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So I got Lars liked the tattoo, and when I thought we would get back together, I told him it was for him. Like all my little future scrawls—my third boyfriend’s date of birth (which I got as an act of penance for having forgotten it) or the I’ve always loved the physical itch-scratch of writing, and I think tattoos are part of that same hypergraphic urge, the urge not toward permanence but toward immediate proof of desire.
It’s OK and even necessary to use imagination as a scientist, entertainer or inventor, but it’s not such a good idea in other, more repetitive occupations.
These capabilities with the potential to be advantages are often underestimated or even unknown.
Each of my tattoos has a reason behind it, even if the reason is that I wanted to get a tattoo. My boyfriend, who I’ll call Lars, had very suddenly broken up with me, and I knew I had to remember that such a thing was possible.
At the time, I loved Bright Eyes, the band, who had a B-side called “True Blue,” and also **Wes Anderson’**s in which Royal says to his estranged wife, Etheline, “You’re true blue.” Plus, I remembered that when I was eleven, my mother had given me a plot in her garden, and in it I’d planted forget-me-nots, which, like feelings of nostalgia, come back every year in the spring.
From **Cara Delevingne’**s “Made In England” foot stamp to Marc Jacobs’ Sponge Bob bicep and **Rihanna’**s henna-inspired hand design, even cleverly executed body art can start to feel like par for the course—which begs the question: Has the formerly rebellious tattoo gone the way of mere trend?