Painting the Carcass

A good friend and colleague of mine once referred to plastic surgery and other age-defying measures as “decorating the carcass,” which she has made perfectly clear to her husband she will never do. And while I certainly want to keep myself attractive to my future spouse if I can, I have to agree with her stance, since the sacrifice of money and risk for these cosmetic endeavors does seem a bit drastic, and catering to the superficial preoccupation with beauty and appearance can definitely draw us away from the improvement of the spirit and the mind. Admittedly, most of us do spend a good deal of time maintaining our appearance, which has the effect of projecting a certain attitude and, in some cases, a particular worldview. Façade or no, the manner in which we present ourselves does, at least in part, define our character and personality, not only to others, but to ourselves. Hairstyles, jewelry, make-up, and even clothing are some of the most obvious examples. And in recent years, tattooing has become a more popular facet of this cultural disposition.

Body art among performance artists and more eccentric types is nothing new, and tattooing in particular is an extremely old
practice. In the Western world, it has its roots primarily in the impact of Polynesian culture on the European explorers of the eighteenth century. Recently, however, tattoos have become far more common among average folks. And like so much of popular culture, this phenomenon often seems more like a trend, or fad, and less like self-expression. So much of how we present ourselves seems to stem from our identification with a particular group or subculture and less to do with true individuality. Adolescents seem especially susceptible to this contradiction. How many times have you known a young person with some bizarre outfit or outrageous hairstyle remark that they look the way they do because they don’t care what anyone thinks of them, when it’s ridiculously obvious that nothing could be further from the truth? In our youth, we all wrestle with the issue of identity. A teenager is a person in transition, often attempting to decide on the particular group or stratum of society with which to eventually be identified. And for the time being, a young person might choose to rebel and embrace an anti-fad, in other words, to identify with a group characterized by its own set of conventions and sensibilities that simply run counter to the mainstream. Some never outgrow this phase and wrestle with identity their whole lives, whereas for others, it becomes a genuine expression of who they are. But a teenager with spiked green hair and knee-high leather boots seems generally to be doing one of two things, either nursing a grudge against a parent or authority figure (perhaps even society as a whole) or simply trying to conform to the styles and conventions of the subculture they’ve chosen to join, in other words, to fit in. I admit, I can’t see into the minds and hearts of every young person, but you know, at the same time, there’s a reason you don’t see many people over 40 with spiked green hair and knee-high leather boots, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on culturally, especially for an adult, who has the benefit of hindsight and knows what it’s like to be young. So, all in all, at no point do the fashion choices of a rebellious teen seem to reflect a genuine or unique form of self-expression.

Often this seems to be the case with tattoos, though admittedly, I often find that many people get them as a kind of emblematic signature of some impactful experience or life lesson. Either way, the tide definitely seems to have turned for this anti-fad, since so many people are getting them now. And even this notion of marking oneself as a permanent reminder of some crossroads or benchmark in life can be seen as a fad in itself, since so many seem to credit this brand of reasoning as the basis for the decision to tat themselves. It’s the same reasoning that sometimes brings about other drastic changes in appearance, like the dyeing of hair or the ever-popular sudden chopping-off, from long to short, by many women. The belief is that a major shift in appearance will precipitate a shift in perspective, changing either how they see themselves, how they are seen by others, or both. And sometimes it may.

So what’s wrong with this? Nothing, really. Generally speaking, adults have the freedom to do with their own bodies as they please. And yet, it does reflect, to some extent, the dangers of conformity and the prevalent difficulty we have transcending the codes of culture; truly rising above the significance of physicality and appearance; and allowing ourselves to be distinguished and defined by the growth of spirit and mind, by our quality of character, and ultimately by our actions. Some people have biblical objections to tattoos, though no such argument has ever made sense to me personally. I myself have two objections, neither of which is a moral one. The first is aesthetic and totally subjective. It is simply a personal preference, which admission will hopefully prevent my being labeled a prejudiced coot who judges character solely by appearance. No, this is a chemical matter, an issue of taste. Different men, for example, are physically attracted to different aspects of a woman’s appearance: legs, hands, eyes, hair, and so forth. I’m something of a leg and ankle man myself; those who know me well know I have a soft spot in my heart for a woman with a shapely ankle. However, the physical trait of a woman I find perhaps most attractive is complexion and skin tone. I happen to be one of those weirdos who prefers the European look. But tan is en vogue, of course. So while the majority of the Western world braves the leathery appearance of premature aging and the possibility of maybe the most deadly form of cancer in a desperate attempt to look like a Polynesian islander, I’m trying to find the few needles in the neo-Caucasian haystack that still retain some small degree of their natural complexion. My best friend, knowing full-well my preference, has even gone so far as to coin the phrase “Moyafied,” in reference to women he knows I would find attractive by virtue of a fair complexion illumined with a gentle rosy hue. I bring this up only to help frame my aversion to body art, which, regardless of its artistry, certainly obscures that complexion to some extent.

Let me see if I can frame it more succinctly. I once knew a girl who had gotten a very small tattoo of an orange butterfly on her ankle, of all places, and maintained she felt it amplified the beauty of her legs, ankles, and feet. The problem for me is that as nice as a little orange butterfly might look, I know myself, and as her boyfriend or her husband, I would always wish it wasn’t there. You see, in the eye of this beholder, a beautiful woman is truly poetry in motion, a living work of art. Without indulging a lustful or irreverent thought, when sighting a beautiful woman, I often find myself looking to the sky and saying to the Big Man Upstairs, “Lord, you do good work.” I look at creation and find that God is like the ultimate Rembrandt or Michelangelo. And woman is without a doubt His masterpiece. So to me, a tiny orange butterfly on the ankle is the aesthetic equivalent of painting a cute little teddy bear in a corner of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Sure, little teddy bears are cute, adorable even. Love little teddy bears. But on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, it would be totally out-of-place, and no matter how you slice it, it would obscure, however slightly, Michelangelo’s gorgeous work. Again, just a matter of preference. What I happen to find attractive is the unembellished skin of a woman as God bestowed it, or rather, as God fashioned it, to coin a more artistic term.

The young woman with the little orange butterfly on her ankle challenged my objection by comparing tattoos to make-up, jewelry, and other self-adornments. But to me, this isn’t a fair analogy, because make-up, for example, only “obscures” in order to enhance a woman’s natural beauty, to accentuate her eyes and lips, liven her complexion, and so forth. A tattoo, on the other hand, obscures the commonly exposed areas of a woman’s skin, something which is already beautiful in my view. The key word here, I suppose, is commonly, which just shows how conventional, or old-fashioned, my own taste tends to be.

Now what about tattoos on men? My mom still recounts how the night my older brother came home with his first tattoo, she cried all night long. She loved him so much and was heartbroken at the thought that a sophomoric impulse had caused him to permanently modify his body in a way that was, to her, so unsightly, trashy even. And while I was very different from my brother anyway, I’ve always felt I shouldn’t do to myself anything that might potentially diminish my appeal in the eyes of my future wife. I’m reminded here of a Season 9 episode of Seinfeld called “The Apology,” in which Jerry attempts to make a point about his girlfriend’s casual nakedness by himself parading through the apartment without any clothes, at which point she tells him, “This isn’t good naked.” Elaine later substantiates the claim by commenting that while the female body is like a work of art, “The male body is utilitarian. It’s for gettin’ around. It’s like a Jeep.” I have to agree with this Elaine’s take here. Might my hair-covered, barbarous, utilitarian form be somehow comparable to the ethereal, curvesome, statuesque glory of a woman? By no means! But still, if I don’t want it on my wife, I certainly don’t intend to put it on myself. Not that I have any desire to paint myself, even were I never to marry, which leads to my second objection.

This is a pragmatic concern and largely speculation, mind you, but it seems to me that tattoos, depending on the size, position, and number a person has chosen to get, have the potential to force perspective. For example, someone who’s “decorated” the entirety of his or her forearms might eventually come to the conclusion that job opportunities are being missed because the tats are just too conspicuous or trashy-looking in the eyes of a potential employer. And having already spent the decision to get them, the person may likely adopt whatever attitude is necessary to avoid regret, to sidestep, in other words, the recognition of any lack of judgment, foresight, or wisdom. One thing life inevitably teaches us is that maturity brings changes in our hearts and minds we would never have expected. And though it may happen all too slowly, we ourselves change throughout the course of our lives as we accrue experience. Yet, our current generation seems governed by such a proud and relativistic paradigm that to grow into a mindset that requires admission of a mistake is so unbearable that perspective can be, in a sense, forced, since the alternative to disappointment is basically total commitment to the choice and all its ramifications. In such a way, it seems like a tattoo may even cause someone to identify with a particular cultural group characterized by that perspective. The person with the decorated forearms might, for example, choose to embrace a kind of anti-establishment attitude characterized by resentment toward employers, toward those with power and authority in general, and toward the social framework that might reject their decision to tat themselves up as a polarized reaction against the understanding that their irrevocable choice might have been a mistake. But of course, they’re stuck. No matter how you might feel later on, a tattoo is a decision (albeit a physical one) you can never undo, correct, or outgrow; you have to live with it the rest of your life.

There are many advantages to being young, for sure, but there are also a great many disadvantages. Some young people have the caution to own this and try to exercise self-control despite their lack of wisdom and experience, whereas others suffer from a naïve impulsiveness and the inability to envision the long-term effects of their choices. Many young people seem to live their lives without any understanding that tomorrow will happen. This shortsightedness seems to go remarkably well with the tattoo trend. I’m not saying, mind you, that all will or should regret their decisions to tat themselves. Again, this is not a moral objection, but simply an acknowledgment of the quagmire that may likely, or at least possibly, coincide with these decisions. Unless you want some hideous scar in place of the thing, once you’ve painted the carcass, there’s really no unpainting it, not even when it is a carcass. But today’s generation seems to make decisions so recklessly and with such a lack of caution or self-restraint, simultaneously demanding the rest of society forego all criticism, fully espouse their choices, and not “judge” them. Fair enough. I try not to judge a book by its cover, especially when the book is a person, and particularly since appearances are often deceiving. But you know, they’re still the first thing we see. And I freely admit to being human, so a book with an uninteresting, off-putting, or unattractive cover is admittedly less likely to draw my interest and cause me to pull it off the shelf and begin to read. On a romantic level, this is the advantage an “unpainted” woman has with me. And of course, friendship or otherwise, it seems like life tends to put us in the same room with people rather like ourselves. So, I have a sneaking suspicion my future wife will understand. Someone who’s painted the carcass is simply in a different room, I suppose. The problem is, if how we look even partially defines us, then socially speaking, it’s a room you can never really leave. I’ve already stated my position on defining oneself through spirit, intellect, and action, as opposed to appearance. Don’t want to be judged by how you look? Start by, yourself, really believing you aren't defined that way. Then see if you still need the ink.