Last week, a guy walks into the studio. He wants a portrait of his cat. Stamp-sized. On his finger.
I say no.
He looks at me like I just insulted his mother.
Worse: he insists. "But it's tiny, it'll take five minutes, right?"
Five minutes, no. And size isn't even the problem.
The problem is that in six months, his cat will look like an ink blot with whiskers.
The size question (and tattoo aging)
A tattoo lives. It ages. It spreads a little, lines thicken, fine details eventually bail.
When someone shows up with a hyper-detailed image — a portrait, a landscape, a dragon with scales — and wants it 3 centimetres wide on their wrist, I have to say no. Not because I can't draw it. Because in two years, it'll be illegible.
A tattoo isn't a sticker. It's a coloured scar. And skin has its own rules.
Rule number one: if you can't read it at arm's length without glasses, it's too small. Rule number two: microscopic details look great on Instagram the day of. In five years, it's a smudge.
I turn down this kind of project almost every week. Not out of laziness. Out of honesty.
(I've written about how to prepare your project properly, it might help if you don't want to get turned down right away: how to communicate your project to your tattoo artist.)
Placement that just doesn't work
Some spots on the body can make a tattoo look amazing.
Some spots should never be tattooed. Unless you have a very specific plan and know what to expect.
Fingers. Between fingers — even worse. Palm, sole of the foot, inside the lip. Areas where skin renews fast, rubs against things, or takes constant abuse.
Every tattoo artist has their own list of placements they'd rather avoid. For me, it's the palm, the inner lip, and the sole of the foot. Not because I can't do them. Because the result six months later won't make either of us happy.
That said, I've done finger tattoos. But only after explaining: the lines spread, the ink fades faster, you'll need touch-ups. If the client understands and still wants it, we go ahead. But informed consent is real.
Copying someone else's tattoo
This one comes up constantly.
Someone walks in, Instagram open, and says: "I want this exact design."
The design in question is someone else's custom tattoo. Worn by a real person. On their body.
Copying a tattoo that someone else designed specifically for their body — their skin, their placement, their anatomy — is a problem. Not just ethically. Practically too. What worked on that person won't necessarily work on you.
A good tattoo artist will adapt. Take the spirit of the design and build something for you. That's the difference between a tattoo and a photocopy.
(Besides, most tattooists I know hate making exact copies. It's boring. And it shows.)
The Pinterest board problem
Someone sends me a message with 14 photos attached. A geometric mandala, a watercolour wolf, a traditional anchor, a fine-line flower, a blackwork pattern, a realistic portrait, a neo-Japanese dragon, and a heart in script.
"I want a mix of all of these."
That's not a project. That's a mood board without a mood.
The best projects are the ones where you can feel a direction. Even if it's vague. Even if you're not sure. "I want something botanical, black and grey, on my forearm" — that's something to work with. "I want everything" — that's a menu, not a project.
I've written about this: Pinterest, ChatGPT, and projects that need work.
"But I saw it on Instagram and it looked great"
Instagram is a catalogue of fresh tattoos. Every photo is taken under ideal conditions. Good lighting. Contrast. Moisturised skin. Sometimes filters.
Instagram never shows you the same tattoo after a year of sun, friction, and life.
This is why some artists show healed work. It's rarer, harder to get, but infinitely more honest. A healed tattoo tells you what the artist's work actually looks like.
The timing problem
Someone asks for a full sleeve. They want it done in two weeks. Before their beach holiday.
No. Not because I lack time. Because the body needs time between sessions. Because fresh tattoos and sun don't mix. Because rushing a large piece is how you get mediocre work.
Tattooing is slow. You pay for a quick job with a bad result.
What I actually say when I say no
I don't just say "no." I explain why. Every time.
"Your cat portrait on your finger won't hold. But we could do it on your forearm, at a bigger size."
"This design is gorgeous but it's someone else's. Let's build something inspired by it that works for you."
"Your idea is cool but it'll work better in a different placement."
Most people understand. Some get annoyed. A few leave and find someone who'll say yes to anything. That's their choice. But saying no to a bad idea is also part of the job. It's respect for the person, the craft, and the tattoo that's going to live on someone's skin for the rest of their life.
Sources
- Kluger, N. (2020). "Tattoo Regret and Poor Decision-Making: The Role of the Tattoo Artist." Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology, 83(3), e121–e122.
- Serup, J. (2017). "Tattoo prevention and the role of the artist." Current Problems in Dermatology, 52, 88–96.
- Tattoo Artist Code of Ethics — Alliance of Professional Tattooists (APT).
