Josie Necks It

Josie Deacon

Illustration & photographs by Ida Henrich

What happens when you change up how the world sees you? Fearless Femme’s Josie went out to play with society’s expectations of her appearance and came back with a whole load of learning and self-love.

A disclaimer: I’m a young, blonde, white woman. I dress cute and feminine a lot of the time. People view me as unthreatening; sweet. I think, based on some unscientific but honest observation, people often treat me with less of a guard up than they do with others. That’s all nice (for me), but there’s a downside too; people also don’t take me seriously till they have evidence I’m not stupid. I get unwanted attention from older men. They grab me a lot, as if I was a little doll to pull off a shelf and examine or test out. Those same men have been shocked when I’ve told them to fuck off.

In the Fearless office, following on from talking about the first impressions we each make as women and how those impressions have been impacted from everything from our accents to the changing lengths of our hair, our weight, age, and manner of dress, we decided to specifically challenge the view people often have of me, and see how the addition of a highly visible tattoo on my body might change things. We got some temporary tattoos from Hannah Zakari in Edinburgh – always a good pitstop for creative inspiration – and then, one quiet Wednesday in the middle of summer, we tatted me up.

Right on my neck.

The first reactions from my friends when I sent photos were they 100% did not believe they were real tatts. I was gutted. But the reaction was fair enough, who gets a tatt right out of the blue, especially a neck one, without telling a soul, after all?

Early that same evening though, during the commute home, I noticed a lot more stares lingering on me. Eyes darted to my neck then away again. It wasn’t clear what people’s reactions were, perhaps what they saw didn’t faze or surprise them, it’s Edinburgh, after all, but one elderly woman actually properly glared, her eyes bulging, momentarily.

I noticed a lot more stares lingering on me. Eyes darted to my neck then away again.

Once I was on the street again, a tourist family looked like they were about to ask me for directions (I’m uber used to being the one in a group of pedestrians that’s asked for this kind of help) but when they got up close there was a sudden, quite hilarious re-route and they kept walking! I was thrilled – more evidence collected!

The next day I was walking to the charity shop I volunteer at and passed a group of builders taking their morning break. They were all staring at me, but rather than the usual creepy man stare women get to know all too well in these situations, they were looks of curiosity; and to be honest I don’t know if I imagined this or not, but I perceived there was even a completely new but vague respect in their gazes. As I got closer, one of them asked whether it was a real tattoo. When I said it wasn’t (curse my honesty), their transition to disinterest was immediately evident with just one of them keeping up the conversation, commenting how he was thinking it must’ve hurt. Onwards I went, somewhat bemused.

At the charity shop I chatted with a few customers. One woman told me she loved ‘my ink’ and thought it was beautiful. When I told her it wasn’t real, another woman joined our conversation and told us about her tattoos. It was actually quite nice to be brought together like that, in positive body-talk. 

It was actually quite nice to be brought together like that, in positive body-talk.

When I first thought about wearing the tattoo and how to time it to meet a few different scenarios, I went into it expecting to feel self-conscious. Instead, when it was on my skin and I was out in the world I kind of felt… powerful. My tatt felt like a symbol of strength and perhaps also a protective cover, like a shield. Instead of eyes hungrily searching my body, they stalled at the tattoo, trying to understand something more than my shape or general physical appeal.

Perhaps most different to what I’d anticipated, I found that with a tattoo I really didn’t care what people thought. Despite the temporary nature of the tatt (they come off with a bit of gentle help from some olive oil) I felt keenly that if people didn’t like it, well… tough luck cause it’s here to stay. I’m here to stay. I never really thought about tattoos or, tellingly, myself in this way until having this social experiment and I guess that’s the thing I’m taking away most from this – that I, annoyingly, have really cared what other people think about me. I’ve had it pointed out to me – by me – that when I’m walking down the street I’m always wondering how people will perceive me and that I feel much more powerful wearing an all-black punky outfit compared to my usual cute dress or crop top and jeans, yet I also felt more on display.

And I shouldn’t feel any of that negative stuff, should I? I shouldn’t equate my own power or value as a human being to what I look like – and neither should anyone else.

I shouldn’t feel more powerful just because I had some (fake) ink on my neck. I’m going to try and walk through life remembering the power and strength I felt brandishing that glorious tattoo. Perhaps then I’ll really feel like an adult who’s deserving of respect, instead of being reaffirmed as a little doll, whether I like it or not. Perhaps this knowledge and experience is already getting me ready for my next steps in life? And perhaps I’ll consider the permanently inked alternative in my future, too…