For many older people, tattoos came with baggage. Now, social mores have changed and for those in their 60s, 70s and 80s: “The stigma associated with prisoners’ tattoos, or sailors or misfits getting them, has disappeared,” says Louise Krystahl, a tattoo artist. That may be why she now gets a lot of clients over the age of 60, who feel ready for their first tattoo at her studio, Inkscape, in Bexhill-on-Sea. She once tattooed a ladybird on the wrist of a woman in her 80s.
“For older people, it’s usually a sentimental reason, not just that they fancy a butterfly,” says Krystahl. “Some of them have a new lease of life, or want to tick it off their bucket list.” The pandemic, she says, may have spurred on others: “I think people are doing stuff they have thought about for a long time and it has given them the impetus.”
Here are some people who decided that it’s never too late to get inked.
‘When somebody says, “What’s that on your arm?” it’s an excuse to talk about Emily’
Neil Davies, 67, lives in West Sussex and got his first tattoo in 2019
My daughter Emily died in January 2019, from breast cancer, when she was 37. On the day she died, we were in bits. It struck me that I wanted something with me that meant Emily was with me for ever. The only thing I always wear is my wedding ring, but I didn’t want just another piece of jewellery. I wanted something that I could wake up with in the morning and go to sleep with at night. I had her name tattooed on my arm on my 65th birthday, three days after she died.
A few weeks later, I came up with this little saying, “Sometimes the star that shines brightest, shines but briefly.” I had that tattooed underneath her name. That, to me, was Emily. She was a very bright, vivacious person, always the life and soul of any party. She had friends for life. She worked very hard, she brought up her little boy until he was five, until she couldn’t, on her own. She kept a job going at the same time. A lot of people loved her because she had a lot of love to give.
I find that talking about her is the greatest relief. When you lose somebody, the worst possible thing is when people stop talking about them. When somebody says to me, “What’s that on your arm?” it’s an excuse to talk about Emily.
Grief is there all the time, but occasionally something will trigger it and it hits you like a wave. Then I grab my arm and take a minute and calm down, then I’m usually OK. I can’t explain why, at the age of 67, I should need a comfort blanket, but it helps.
We are bringing up our grandson who has just turned eight. Every year on my birthday, I get a little star tattooed near Emily’s name, and my plan is, for the sake of my grandson, to get my arm covered in stars because I want to live until he’s at least 21. That’s our tribute to Emily, bringing up her son.
‘This is me saying this is my body – I’m going to celebrate it!’
Sarah Browne is in her 60s, lives in London and got a tattoo last year
When I was seven, I was burned very badly after an accident with our gas stove, and spent almost a year in hospital. I had extensive skin grafts, and have scars over about 60% of my body.
My father had very strong feelings about the way women should look, and it did not include having tattoos, so I grew up with that. But things have changed. My daughter has five tattoos and she had been on my case for ages about getting one. I finally just said, “To hell with it – I’m going to do it.”
I wanted to pick the very worst of the skin grafts for my tattoo, and I was thrilled that they could tattoo on that area. It’s basically me saying, “This is my body – I’m going to celebrate it, whatever is going on with it!” I chose a sun because my favourite song is Here Comes the Sun, and a good friend calls me a solar-powered person.
I have always been open about my scars – I would never try to cover them up – but it does get tiresome to be stared at. Now, I don’t know if they are staring at my scars, or this awesome tattoo. I actively look for dresses that are off-the-shoulder so I can show it off. It makes me feel that, at this age, I get to be a little bit sexy. It’s a lift.
Now we’re talking about what’s next. I want to get one on my ankle where I have scars from when I was fed intravenously for eight months. The wonderful thing about getting older is you have the freedom to be whoever you want to be. Getting a tattoo is part of that. This is my body, I don’t care what anybody else thinks. I wish I had believed earlier that I could decorate my back.
‘When you’re 86 you can do what you like’
Nancy Venables, 86, lives in Wolverhampton and got a tattoo earlier this year
My granddaughter Emma is a tattoo artist. She said, “Nan, I could do one on you.” I said: “Not likely.” Then: “Well, I might, one of these days. I want a little angel.”
I lost my husband, Len, last year, just before Christmas. We were married 67 years. He wouldn’t have liked my tattoo at all. He wouldn’t have let me. I’m of the age where, when we were younger, you did what your husband told you. It’s a different game now, life today.
I warmed to the idea about a year ago. One day, she phoned and said she was coming to pick me up. She did a fairy on my wrist. I said “That’s not an angel, Emma.” And she said, “Oh, you can have an angel next time.”
I chose an angel because of my friend. Her place is absolutely full of angels. I wear one round my neck now all the time – that’s my guardian angel.
It means a hell of lot to me that Emma did it. I wouldn’t have had one otherwise. I’m not planning another, but you never know. You’re never too old to do anything.
Getting a tattoo could be about me thinking I can do what I like now. It doesn’t matter what I say or do in my old age. It’s a bit of fun. When you’re 86, you can do what you like!
‘My mum said “If you ever have a tattoo, you’ll be out of the house’’’
Mark Warren, 70, lives in East Sussex and got a tattoo three years ago
My home town is Dagenham, where having a tattoo was very much linked to working at Ford, or the docks. My mum said “If you ever have one done, you’ll be out of the house,” so it wasn’t something I was interested in. It was only in the last 20 years or so, as they’ve become an art form in their own right that I started to get interested.
My partner, Sally, was having a tattoo done, in remembrance of a friend. I was fascinated, so when she finished I booked in. Years ago, we were on holiday in Spain, staying in the mountains above Benidorm at Sally’s uncle’s house. I saw this thing dash across the floor, and I jumped back. He said, “It’s a gecko, nothing to worry about.” And I warmed to it. Sally turned round and said, “I double dog dare you to have a gecko tattoo.” If somebody challenges you to a double dog dare, it’s on pain of death. So 15 years later, I did.
When I see people with loads of tattoos, I quite often stop them and say, “Do you mind me asking which was your first one and why?” I met a guy in the supermarket – he wasn’t wearing a lot and was covered head to foot in tattoos.
Had I discovered all this younger, maybe I’d have gone for some other bits. Even now, when I look at my arm in the mirror, I’m really chuffed, and I’m planning on having another on the other side. My brother was pretty shocked and then confided that he’d been thinking about one.
‘My tattoo marked my retirement and reminds me I’m free’
Francis Lacy Scott, 66, lives in Brighton and got a tattoo last year
I retired as a solicitor in May and booked my tattoo the following month, but, because of the lockdown, there was a big waiting list, so I had it done in September. I had been thinking about having one for at least five years, but it probably would have been frowned on in the conservative law circles. My last firm had a policy of no visible tattoos.
It marked my retirement – it reminds me every day that I’m free. The kids thought it was great, my wife is indifferent to it. I think other people think it’s quite fun, although some think I’m having a belated midlife crisis.
I wanted a scallop shell. It’s the symbol of the Camino de Santiago, the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain, with a little yellow arrow on it – that’s the marker on rocks. I’ve done parts of the route, but I want to walk a long stretch all in one go, which I’m planning to do in April.
It’s a beautiful walk, and although I’m not religious, there is something spiritual about it. It’s an opportunity to reflect and have a clear head about what I want to do next.
I worked for 42 years. The law is a very conservative environment, and you record time in six-minute units. You are programmed, throughout your whole career, to account for every six minutes. Walking through northern Spain for five or six weeks, not knowing where you’re going to stop each day is completely the opposite of being in an office, watching the dial and thinking: have you done your chargeable hours for the day?
My tattoo makes me smile and reminds me of the fact that I’ve finished with those restrictions and I can do what I like.
‘It’s the start of my new life’
Janet Davies, 72, lives in Amsterdam and got a tattoo when she was 70
I’ve never been fussed about age, but turning 70 shocked me. I was just like, “f*ck. That’s so old!” Then I just thought, this is ridiculous. I’ve got plenty of years left. So I formulated the idea then.
My husband always hated tattoos, but I saw them as works of art. I wouldn’t have had one while he was alive because it would have upset him. He passed away in 2017. I had been his carer for many years and gave up work in 2010 to nurse him 24/7. When he died, he had just been diagnosed with his fourth cancer, he had an aortic aneurysm, he’d had open heart surgery – we’d been through the mill. We were married nearly 50 years, and I’d given up a lot of my life to care for him. Not that I’m complaining – he’d have done it for me – but I thought, it’s my time now.
When I was a carer, I had two weeks’ respite a year and used to come to Amsterdam. It felt like home. When he died, I knew I wanted to live here. It’s the start of my new life, and I had my tattoo done in Amsterdam. Everybody said, “Oh, it’s so painful!” I’m sorry – you’ve had two kids and you’ve been a carer and haven’t slept for years – a tattoo is nothing!
I’ve got a Charles Rennie Mackintosh rose. I went to Glasgow about 20 years ago and visited the Glasgow School of Art – it blew me away. My tattoo is beautiful, I love it. I had it done for me and I don’t care what anybody else thinks because that’s not important. I suppose it was the statement: yes, I might be 70, but I could still do new things.
