![]() ![]() Did skinny girls wonder about the placement of Tinker Bell? Did they worry that she would look like she was being eaten by their asses? I lay awake at night questioning every aspect of the tattoo and its meaning. ![]() The cupcake had to be either perfectly straight or crooked enough that it was clearly not being consumed. #Tramp stamp tattoo crack#Should it be the same color as the cake or stand out on its own? Pastel or bright? Would my ass crack look like it was eating the cupcake? I didn’t want that. But I was still nervous, and I still hadn’t found the right picture. They’re always butterflies, or fucking Tinker Bell.” He smirked and said, “Yeah, the tramp stamp. “What do you think about tattoos on the lower back? On women?” Sitting on the stool in the tattoo shop, practicing my signature for the heart, I started talking with the artist about tramp stamps. It turned me on.īut not as much as my tramp stamp cupcake. #Tramp stamp tattoo skin#It would be inked in his skin forever, right there with Jesus. It’s surrounded by vines and flowers and he wanted to add a big red beating heart close to his wrist. On his inner right forearm, he has a beautiful depiction of Jesus with a crown of thorns, a remnant of his Catholic guilt. In the meantime, I went with my partner to a tattoo shop. I would be challenging not only fat phobia, but slut-shaming, too. I have lots of tattoos, but my fat girl tramp stamp was eluding me, it seemed like it mattered so much. I saw cupcakes with sprinkles, with swirled frosting, with no frosting, with hearts in the frosting, stars sprinkled around the edges, with sayings (“life is sweet”), with names for kids and even one with a unicorn standing nearby. One was too cartoon-like, another too fluffy-looking, a third just not pink enough. I started looking for pictures of cupcakes. No, I would get a big, fat, pink encased, cherry-on-top cupcake a fat girl’s tramp stamp. Not a fairy or a butterfly, not a rose garden across the top of my ass. Tramp stamps were bad, but a tramp stamp on a fat girl was far worse. Tribal tattoos looked good encircling muscle or bone, not stretch marks. Flowers would span an ass crack and look more like a blob of color. Your fairy would not look good if she was stretched with girth. Whole websites sprung up to post pictures of fat asses, and berating tramp stamps on fat sluts was part of it. So what if fairies and butterflies and flowers were cliché? Who cares if the tats peeked out when women bent over at the bar on Friday night? But just as I began to get all militant about the rights of women to bare the tramp stamp, and who gives a shit if someone’s a “tramp” anyway, I realized something else: The tramp stamp was for skinny women. Yeah, I thought, whenever women start to feel a little power, connection even, let’s knock ‘em down. And, clearly, based on the way the phrase was tossed around, it wasn’t OK to have one-a tramp stamp.Īnd that, well, it pissed me off. Those tattoos I loved across the lower back-perfectly hidden from parents until a trip to the beach-those were considered slutty, a sign of promiscuity and a need to be desired. Then, I started hearing this phrase, “tramp stamp.” What did it mean? It seemed like every time I saw one, it was whimsical-a fairy or a collection of stars twinkling, butterflies or flowers, occasionally a tribal design. The way it curved across the edge of hips, peeking out from beneath a too-tight t-shirt or brazen along the edge of a bikini bottom. ![]() I always loved a tattoo on the lower back. "I have lots of tattoos, but my fat-girl tramp stamp was eluding me. ![]()
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