This past weekend, I turned 25. (Yes! I turned 25! Holy crap! I feel old!) In my twenty-five years, I can say that I haven’t really done anything rebellious or anything that I regret. Well, except passing up free Hamilton tickets with Lin-Manuel while it was still in previews (I'll digress because that’s a story for another time). Or the time I told my mom I went to go see the Katy Perry concert movie my senior year of high school, but really Julie and I went to see Magic Mike instead. Or the time I dropped acid at age eight (more on this in an upcoming blog post!). Really, those are the only things I consider to be a regret or a tiny bit rebellious.
I can’t say that any of my tattoos were an act of rebellion. I LOVE my tattoos. I have four, and they are all nice and minimal, and I have never regretted a single one of them. They all tell the story of who I am in some way. I’m very proud of all four, and if I’m being completely honest, they make me feel pretty badass. In fact, I remember going out for my 21st birthday the week after I got my first tattoo and walking the streets of the Village with Justin saying (quite loudly for obvious 21st birthday reasons), “I have a tattoo! I’m a badass! A BAD. ASS. OKAY!” to which some other people on the street shouted back, “Yes! Yes you are!”
I got my first tattoo the week before I turned 21. I was about to start my junior year of college, and I was about to move into my first apartment. I went with my mom and Aunt Rose, and I convinced them both to get their own tattoos in the same spot, too. Stella came for moral support, mostly because once she found out my mom was getting a tattoo of her own, she had to be there. I got the chapter stars from Harry Potter on my wrist, because I wanted something to remind me of how much the boy wizard had inspired my life thus far.
Since then, I’ve gotten three more, and plan on getting at least four more by the time I’m 30 (sorry, Mom!).
Which brings me to today: I came across a temporary tattoo brand on Instagram a couple months ago whose fake tats last up to eighteen days. They were beautifully designed tattoos, and they gave me the chance to test out a few locations on my body where I was thinking of getting my next tattoo.
I tried two the first month I got them: A daisy and an envelope, on my collarbone since it was summer and I was wearing a lot of tank tops. The next tattoo I tried I knew I wanted to be long and vertical and on my inner arm, to see if I liked the size and placement for the actual daisy flower I wanted to eventually get. I applied the “You Are Enough” tattoo exactly like the directions said, and a went to sleep that night super excited to see it fully developed in the morning.
The only problem was, and I really didn’t even think this would be a problem is that when I sleep, I tend to sleep with my face on my inner arm. Specifically, I like to sleep with my face on my left inner arm. I didn’t think this would be a problem, until I woke up the next morning and started getting ready. I didn’t even have my glasses on yet when I walked into my tiny bathroom and turned on all the lights and shower. Then I looked in the mirror and was absolutely horrified. Actually, I probably screamed in a way that freaked out my neighbors, but I rightfully screamed because I had indeed fallen asleep on my left inner arm where I had placed my fake tattoo and overnight it had TRANSFERRED TO MY FACE.
Go ahead. Pause reading for laughter. I’m laughing on the train as I’m writing this. Okay? You good with the laughter? Just hold on, it gets better.
Well not only did the tattoo transfer to my face, but it transferred over about 3.5 times because, oh yea, I move a lot when I sleep. So I had the words “YOU ARE ENOUGH” in three and a half different spots on my cheek and chin.
When I was younger, my mom always thought that if I’d ever be stupid enough to get a face tattoo, it would at the very least be a lightning bolt scar on my forehead. BUT NOPE. Instead, I had a FAKE FACE TATTOO on my face. THREE AND A HALF TIMES.
Needless to say, I freaked out. I tried literally everything to get it off, from micellar water to nail polish remover, but nothing really worked.
As you can see, my friends were very supportive:
And so was my mom:
Five face washes and some very caked on makeup later, I was ready to leave my apartment and face the world.
Five days after my initial freakout, my fake face tattoo is gone. I look like a normal exhausted and stressed out human again! The actual fake tattoo looks very nice on my arm, and I can confirm that only after the first night you can indeed sleep on your arm, because I’ve definitely done that and have not had a repeated transfer experience. I have finally scheduled my appointment for my next (two) real tattoo(s) with an actual professional to ensure that they will not be transferred to my face by mistake.