I recently had someone approach me and say, “You’ve got quite a bit of tattoos.” I smiled and I said “yes,” because well, what else could I have said? “No, just kidding, they’re marker!”

No, I couldn’t have said that. I just said “yes, I do.” He responded, “You don’t seem like the type.”

I didn’t really know how to take that, and so I said that. He assured me he meant no harm and that it was far from a negative comment. It was more of a neutral comment, like, “you just don’t look like the type.”

Maybe it was the sundress I was wearing, or maybe it was something deeper. Is there really a tattoo type? If so, what defines it? Because when I think of the tattoo type, I myself picture a burly man with a sleeve full of images and writings and ultimately, a heart with the word ‘mom’ in it.

Here I am. I have three tattoos of my own but I still feed into the stereotypical “that guy looks like he has a bunch of tattoos” attitude – which really makes no sense because the person I say is most likely to have tattoos in reality has several incredibly visible ones.

That sleeve started with a single tattoo. And to us, that first tattoo may hold absolutely no meaning whatsoever, but who knows what made him or her take such a permanent leap. I fully support this artistic leap because I’m a firm believer in the meaning of tattoos, and the stories behind someone’s ink. They didn’t just get it for fun.

Odds are it means something special to them.

However, I don’t condone being stupid about tattoos. Do I think it’s really a good idea to get one on your face? Definitely not (and doesn’t that freaking hurt?). Do I think it’s a smart idea for a law student to invest in a sleeve? Probably not.

I’m not saying I support the discrimination oftentimes placed upon tattooed individuals. I’m rather stating that it’s there, and you know as well as I do that sometimes it’s just that much harder to secure a job with a visible tattoo. If you’re going into a more lenient field, like a performer or a sculptor, or hey – maybe you’re going to be a tattoo artist – you have a little more room to experiment.

My advice? If you don’t already have your heart set on a full sleeve but you’re itching to get marked, start with something small, and easily concealable. Remember to throw some meaning in there too.

Sure, you like the color green and you’re really into the Hunger Games right now – thirty years down the road are you going to want that green crossbow on your foot? How would you explain that to your kids? What if they want to take archery lessons? Really, it can have a whole slew of consequences.

Another tip: Really think about it. Something tells me what you wanted when you were 16 might not be what you want at 21. I’m pretty sure if I went with my gut at sixteen, I’d have some sort of ode to Britney on my hip.

If you want something bad enough, you will always want it. Trust me.

My father passed away in August of 2008, one week before the start of my senior year. He fell ill after serving in the September 11 cleanup. In his final hours, he left me a pendant. It was a small medallion, tied with rope. On the front was a portrait of Saint Ignatius De Loyola. On the back was a prayer. The last line read, “…give me your love and your grace, for this is sufficient for me.”

For a year and a half, I hung on to that pendant with every ounce of my being, fearful every day that I would lose it. The idea of getting a tattoo for my dad had crossed my mind but never really made sense. One day, I misplaced the necklace. It had a nasty habit of getting caught under the collar of my school uniform shirt in the past, but now I was in college. I was on my own and I needed him with me.

I tore my room apart. I looked in hampers, under beds, in the drain. It was nowhere to be found.

Finally, when I had given up, I decided to dig through my hamper one more time. There it was, wrapped in the collar of a polo I had worn the day before. I cried my heart out. I knew that no matter what, my father would be looking down on me – but I always wanted to carry a piece of him with me.

And so that weekend, pendant still hanging around my neck, I went down to Saint Mark’s Place (in retrospect this tattoo parlor was a horrible decision, please look into where you are going and by all means, never settle for a place called ‘Whatever Tattoo’). I sat in a chair and watched as a tall man (with surprisingly no tattoos) permanently marked “This is sufficient for me” on my left wrist. I cried again. To everyone’s surprise it had nothing to do with the pain. I was crying because of how beautiful it was and how much meaning the smallest portion of my wrist now held.

I’ve gotten two more after this; an anchor on the back of my neck as well as an ampersand on the inside of my right ankle. I’m always asked what they mean, and somehow, I can never fully explain them. I get those weird looks that say “I sort of agree with you but part of me thinks that’s sort of dumb.” But hey – to each his own.

I couldn’t be happier with mine, and I hope to hear some feedback. Write to the Ionian and tell us about your ink. And remember; don’t be so quick to judge the next person with a tat. Everyone out there has a story to tell, even if they choose to tell it in a more permanent kind of ink.

To contact The Ionian’s Meaghan McGoldrick, e-mail her at [email protected]