There was a time when I thought neck tattoos were for those next-level bad boys, the ones I was too scared to date. Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE bad boys (always have) but even I found it hard to trust one with such a publicly displayed I-don’t-give-a-f*ck attitude. In my mind, the ones with the neck tatts were the ones who were proud they had been in jail. And a hand tattoo would have me wondering if he was going through my wallet when I wasn’t looking.
I’m tattoo free, but I don’t hate tattoos. I understand the rebellious streak that exists when you get a tattoo, the permanent commitment between yourself and the design. But all tattoos are not created equal. I once assumed there was an unspoken rule—tattoo anything but your hands and never, ever your neck. I thought tattooing either of those regions was a personal political statement, a wish to never care whether you were accepted.
