To begin my foray into modification, I had my lip pierced at the age of 19. This came from a growing need to conquer an abject fear of needles. When I was only 5, I was diagnosed with leukemia. I went through 3 months of treatment, and after 5 false positives, it was realized that I actually did NOT have the disease. I never made it to chemo (thankfully) but was CONSTANTLY stuck with needles almost every day for months. It took a toll on my young brain, to the point that I had to be basically held down for something as small as a finger prick. When I entered college at Georgia Tech, I became a Theta Xi. The greek community encouraged philanthropy, and for me, it presented an opportunity to get over my fear. I began giving blood and platelets, as often as possible. It was a mental challenge for me every time, but I eventually started to cool out about it.I was always fascinated with piercings, but never had the constitution to do it before this time. Finally, I decided one night to finally get over my fear, and go get pierced. I went to Virtue and Vice on Cheshire Bridge, and had a wonderful experience being pierced. The piercer performed the piercing quickly and professionally, leaving me wondering what I had been scared about the whole time. My brothers were slightly amazed when i showed up with it, but was accepted nonetheless. My parents were none too happy about it. If only they knew what was in store for me later…

Tattoos were the next step. The idea of a tattoo machine (please don’t call it a gun) repeatedly puncturing your skin to permanently put pigment there also frightened me. But the lasting art that adorns your body more than made up for  it. My first tattoo was done by a friend at his house (WHICH I STRONGLY RECOMMEND AGAINST). It was a Koi fish on the left of my chest, quickly followed by another on the right side, swimming the opposite direction. This was done as a recognition to my birthday, which falls on March 14th, making me a Pisces. This tattoo was a recognition of part of my investigation into spirituality. Since, I have been worked on by countless artists around the nation. I have a full chest plate, a good start on my left rib side panel, in the middle of a left arm sleeve, and my legs are also covered. I also have two hand tattoos, each that have incredible significance in my life.
All my tattoos illicit different reactions. I get compliments all the time of the quality of work, specifically on my arm, since it is one of the most noticeable in everyday life. I get laughs about my left leg, because it is covered in tattoos that many find ridiculous, from an angry pickle, to a my little death pony, even a crayola sketch of a zombified wombat riding a pterodactyl in a rain of scissors. All of my tattoos have a meaning to me, whether silly, or incredibly serious. But they all spark conversation as to why I get tattooed, and enables me to have the opportunity to educate people about the tattoo process, plus the pros and cons of tattoos in general. I have worked the front desk at a couple shops, and it continually amazes me the lack of education that people have about the procedure.

Finally, probably the most “extreme” version of body modification that I participate in is also the one that is the most important to me: body suspension. The term is something most people are unfamiliar with, and the only encounters they have with it are brief viewings in movies such as “The Cell”, or more often than not I get the “Oh, so you’re like Criss Angel!”.  While I appreciate his willingness to bring body suspension to the public, there are a million and twelve reasons why someone will undergo this modification. For me, and the group I perform with, it has two purposes. First of all, we do it as a performance art, which amazes many people. The common person doesn’t think to lump people hanging from 8-gauge hooks in their body to be in the same vein as something as traditional as ballet. It takes an open mind to watch, but I assure you our shows are intense and fun to watch. We feed off the crowds energy, while the crowd feeds off of ours. Nothing can describe the feeling of “flying” while a huge mass of people are screaming for you. Also, our group performs in memorial to a fallen brother, Josh Prentice, who was shot and killed three years ago. Our name directly honors him, and the way we portray the art of suspension is in hopes to strive for the standards that he set as a body suspension performer himself, from sterility procedures to performance and everything in between.

Finally, I want to briefly discuss body modification and the impact it has on the general public. Most people have their own ideas about what is safe, sane, or even consensual. To someone such as myself, there are few limits to what can be done to your own body and not be viewed as “crazy” or “a freak” or even dangerous. But to many, the thought of piercing flesh with a hook and then quite literally hanging from these hooks is stupid, or even worse, shows a breakdown in someone’s mental capacity. I like to draw an analogy when discussing it with people, that  sounds crazy at first, but makes sense. Exercising is a form of body modification. You put yourself under a sort of stress, creating micro tears in your muscles, and basically hurting your body to sculpt it in a way more pleasing to yourself. There is destruction of body tissue, there is a healing process, there is a mental and chemical high associated with exercise. All of these are the exact things that happen to a person performing a suspension as well, just played out in a different form. While suspension is by no means for everyone, it can be for some people. It has roots in many different cultures (the Oh-kee-pa suspension of the Mandan tribe, the Sundance of the Native American Plains tribes), and modern suspension is performed for a plethora of reasons. For most observers, suspension can be a beautiful thing to watch. For the person being suspended, it can be a performance art, or can be a deeply private thing that only occurs within a closed environment that is watched by trusted individuals only. But for all parties involved, suspension is a form of body modification that while extreme, can be gorgeous, expressive, and above all, pleasing to the individual undergoing the procedure.

Alumni – Clay

The experience of getting my first tattoo was just as important as the design.  I wanted to choose a tattoo parlor that would create my design properly and with a high regard for hygiene and cleanliness.  Through word-of-mouth, I heard of multiple positive reviews of a tattoo parlor near campus on 10^th Street, Overlord Tattoo.  Even though I had my design ready and the assurance of Overlord Tattoo being a high caliber tattoo parlor, I was still very nervous of making such a big step in my life.  Later that week, one of my closest Fraternity brothers came by my room with interest in getting a ritualistic symbol tattooed on his body as well and suggested that we get tattooed at the same location.  Being able to share this experience with one of my closest friends alleviated my anxiety and I decided to go through with it.

During the tattooing experience, it was obvious that I was very nervous from all of the ‘horror stories’ of tattooing.  My tattoo artist at Overlord and my close friend kept me calm through keeping me engaged in a conversation, leading me to encounter a minimal amount of pain.  After an hour and a half of conversation and tattooing, my tattoo was complete and I had a huge grin on my face!. My experience at Overlord Tattoo allowed for me to remain comfortable and have one of my closest friends near me for the entire experience.  It is truly a great moment that I will never forget!

Student – Kyle Thomas

My next tattoo? A leg-band below the knee with the text “terra incognita,” further homage to the connection between body modification and mapping, mapping and gender, and gender and bodies. This will have to wait, however, until my body finishes another transformation: the birth of my second child, due in August.

Alunnae – Jessica

Alumnae/Staff – Andrea

Today, I live as a woman, all the time, everywhere.  My inner self and body are now attuned, by a combination of dressing and speaking in a feminine manner, the legal change of my name, and hormone replacement therapy, i.e. the use of medications to lower my testosterone while supplementing estrogen.  In the midst of my travails and frustrations inevitable during Ph.D. thesis research, catching glimpses in the mirror of my thickening hair, softening face, and my increasingly curvaceous body always bring me joy and comfort.  At last, I am me.

For more information or to contact the author email bodyimage@gatech.edu

When I was twelve, my brother got married. His new wife had a tattoo of a yellow rose along the cleavage side her left breast, just over her heart. She and a group of colleagues had gotten tattoos after completing basic training in the Air Force because, as women, they thought this would further demonstrate how they could survive in a “man’s world.”

By the time I was in my late teens, I knew that eventually I would get a tattoo. However, I faced the issue that tattoos were still considered a social taboo, and I wanted to be sure that the procedure would be safe. I waited until I was 27. In that year, I was beginning to live the life I’d always imagined. I had finally begun my college career, and had a greater sense of direction than I’d ever had before. My tattoo became an emblem for my new life—it was MY life and MY body, and I could whatever I wanted. Ultimately, I got a very personal tattoo. I do not tell people what it is, and it is not on a part of my body that is generally visible.  Even so, it was a liberating experience.

I had been to other Indian weddings and of course as most people my age did, got henna at the local mall during my teen years.  This time was different; I was participating in a sacred practice.  I was the bride. I had Mehndi, a patterned skin decoration traditional in south asian weddings, from my fingers to my elbows, from my knees to my toes.

I started a new job a week later. The director of my division’s wife was Iranian. He simply ignored my stained skin, knowing exactly what it was. The rest of the team looked cautiously, scared to offend by asking.  Finally, the office manager said “look, what is this on your arms and legs?” I quickly assured her it was not permanent and explained that the tradition of decorating the bride in preparation for the wedding.  As far as I know, the mehndi celebration is simply that, a celebration. Mehndi was my way of standing out from the hundreds of guests in brightly colored saris. I was the bride; it was my day.

A friend who attended the wedding scrubbed her henna off because of work polices regarding tattoos; her Indian colleague fortunately married in India so her’s was gone before she returned.

Alexandria has a large North African population and they cheered me on. At Wendy’s, the drive-thru attendant asked me to see my full arm; at Starbuck’s, the staff stopped making espresso during morning rush to view my full arms and legs; a fellow Target shopper told me how beautiful it was. All told me how their culture’s mehndi differed.

A white women tapped me on the shoulder to show me her mehndi. We looked at each other sympathetically knowing the challenges we shared in marrying into another culture.

My culture identity is usually hidden behind my whiteness and fading southern accent. In addition to telling everyone I was the bride, I thought my mehndi would bring more acceptance in a culture that had rejected me; perhaps it did for those hours I laughed with my new family. Once the mehndi faded, the compromises my husband and I make on a daily basis to embrace and support one another’s faith and family was what was left, and perhaps these internal body modifications are what truly embodies ones personal culture.

Body modification of any sort, culturally significant or simply a celebration of one’s self, provides us with an opportunity to share those internal modifications with the rest of our community.

( from left to right, Keshia Gibson and Jessica Dillard-Wright, GT graduates, Rebecca Kiehl, Mercer Graduate, and Me, gt graduate of course. The picture of hands and feet are mine and the second pair of Hands are Jessica Dillard-Wright’s. Jessica and Keshia served as my bridemaids.)

Except mine.

I was a half a world away in Cebu, a province in the Philippines.  In the Spring of 1996, I was serving my second year in a four year hitch in the United States Navy.   I was a young, 25 year-old Petty Officer Third Class on the U.S.S. Belleau Wood (LHA-3).  We were home ported in Sasebo, Japan but that did not mean a lot because we were forward deployed, meaning we were constantly out to sea.  It was during that time that our ship had a port call in Cebu, The Philippines.  In mariner terms, a port call is when a ship docks or anchors in a host city’s port.  The sailors and Marines on board that ship are given liberty … time off the boat to spend on dry land.  It was during this port call I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

After many hours of drinking me and the people I was with from the ship decided to get tattoos. As luck would have it, a few blocks down the street from the bar we were drinking in there was a tattoo parlor called, “MANLY TATTOO” (it is the Philippines so their advertising is simple enough to catch the eye of any sailor or Marine).   I do not know how it is now but back then in Cebu you could bring a corpse in to any tattoo shop on the island and they would tattoo it .  There were no ethics among the tattoo artists regarding “Never tattoo someone whose been drinking.”  As soon as you walked in to the shop and handed them your money and pointed out the tattoo of your choice, once you were in that chair you had just sealed your fate.  The tattoo shop was packed with sailors and Marines waiting to get tattoos.  Now any sensible person would have said, “Let’s go check in to a hotel room, get some rest and clean ourselves up then we can come back later in the night if we are still interested.”  But we were sailors on liberty filled to the brim with one dollar shots and cheap beer so we hopped on over to the convenience store next to the tattoo parlor and bought a six pack to hold us over while we waited.  As I was  waiting to be called I saw it;  a dark, swirling star about 5 inches from point to point.  Now, where to put it?

I thought about putting it on my back shoulder blade but if I did that, no one would see it!  In my deluded thinking I wanted everyone to walk up to me and marvel over the modern day masterpiece on display at the museum of me.  After about 30 minutes and a beer and a half later I was called to the chair.  The tattoo artist asked me what I wanted and where I wanted it.  Well I already knew what I wanted…but where to put it?  In the chair across from me I saw an old salt from the boat getting a tattoo on his forearm adding to his growing collection of body ink art.  I then pointed to a nice, clean bare piece of real estate on my forearm and said, “Put it here!” *sound of a 1-note dramatic symphony orchestration*

The dye had been cast.

For the next hour I sat in that chair while he went to work.  He was fast…and very good.  The tattoo parlor we were at was clean and sterile.  The needles he used were opened up before me from hermetically sealed plastic packets.  The pain was sharp and had it not been for the beer I was still nursing, would have probably jolted me to my senses though I doubt it…that would not have been “manly”, especially in front of all my sailor pals.  Plus who wants to walk around with a half finished tattoo on their forearm?  The next morning was very sobering, so to speak.  Though I admired it at the time, I knew even then that I would end up regretting it.

It was 10 years later that my wife and I decided to have it removed via laser technology.  I was right.  Not only did I regret getting it, I had grown to hate it.  It was cool when you are young, childless and single but as you get older, get married, have children and work in a professional environment…it becomes an eyesore, especially when it is so “out there” such as on your forearm.  It became a constant reminder of the bad decisions from my youth.  I paid the equivalent of $30 back in 1996 to have that tattoo put on my forearm.  It has cost over $1000 to have it removed not to mention that the physical pain of having it removed has far exceeded the pain of when I had it done, but it is worth it.

Nobody wants a constant reminder because of one night of bad decision making.

- Staff, Liberty Smith

You’re invited to share your experiences with body modification.  For the blog, body modification is broadly defined to include (but not limited to) tattooing and tattoo removal, piercing, cultural traditions that alter the body, body art, cosmetic surgery, branding, bodybuilding, and liposuction.

Your submission should be written in an informal, easy to read style. The Campaign suggests a length of approximately 250 words and also asks that the submission be appropriate for public viewing and consistent with the values and standards associated with Georgia Tech.  You may remain anonymous, but we encourage you to include your status (undergraduate, graduate, faculty, staff or alumni).  You may also submit images (as email attachments) to be included with your post; however, they will be evaluated for appropriateness and relevance.

Send your submission as an attached file (DOC, DOCX, or TXT) to bodyimage@gatech.edu.

Beginning February 22, every 7 to 10 days, we will post new submissions to the blog, and all entries will remain archived for the future.

For more information about body image, visit www.bodyimage.gatech.edu.