On my 18th birthday, I made a bold decision: I got my first tattoo. After trading my driver’s permit for a state-issued ID at the DMV, I found myself in a tattoo parlor located in a strip mall, wedged between a Chinese restaurant and a Dunkin’ Donuts, which also offered piercings.
I wish I could say I had some profound reason or even a desire for something trendy, but the truth was far simpler. I wanted a tattoo because my mother was against it. As I scrolled through various flash designs—pre-drawn images that are often clichéd, such as cherries and skulls—I was approached by a large, bearded man who asked if I needed assistance. I hesitated, then pointed to the first design that caught my eye: a black cross adorned with a yellow rose.
He tried to dissuade me for two reasons: (1) I had no religious affiliation and (2) I wanted it placed on the small of my back, that infamous area just above the waistband of low-rise jeans, which many associate with the derogatory term “tramp stamp.” Before you judge, this tattoo predates the term, so I prefer to think of it as a regrettable choice rather than a label.
Since then, my obsession with body modifications has only grown. I now have 14 piercings and a multitude of tattoos that blend seamlessly into one another. Yet, despite my love for self-expression, I have made a conscious decision not to get my daughter’s ears pierced.
Yes, that’s correct. The woman sporting a half-shaved head and vibrant hair colors is not rushing to put earrings in her toddler’s ears.
Before my daughter could even sit up or crawl, family members would ask when I planned to pierce her ears, often expressing disbelief that I hadn’t done it yet. “But with all your piercings and tattoos…” they’d say, perplexed. They also inquired about my views on tattoos and hair color for my child, which, to be clear, are two entirely different matters. While I could have responded with sarcasm or made some outrageous claim about future tattoos, I simply stated that piercing her ears was not something I intended to do.
What seems like an obvious choice to others—given my body modifications—is precisely why I refuse to pierce my daughter’s ears. Only she should have the autonomy to decide what happens to her body, and that choice should come with time, maturity, and the ability to articulate her desires.
Yes, it’s “just her ears.” I remember my mother piercing my own ears with a sewing needle and thread (and sometimes even an ice cube) in the kitchen. However, these are her ears, and they belong solely to her. Piercing them before she can express her own wishes would not serve her well and could lead to issues surrounding consent.
Every modification I made was a personal choice, even if some were ill-advised. If my daughter decides she wants her ears pierced at 6, 8, or even 10 years old, I will educate her and accompany her to a professional piercing shop. But I will never impose that decision on her. I refuse to alter her body for my own satisfaction, especially when there’s no cultural significance or medical necessity involved. Besides, I certainly won’t subject her to what I perceive as pain that is no worse than a bee sting.
While sparkly earrings might seem appealing, they won’t bring her joy right now. That’s what Cheerios, Mickey Mouse, and Elmo are for.
This article was originally published on November 27, 2019. For more insights, check out another one of our posts here.
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In summary, the philosophy of bodily autonomy applies not just to adults but also to children. Decisions about modifications should be made when individuals are capable of understanding and consenting. It’s essential to recognize that these choices are deeply personal and should not be influenced by societal expectations or parental desires.