Black Girl Adventure: Tattoo Convention

For the past year or so I've been craving tattoo number three. Like most people, I started out with a tattoo that held special significance, as if going through some cataclysmic change in life just simply had to be documented permanently. Since then, I've come to appreciate a good tattoo in the same way that I do a good glass of wine - it's cool to drink it from the box and all but since I know what quality is, quality is what I must seek. And I'm not talking about my name in cursive or paw prints on my ta-ta's. I wanted a stylized piece of body art, and since I'm brown-skinned I knew I'd need special attention to color. So to find someone who could work with my skin, my friend Tamika and I ventured where few black girls have gone before: The Philadelphia Tattoo Arts Convention.

Let's get one thing clear - it's exactly what you think it is. Thousands of body modification enthusiasts converged in one place, put in other words, is a freakshow. Within five minutes of walking onto the convention floor I stopped noticing people with huge, visible tattoos. Within 10 minutes, body piercings, anywhere from nipple to forehead, were absolutely commonplace. Everyone was out and proud with their bodywork and the buzz of tattoo needles across the room was constant (over the blasting heavy metal music, which threatened to drive us crazy).

Those first few minutes of freakiness are what make events like these a black girl adventure - the "oh unh unh"-ness of such an environment activates our fight-flight response. I counted only 13 black folks, most of which seemed "regular". Three of them were getting tats - in fact one black woman had her kids there waiting while she got it, which was strangely cute. Other black folks included artists and a few young-boys looking for a hot tattoo. As you can see, I count black folks in these situations just on general principle. Really, there was just too much to look at for me to bother with apprehension. What business could...

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