Tattooing is a reclamation of my body, where I consensually welcome a wound as opposed to the ones that violently invaded my being, physical and otherwise.
Tattooing is a sacred “fuck you” to colonizers and their attempted erasure of us,while labeling the ink on our skin as dirty and demonic
Tattooing is a holy permanence on my brown skin,a deliberate reverence to Indigenous ancestors, whose tattoos symbolized honor, achievement, and beauty.
Tattooing is a reiteration of “by [my] wounds, [I] am healed.”
—personal notes from the evening I got my first tattoo in 2022
Our bodies are living narratives, and the ways we choose to tell our stories are as diverse as humanity itself. Among these forms of expression, Body Tattoos stand out as a powerful and enduring medium, etched onto the skin with ink and meaning.
For centuries, body tattoos have been imbued with significance far beyond mere aesthetics, defying the superficial perception of being just a tough exterior. While many Western cultures and religious dogmas have historically stigmatized tattoos, associating them with criminality, primitivism, or a lack of sophistication – citing biblical prohibitions like Leviticus 19:28 which commands, “do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves” – a vastly different narrative unfolds in communities outside the Western gaze, especially among Indigenous peoples. Here, body tattoos transcend decoration, becoming medicinal, sacred, and deeply symbolic of life’s milestones, personal beauty, and acts of bravery. Body tattoos are not merely skin-deep adornments; they are profound declarations of devotion to self and community.
In a world still grappling with the aftermath of colonization, body tattoos have become a potent form of artistic and resolute resistance. For many who carry the weight of cultural and religious erasure, getting inked is an act of defiance, a vibrant counter-narrative etched onto their very being. For others, body tattoos represent body liberation and a pathway to healing. The conscious decision to mark one’s body, to choose the designs that will become permanent fixtures, is in itself a powerful act of reclamation.
One bright Saturday morning in Manila, Philippines, the conversations around body tattoos came alive over breakfast with tattoo artists Alaga and Wiji Lacsamana at Tattoo Nebula, a renowned tattoo and piercing studio. The discussion naturally gravitated towards body autonomy. Lacsamana, also known for her illustrations and writing, recounted her early experiences of getting tattoos in secrecy, a necessity imposed by her Catholic and academically conservative upbringing. Over time, she deliberately chose more visible placements for her tattoos, a gradual unveiling of her true self. Yet, even in those early, secretive days, Lacsamana recognized the inherent courage in her younger self’s decision to get inked, viewing each tattoo as a personal manifesto: “This is my body.” This sentiment resonates deeply with her belief that every body tattoo is a step towards self-actualization, a profound statement of identity: “You are becoming more ‘I am’—more yourself.”
Indigenous communities across the globe also consider tattooing as a preservation and amplification of cultural integrity and belonging.
Celeste Lai, co-founder of Long Time Tattoo, echoes this sentiment, emphasizing the powerful connection between body tattoos and body reclamation. In an interview with Welcome to Chinatown, she articulated:
“Tattooing is a tradition that has been alive and breathed in new life in our generation. As a queer Asian American, I found a community in tattooing that is all about reclaiming our bodies and our identity. The generational trauma of feeling like our bodies belong to our parents, or belong to the male gaze all fall apart when we are in a space that accepts our nuance in a collective embrace. Being able to hold a physical space for that feels sacred.”
This intimate relationship between body agency and body tattoos extends beyond resisting societal oppression; it encompasses the conscious choice to reconnect with one’s heritage and community.
In the compelling documentary Marks of Mana, Sāmoan tattooist Rosanna Raymond delves into the art of tatau, specifically the malu for women. She explains that these cultural symbols, tattooed by and for women, are not ephemeral adornments to be casually discarded. Once inked, “you are present with your ancestors every day,” a constant communion forged through symbols steeped in history and heritage.
Dulcie Stewart recounts her transformative experience of receiving body tattoos from Julia Mage’au Gray at The Veiqia Project. Veiqia, or weniqia, is an ancient Fijian tattooing practice where young women, upon reaching puberty, are initiated into womanhood by elder women tattooists, the daubati, through the application of veiqia. Stewart describes:
“At my first session with her, Julia marked me by reconstructing weniqia (tattoo patterns and designs) based on 1870s sketches of Fijian women that we both had seen online. Over the years the process changed, the marks became personal and were based on familial designs. Being marked by Julia is an emotional and personal process, with each marking telling a story relating to different parts of your life; each tap revealing a memory and healing the soul.”
Across the globe, Indigenous communities recognize body tattoos as vital instruments for preserving and amplifying cultural integrity and belonging. Vogue Philippines recently made history by featuring Apo Whang-Od, the oldest person to ever grace its cover. The article not only challenged conventional beauty standards (“unmarked women were considered imperfect, undesirable”) but also celebrated the batok, the sacred hand-tapped tattooing tradition of the Kalinga tribe. Elle Festin, in an episode of Explained, observed that the rhythmic sound of hand-tapping during batok is like a “rhythm that wakes the ancestors.” The Onaman Collective, similarly, revitalizes tattooing traditions to challenge the shame imposed by colonial forces, marking skin with sacred symbols that honor achievements, healing journeys, and profound visions. Alethea Arnaquq-Baril, a member of the collective, urges non-Indigenous individuals to respect these traditions by not appropriating sacred symbols. She emphasizes, “There are many other ways to honor our culture without appropriating it.”
For those outside Indigenous cultures, body tattoos can still serve as powerful expressions of personal heritage and lineage, done respectfully and without cultural appropriation. A poignant example unfolded in a coffee shop, where the barista sported a detailed tattoo of a Combos snack. Initially perceived as quirky, the tattoo revealed a deeper meaning: Combos were a cherished snack shared with his grandmother during childhood. Now, this permanent mark serves as a heartfelt tribute to their bond and her memory. This story illustrates how body tattoos can honor personal heritage without appropriating sacred symbols reserved for specific tribes or cultures.
There is something medicinal in choosing the kinds of scars that mark us.
Alaga, a tattoo artist, views tattooing as both a ceremony and a celebration. Growing up under rigid expectations of acceptance, Alaga’s first body tattoo became an initiation into empathy, softening internalized rules and the need for self-defense. Serendipitously placed on the throat, Alaga’s tattoo, according to studies in Chinese medicine, was positioned to activate healing along the nearest meridian. Like acupuncture, tattooing employs needles to stimulate energy channels through skin penetration. Alaga’s tattoo facilitated the release of blockages in their throat chakra, empowering them to speak their truth and reclaim agency after a life spent concealing their identity. Alaga describes body tattoos as offering “the beautiful potential [for the] physical wound to open up a portal,” facilitating simultaneous spiritual and physical healing. Further research suggests body tattoos may even bolster immunity, strengthening the body’s defenses. (However, it’s important to note that this isn’t universally applicable, particularly for immunocompromised individuals or those with certain autoimmune conditions.)
Reflecting on their aspirations for the future of body tattoos, Alaga envisions a world where tattooing is “more accessible to everyone. Art doesn’t choose, especially among class. It’s the studio’s responsibility to have a sliding scale.” This vision extends to using tattooing as a platform for solidarity in social movements, citing the example of Amanda Echanis, a Filipino organizer imprisoned for defending land and human rights. Tattoo artists in Manila have rallied to support the Free Amanda Echanis Network, offering tattoo flash sets and donating proceeds to aid in Echanis’s release.
Alaga and Lacsamana also share a hope for greater inclusivity within the tattoo industry, advocating for more women and queer representation in studios historically dominated by masculine energy. Recognizing the vulnerability inherent in the tattooing process, they believe a more nurturing environment can foster safer spaces built on trust and respect for client boundaries. Lacsamana also seeks to challenge limiting perceptions of femininity in tattoo design, questioning the dismissal of “girly” aesthetics: “Why is girliness a bad thing? I love stepping into my femininity.” She champions the integration of softness and strength, gentleness and power, in tattoo artistry.
Lacsamana envisions her body tattoos as talismans for her clients, transforming their visions into tangible, skin-embedded symbols, “alchemizing tattoos into a talisman.” She recognizes the reciprocal healing in this process, acting as both witness and creator, illustrating chapters of people’s lives onto their bodies.
Indeed, there is a profound medicinal aspect to choosing the scars that mark us. In the realm of body tattoos, we actively choose our wounds, welcoming them as deliberate acts of self-definition, a stark contrast to the uninvited wounds life inflicts. Through catharsis and color, we find liberation. Through our chosen wounds, we heal.
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| Gabes Torres (she/siya) is a mental health practitioner, grassroots organizer, and writer based in the global South. Her clinical practice and research focus on collective and intergenerational trauma and healing methods, including the psychosomatic implications of imperialism, racism, climate catastrophes, and human rights violations. Her passion is elevating communities and models of collective flourishing. Connect: Twitter/X |
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