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Skin up: How tattooing saw the light and embraced inclusivity

People get tattoos for a myriad of reasons and, as a means of self-expression, there’s no better way to outwardly declare your identity. But what happens when things get dark in an otherwise progressive environment? As Rachel Ashenden discovers, marginalised communities are fighting back to push tattooing culture towards a more inclusive future

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Skin up: How tattooing saw the light and embraced inclusivity

Few places embodied the old-school ethos of tattooing quite like Terry’s Tattoo Studio in Glasgow which, to the great sadness of many, closed its doors in 2024 following four decades of business. Once helmed by the legendary Terry Wrigley, the studio was a haven for walk-ins seeking ink of any style imaginable. Whether you craved your soon-to-be ex’s name in calligraphy, sweeping Japanese motifs or hyper-realistic portraits of your dog or dad, Terry’s was the place to go.

During Terry’s heyday, the tattoo landscape was far more territorial than we know it today; the rule was to never set up a shop within ten miles of a fellow artist. The closure of such an iconic establishment runs alongside a wider transformation in a booming tattoo industry, where studios can be found on practically every city street corner. 

What was once a walk-in affair has evolved into a highly specialised, social media-driven landscape, where clients seek out tattooists for a particular style or design and can wait months, even years, for much-coveted spots. A recent YouGov survey revealed that one in four of the British public now have a tattoo. With its stigmatised association with criminality and societal deviance fast eroding, Gen Z and millennials are leading the charge in embracing tattoos in a way that previous generations could not or did not want to.

A surging demand for inky declarations of bodily autonomy (particularly for those whose bodies have been marginalised) has fuelled calls for systemic reform within the industry. The tattoo world faced its own #MeToo moment during the pandemic, as survivors’ stories exposed widespread sexual misconduct. Many harrowing accounts revealed male tattooists exploiting their power over vulnerable clients under the needle, with inappropriate behaviour in studios often left unchecked or even ignored. In the wake of this ethical reckoning, there is a growing push to dismantle tattooing’s patriarchal hierarchy, in turn creating safer, more inclusive environments where clients and artists can express their identities freely.

Amid the cultural shift stands Fidjit Mac, a Glasgow-based tattooist who works with illustrative and clean-black compositions. In 2015, Fidjit inked a face half-submerged in water on a client: a tattoo that would later come to define her work and inspire a community called the Drowning Girl Club. That year was significant for Fidjit as it marked the end of an abusive relationship with another tattooist. Inspired by the life and legacy of Virginia Woolf, the original drowning girl design represented someone ‘keeping their head above water’ in the face of adversity. To her surprise, demand for the tattoo quickly snowballed. Under her needle, clients shared personal stories, revealing the tattoo’s resonance with themes of survival after sexual assault, domestic violence and mental-health struggles.

‘What started as a deeply personal symbol for me has evolved into something far removed from its original meaning,’ Fidjit reflects. On the tenth anniversary of the Drowning Girl Club, she isn’t sure about the exact number of members, but it’s certainly over 4000 people. Friendships and even romantic connections have blossomed between strangers who recognise the tattoo on each other’s bodies: a visible sign of safety and solidarity in a culture that predominantly silences survivors.

As a survivor herself, Fidjit finds fulfilment in helping clients reclaim an inch of power and regain confidence through tattooing. They leave the studio with a renewed sense of owning their bodies, carrying with them a physical declaration of healing. Each year, Fidjit hosts marathon flash tattoo events to raise funds for Rape Crisis Scotland. She also uses her platform to support the End Not Proven campaign, which seeks to abolish the controversial Scottish verdict that has denied justice to many survivors of sexual assault. Among the most touching of stories shared by clients is the brother of Miss M, the first woman to successfully sue her rapist following a not-proven outcome. He now bears two Drowning Girl tattoos: one traditional and another wearing diving gear, symbolising his sister’s strength in the face of unimaginable trauma.

Also in Glasgow, Charissa Gregson, owner of Shadow Work Tattoos, has been a vocal advocate for inclusivity and representation in the industry. Having worked in tattooing for half her life, and having honed a neo-traditional style, Gregson speaks openly about challenges faced by Black and POC clients. ‘I find it bizarre that in 2025, people are being turned away because artists can’t deal with their skin tone,’ she laments. ‘It’s a boldness to just say “I don’t care to learn.” People assume that because tattooing is an alternative environment, everyone is progressive and inclusive. But it’s just like any other space: unless people have actively examined their biases, those same prejudices persist.’

Gregson urges the tattooing community to learn how to work with a spectrum of skin tones, expressing that the default canvas shouldn’t be white skin. Simultaneously, she recognises that, for the client, it can be a great source of comfort to be tattooed by someone with shared lived experiences, given that the tattooing process requires physical vulnerability.

Shadow Work Tattoos is one of many studios in Scotland that proudly foster proactively inclusive environments for LGBTQ+ clients. Similarly, the recently opened Soft Soul Studio in Edinburgh offers a trauma-informed, holistic space that combines tattooing and reiki. Over in Glasgow, Stephen Speirs couldn’t fathom the idea of being an openly gay tattooist when he started his apprenticeship 20 years ago. With no Queer role models around to guide him through the industry, his identity and work felt like an impossibility. Perhaps shaped by that experience, Speirs’ studio, Deviltown Tattoo, now actively strives to create a safe and welcoming space for non-binary and trans clients.

For artists such as Charlie, a young apprentice at Dark Crow Tattoo in Glasgow, tattooing and queerness are fundamentally intertwined. Acknowledging that older LGBTQ+ tattooists have paved the way for him to express his identity freely, Charlie has wholeheartedly embraced Queer-coded imagery in his work. One of his most popular designs is the carabiner, a significant symbol among Queer women and the transmasculine community, with its meaning shifting depending on whether it’s worn on the left or right side of trousers. This creative reclamation echoes the long history of coded symbols in Queer tattooing. Just as carabiners signify identities among certain parts of LGBTQ+ culture today, earlier generations reclaimed motifs like pink triangles, lavender flowers and nautical designs as declarations of queerness. Through his work, Charlie continues this legacy, reshaping powerful emblems of resilience, identity and pride.

Our bodies tell stories, and tattoos are a permanent way to narrate experiences that are more than skin deep. We get inked to outwardly signify who we are, what we stand for and who or what we love. As Charissa Gregson recommends, there’s no better way to relish the vibrancy of tattoo culture than by attending an event with like-minded souls. Later this month, the 12th International Scottish Tattoo Convention returns to Edinburgh’s O2 Academy, bringing together approximately 200 artists from around the globe to showcase their craft as a defiant medium for self-expression.

Scottish Tattoo Convention, O2 Academy, Edinburgh, Saturday 22 & Sunday 23 March, 11am; main picture: Jack Landless.

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