These days, it seems like every Dick and Betty sports some kind of tattoo or piercing. (CNN reports that one in four Americans under 50 is inked.) But we can recall when body modifications were far more improvisational, dangerous and outre.
As usual, I’m a piker in this department; the itty-bitty piercings in my left earlobe did cause speculation about my sexual orientation in a very strange San Diego Union article but were a pretty pathetic demonstration of solidarity, even in the early ’80s. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the aesthetics of a job well done and cringed at tales of ornamentation gone awry.
Every picture tells a story: Tell us about your ink and perforations! Self-inflicted or professionally rendered … Where’d you get ’em? What did they mean to you then, and what do they mean to you now? (Photos welcome; e-mail them in if you have trouble posting them yourself.)