On my 18th birthday, I made a spontaneous decision to get my first tattoo. After swapping my learner’s permit for a state ID at the DMV, I ventured to a nearby tattoo parlor located in a strip mall, sandwiched between a Chinese takeout and a Dunkin’ Donuts. There was no grand vision behind my choice; I simply wanted a tattoo because my mother was staunchly against it. Go figure.
I spent a few minutes scrolling through pre-drawn flash images—an adequate amount of time to decide something so significant, right? (For those unfamiliar, flash refers to standard designs like cherries, skulls, or cartoon characters.) When a large, bearded man approached and asked if I needed help, I froze. I pointed to the first design I saw: a black cross intertwined with a yellow rose.
He tried to dissuade me for a couple of reasons: a) I wasn’t religious, and b) I wanted it placed on the small of my back. Yes, that spot—just above the waistline—where low-rise jeans sit. The area is typically exposed when flaunting in a bikini or, well, in less clothing. (Let’s clarify, though; this was well before the term “tramp stamp” became a thing. So, I don’t have one—just a regrettable lower back tattoo.)
Since then, I’ve embraced body modifications wholeheartedly. I now sport 14 piercings and an array of tattoos that blend into each other. Yet, despite my fondness for body art, I refuse to pierce my daughter’s ears. Yes, the woman with the half-shaved head and colorful hair isn’t rushing to adorn her toddler’s ears with jewelry.
Before my daughter could even sit up or crawl, relatives frequently inquired when I would get her ears pierced, often expressing their disbelief that I hadn’t done it yet. “But you have so many piercings and tattoos!” they exclaimed. Many also questioned my stance on tattoos and hair color, which are entirely different matters. Instead of snapping back or sharing my plans for a whimsical Elmo tattoo on her third birthday, I calmly explained that ear piercing wasn’t on my agenda—at all. The reason I won’t is precisely because I have modifications. My daughter should have the autonomy to decide about her own body when she is old enough, mature enough, and capable of expressing herself, not just because I want it.
“But it’s just her ears!” they argue, reminiscing about how their own mothers pierced theirs with sewing needles and ice cubes.
While that might be true, those are her ears—her choice alone. Piercing them before she can express her opinion creates a significant issue: consent. My own modifications were my decisions—mistakes or not. If my daughter approaches me at six, eight, or even ten asking for pierced ears, I’ll educate her and happily escort her to a certified piercing shop. However, I refuse to impose this on her or make the choice for her. Piercing her ears for my vanity serves no purpose—it’s not a cultural necessity and certainly not a medical requirement. Plus, I won’t subject her to a pain that’s no worse than a bee sting just to prevent her from experiencing something that could be perceived as discomfort.
So, while shiny little studs might seem adorable, they won’t bring her joy—not right now. That’s what Cheerios, Mickey Mouse, and Elmo are for.
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Summary:
In this piece, I share my personal journey with body modifications, including my decision to not pierce my daughter’s ears. Despite societal pressures and family expectations, I believe that my daughter’s body is hers alone, and any decisions regarding it should be made by her when she’s ready. The essence of consent is paramount, and while I embrace my tattoos and piercings, I will not impose similar choices on her.
Keyphrase: Not Piercing My Daughter’s Ears
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