Growing up, we had two rules in my household – no swearing and no tattoos. Well, that’s a lie actually, we had heaps more rules than that (stay away from the liquor cabinet, get your elbows off the table, blah blah) – but those first two seemed to carry a lot of gravity; you knew you were going to let Mum down if you came out with the “F” bomb or refused to wear a bathing suit for fear of exposing a low lying tramp stamp (aaah, the errors of youth, eh?). And as I got older, my fear of needles took over, (I once fainted three times while having a blood test), and so now I find myself one of the rare specimens from my generation that does not have a single tattoo. So, it was with a touch of irony and a small defiant grin on my lips that I headed off to one of Europe’s largest tattoo festivals to check out the best of them!
I was not disappointed – before Dr Black and I even entered the gates, we were greeted with a row of Harley Davidson motorbikes that made Google’s version of chrome look lame; as well as a succession of festival goers, clad in a mixture of black, fishnet, leather, and covered (sometimes literally) from head to toe in tattoos. And it was held in one of the best locations in Paris – underneath a large, old fashioned red velvet lined circus tent! The ambience was awesome, and no matter what direction your gaze was drawn to, beautifully tattooed women and guys with piercings that made me cringe, there was something for everyone. At one point, I had to pick Dr. Black’s tongue off the floor as another tall and creatively dressed “femme fatale” passed by in a blur of colour and needle work. [read more]