While I was on vacation with my husband in Atlantic City, something really began bugging me: my earring. It's located in the upper part of my cartilage and the piercing itself is called, "The Rook." When I got it at 18, I loved it--despite the fact that I couldn't sleep on that side of my head for nearly two months. But I had no tattoos at the time and I loved getting neat piercings in my ears, unique from other people's. I also had my belly button pierced as well as a second double piercing in my cartilage....more
This was going to be a story of feminism and self-ownership:
The search for my nose began as a child. Mine was round and very unlike my mother's regal Roman nose. My birth father was long gone, but old photographs bore evidence of a nose bent and flattened from repeated breaking, a hazard of soccer and Spanish blood run hot. My nose did not have the narrow British look of my grandmother's nor the prominent Italian bulge of my grandfather's. It had no match, no ancestry, no belonging.
For many years I wasn't into the idea of permanently marking my body with tattoos –- what if I changed my mind? And then, of course, I had children and my body was permanently marked in a way I really didn't choose. Suddenly, the permanency of ink didn't seem so intimidating. It's all a part of my story, anyway, isn't it? My scars speak of injuries or pregnancies; my tattoos speak of my children and my personal growth.
On the other hand, my 15-year-old daughter wants piercings. Multiple. Belly button, a rod in the ear, various other places -- although not breast or labial, thank God. But I'm not a big fan of piercings, and she trains Muay Thai. I've known girls who had piercings ripped out while sparring. So I told her no.