In my childhood home, the only thing worse than one of my parents’ eight Christian daughters dating a punk with a motorcycle was if she drew on her skin — permanently. My parents frequently let us know how nasty they thought tattoos were and that their permanence “isn’t Christian.” Equally crucial, they taught us, “Ladies don’t get tattoos.”

When I was five or six years old, I asked Mom about a lady’s cool tattoos and she replied, “Just think of what her arms will look like when she’s old.”  She’s also been known to remark, “You can’t be a mom and have tattoos.”  And Dad? Well, Dad simply opined that they spread AIDS. Of course, you can only imagine their reaction when I came home from a summer studying abroad — with a shiny, new tattoo. (Obviously, I left out the fact that my tattoo artist was a German Lesbian friend with a nose ring and purple hair!) Nevertheless, I had sealed my reputation as the family black sheep.

Since getting inked, I have not caught any tattoo-related illnesses or noticed a personal interest in worshipping Satan, but those objections are as useless as a screen door on a submarine. Years later, family visits can still be awkward, and I tend to wear long sleeves to their house, even in the Florida summer. Needless to say, my parents have been strategically kept in the dark about what my arms look like lately.

Evidently, my parents aren’t the only members of the anti-ink club, which harbors a specific demographic: Republicans and older generations. People wearing MAGA hats stereotype me, despite not knowing me personally. A lot of Boomers are more judgmental of me, but then again, hating people with tattoos is a predictable part of their MO. Compounded with my young age, I’ve just about won the loser lottery in their eyes.

On the other hand, Gen Zers and older Liberals — bonus points if they have body art or piercings — are more “accepting” of me. My tattoos must deem me “open-minded,” which, in turn, makes me seem more welcoming to this particular demographic. But, this is problematic in itself: my self expression is constantly misconstrued as a political statement.

If I put on a jacket and move my hair over my ears — poof! My tattoos and piercings have disappeared. I am Ron DeSantis’s biggest fan. Likewise, if I reverse this outfit — poof! I seem like I could be front row at a Bernie Sanders rally. My tattoos, dedicated to flora and fauna, have nothing to do with politics. Yet, they somehow dictate what political party people mentally assign me to — and the level of kindness or dismissiveness people show me. What a strange world we live in. 

Although tattoos are negatively perceived by many outside of the political sort altogether, tats on a woman’s body are especially taboo. As a woman whose tattoos usually show, I feel judged by all, at the same time. Any recently tattooed girl may feel her world immediately upended, as I did two years ago. When I cover my tattoos, I am regularly accepted by all. But, when I don’t, the difference is jarring. Frankly, it is sometimes painful. 

Even though tattoo-related sexism may seem imagined or exaggerated, the examples are endless. Unlike tattooed American men, whose tattoos lend themselves to a compounded “masculinity” and “strength,” (a problem of its own), tattooed American women are more often publicly scrutinized for everything under the sun. Just ask any “irresponsible,” tattooed elderly women, mothers and brides about the comments they may have received. We are called out for “setting a bad example for their children” and radicalizing our households. Meanwhile people intrusively wonder who “wears the pants” in our relationships and ask if our spouses find our tattoos “attractive,” as if that matters. From just this past week, I could name several more instances. I’m sure it will be worse when I am a mom or when I am elderly. The most painful reality, though, is that our entire femininity is often called into question. Once we get tattooed, society treats us as though we are not “real” women anymore. Tattooed men are not judged so harshly.

Transcending petty judgment, people’s prejudice against tattoos can also hurt your paycheck and employment. I once had an employer find out about my tattoos after months of good work and rapport. She called my tattoos, “creepy,” and even wondered aloud why I didn’t have a religious tattoo “for Jesus,” (as I am an openly Christian woman, too). She stopped being so friendly, and, the next week, I started seeing my hours dwindle. I wasn’t fired, but she gave me no choice but to quit.

Although my decision to get tattooed was based on a list of private reasons, they have become public discussion due to the dissonance created by judgmental individuals. Their hurt and judgement are now expected installments of my life, like pollution fluttering down a highway: never welcomed, sometimes ignored and always noticed. 

As long as it is not of hateful origin, a tattoo is harmless to others. Yet, it is the inspiration of so much judgment and hatred from both strangers and loved ones. Tattoos shouldn’t make anyone less hireable, desirable or admirable. They also don’t justify criticizing a woman in her role as a mother, wife, caregiver, et cetera when you know nothing about her character. 

On the other hand, rudeness against tattooed people is still just rudeness; nobody should be perceived as unworthy of respect, regardless of their skin or fashion. Tattoos are only skin deep, but cruel judgement is not. 

Acknowledgment: the ideas expressed in this article are those of the individual author.