Merriam-Webster defines “tramp” as a “vagrant, a woman of loose morals, a prostitute ” (with PROSTITUTE in all caps). It denotes “stamp” as “a distinctive character, indication, or mark; a lasting imprint.” Good ol’ Urban Dictionary puts the two words together to the phrase we all know: a derogatory term referring to a tattoo on a woman’s lower back. So many of us are guilty, myself included, of labeling women with lower back tattoos as tramps, sluts, whores, and other (promiscuous) insults.
I got the first part of my so-called tramp stamp in Cincinnati: the phrase Sempiternam Requiem, loosely translated as Everlasting Rest. The very attractive Shawn Chalk, the coolest tattoo artist ever (at 1603 Tattoo and Piercing Co. on East Seventh Avenue in Ybor), finished it, surrounding the existing words in ivy. The tattoo was for a lost loved one, someone who slowly wound down until she finally went to sleep for good in 2010.
The American Psychological Association printed an article in 2012 in the Review of General Psychology entitled “The evolutionary motivations behind tattoos and body piercings in popular culture.” The scientists acknowledge that people get tattoos for a variety of reasons: to symbolize an important event or love, to belong to a group, to mark our individuality. But the “real” motivation, according to the APA? The need to perpetuate our genes.
APA, you crazy. The tattoo on my lower back is not an invitation for some guy to say, “Back that thang up,” “Bend over,” or “Drop down and get yo eagle on” — all so I can have sex that’ll produce a baby who’ll someday, maybe, have my 37-inch inseam. I wouldn’t even call the Latin words on my back sexy, or even sexual. If I have a tattoo someone might deem sexy, it’s the admittedly ghetto tiger paws crawling up my back. Or, on my left side, the she-devil in red stilettos lazing in the middle of a treble clef (more work from Shawn Clark, who ate chicken wings with me while he took a break — I may have to marry him).
If I have a non-sexy nerd tattoo, it’s probably the opening measures to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata on my right side.
Not a single invitation to get busy. Yes: I still say “get busy.”
However you want to characterize a person’s ink, not matter what that ink says or shows or suggests, you can’t characterize the person’s sex life, whether the tattoos are visible to the public or not.
So, why I got to be a tramp because of one tattoo? I’m not a skeeze, skank, or chicken head. And, for real: Can Latin even be slutty? Thing is, a rose is a rose is a rose, and a rose tattoo is a rose tattoo no matter where it is on the body. That’s it. Even if you have a tattoo reading “Fine Ass” on your lower back, it probably just means you were a little bit tipsy when you picked the design. Or maybe you are just that fine.
I challenge any woman out there to get a tattoo right above her ass crack, reading, “Don’t judge me.”
And by the way, if she exposes her ass crack, that also doesn’t mean the woman’s a slut. It’s usually just an accidental result of super low-rise jeans. If you want to judge her, tell her she’s got balls for rocking those jeans with or without a muffin top. And, to those of you too scared to sit in the tattoo chair, tell her she’s badass. Because she is.
