Forbidden Fruit: A New Approach To An Old Idea

I’m sitting at the table at Forbidden Fruit watching the cars on McGalliard zoom by. I feel relieved that the hard work Atom and I put in has paid off, accomplished for actually getting it done, and for the first time in a long time, excited about work. I am excited to provide a place where our guests can feel safe, heard, welcome, appreciated, and even celebrated for who they are. Feeling safe was something I had taken for granted up until the last few years. I didn’t feel safe in public, and I didn’t feel safe at work. I am so happy to say that a feeling of security envelopes me as I wait for walk-ins. I’m hopeful you all will feel safe to get work done here and to be yourselves in a positive and judgment-free environment.

Looking forward to the future has me diving into the past. I can’t help but think about my first experience walking into a tattoo shop. I couldn’t have been older than fourteen, so it was around the year 2000. My two good friends and I walked into the only shop in our town located downtown opposite a bar and likely forty antique stores. Small town living. We had perused enough Amish pyrex dishes and were ready for something more exciting. We were feeling independent and grown up. So, tattoo shop, here we come!

Upon pulling open the door, the strong smell of cigarettes, sweat, and green soap wafted from the interior. Because there was a slight drizzle, the humidity made the odor linger in the air around us. The walls were lined with tattoo flash and posters of half-nude bikini-clad supermodels (nothing unusual in the year 2000). A small glass display case was adorned with body jewelry, and the buzz of a tattoo machine sounded off from beyond the entryway.

We were greeted by a tall, slender man with bloodshot eyes. He was likely mid-thirties. He examined us each up and down before asking what he could do for us. Shy to the core, I looked down to the floor and hoped that one of my friends would speak. Thankfully, one did. “We’re just looking.” The man lit a cigarette and sat down behind a small counter unamused by obvious lack of money and proper age. Nonetheless, we scoured through miles of flash. I was able to drop my wall of introversion for a few moments.

Then, I felt a breath on my neck. I was unable to even turn my body without inevitably brushing up against another man. This one, less tall, much less slender. He was heavily tattooed and slightly older than the first. “Aren't you all a little young to be in here?” I backed away and turned to him only able to shrug and avoid eye-contact. “Look at you,” he said. “Jailbait.” I looked at his face to get clarity as to whom he was referring. My cheeks immediately became warm and I realized he was staring at my chest. “I bet you get men in trouble.” He proceeded to ask me if I babysat, what grade I was in, and what I did for fun. He continued with, “I bet you’d give a good hummer.” The bad feeling in my gut told me to leave right away. The fear in me told me to run away, but the culture at the time would tell me I should be wary of a man like this, but that I should still be flattered. I shrugged again and hoped my friends would save me, but he persisted. He asked me for my phone number and made several comments about the size of my breasts. We left after he asked for my phone number. To this day, I can only assume if he called, my angry father was on the receiving end. He did not contact me again.

This was my first impression of what a tattoo shop is. Unfortunately, my second, third, fourth, and so on weren’t much different. Sure, the situations weren’t always the same. I’ve aged, but aside from a few deviations, most of my time as a patron of tattoo shops has been the same. The atmosphere is thick with misogyny, racism, greed, arrogance, and overall douchebaggery. They’re often intimidating, loud and seemingly predatory. Sometimes the staff is rude or downright mean. Sometimes they’re dismissive. Sometimes they don’t acknowledge your presence. It’s almost as if one must come equipped with an English to Tattooer translation dictionary to be treated with respect.

Atom and I are hopeful to provide a different kind of shop. We’re not tough guys. We aren’t too cool to smile and greet you when you walk in. We’re not ashamed of having Real Housewives play on our TV during our downtime. We’re not here for ego. We’re here because we enjoy our crafts and want people to love the skin they’re in. We’re here to offer inclusion to those that are often left out. We want everyone to express themselves freely and openly. When you sit in our chairs, we want to treat you as we have wanted to be treated as clients. We want you to feel special, appreciated, safe, and at-home. There is plenty of turmoil in the world, but we hope that when you’re in our studio, you can have a small respite from the outside world. We hope you can let go of the stressors, the pressure, the judgment, the pain, the negativity and just be yourself.

If we can prevent any of our clients from feeling the way I have so many times and help to change the impression of what a tattoo shop is, then Forbidden Fruit will be a success.