modifying the size of our breasts. 

Rakshitha Gowda (she/they), a queer person from Naarm, Australia, got their first tattoo when they were 18. “I got it with my mother, sister, and grandmother. I had always loved tattoos and wanted the first one to be special. When I brought up the idea, they loved it, and we got something together, symbolising an intergenerational connection between us.” Getting tattoos with loved ones can be a bonding process in itself. Rakshitha’s story reminded me of when I got tattooed along with a dear friend who was beginning their medical transition at the time, by Ishra Philipose. We both got tattoos that felt gender-affirming for us—mine is of  the binary-breaking fungi on my sternum, which has since made me comfortable with people staring at my cleavage, something that used to feel dysphoric earlier. The experience also made me feel closer to my friend, as I felt like they’d witnessed me when I was vulnerable. 

For 26-year-old Kavz from Bengaluru, their first tattoo from when they were 17, of the band Fall Out Boy, reflected their journey of coping with poor mental health.

"My psychiatrist and therapist would tell me that instead of self-harming, [I should] go get a tattoo. The feeling of needles on my skin is extremely calming and grounding. As someone who is prone to being numb, experiencing long states of being disassociated and not being in my body, tattoos [help me bring myself back to it in some ways]," adds Kavz.

S, too, has spent some time reflecting on their relationship with pain. “The reason I stopped [getting tattoos] is because I realised that pain was something familiar and [tattooing] was a way of experiencing pain in a controlled way—like I’m in charge [of the process],” they explain. However, since they felt like they could not speak up for themself while getting their first tattoo, they have since taken a pause from getting any more until they feel certain. “I went really deep into thinking why I wanted all these body modifications, and why the pain did not matter. I feel more protective of my body now.”

The correlation between tattoos and mental health is deep-rooted. Besides helping avoid self-harm tendencies, body modifications like tattoos can also enable one to become comfortable with scars and perceived imperfections on one’s body. In 2011, pop/rock star Demi Lovato, who has since had a highly publicised her struggle with addiction and eating disorders, talked about the pride she took in her tattoos that covered her scars that were the result of self-harming behaviours. Like 27-year-old Tanvi (she/they) who has six tattoos, shares: “My tattoos work as a consistent and constant reminder that I’m doing okay and moving forward.”

Shunning beauty standards

For me, body piercings were a way to feel a little more comfortable looking at myself in the mirror. As someone who had often been described as “baby-faced”, the piercings on either side of my nose seemed to finally give an edge to my appearance. With them, I am now clocked as non-normative and queer more often than earlier. Initially, this also made me resentful of the fact that I had to change my body to present myself in a way that felt authentic, but I remind myself that I can always take them down if I wanted to. 

The piercing on my left eyebrow, in particular, seemed to restore some asymmetry to my face, making me feel like I was standing up to beauty standards and the purported quest for symmetry. For all my life, I had been told that women ought to get their eyebrows threaded regularly to look “presentable”. As I explored my gender beyond the binary, I realised that it was more important for me to express myself in a manner that I was comfortable with, than what made others feel so. 

Thirty-one-year-old Pooja, who got her set of double piercings at the age of 15, says: “I wanted to experiment with my style after leaving behind the days of wearing uniforms to school. [Along with the] ink on my skin, [my tattoos and piercings] are as decorative as the clothes I wear, the jewellery I adorn, and the make-up I paint on. They add beauty to my bare skin.”

“Although I have not gotten any more tattoos, I have piercings on my nose and ears. I wanted them to be unique, but I know another person who has the same piercings as they approached it in a similar way. To me, these body modifications are about standing out from the crowd, but also belonging to a group that is not mainstream,” S muses about how strategically-placed piercings may be interpreted as symbols of a specific subculture. For instance, a septum piercing is often seen as a queer-coded way to present oneself, with some on the Internet going as far as describing it as a “ uniform”.

Body modifications like tattoos and piercings are powerful instruments  for individuals to assert their identity and cultivate a sense of community. These visible markers are not merely aesthetic choices but profound declarations of selfhood and autonomy. Through them, people reclaim their bodies, challenge societal expectations, and reject oppressive norms. Ultimately, they transcend personal adornments to become symbols that are supportive and understanding of a community.

Curated by Gaysi Family | Illustration by Anjali Nair

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