‘I could do an air hostess course if I didn’t have tattoos’: Young tattooed women and work – 1980s and now
When I was in my mid-twenties, I decided it was time to be tattooed. I was working in a university humanities department as an administrator. It was a ‘frontline’ role assisting both enrolled and potential students, the department’s academic staff, and the university’s greater administrative apparatus. I reported to two warm, open-minded female managers and worked with four other female administrators of varying ages. It was a highly supportive and stimulating work environment, where the occasional bursting into tears was greeted by cups of tea and enormous empathy, the academics shared their latest research findings with us paper shufflers over the communal lunch table, and the head of department – an associate professor specializing in 16th century European witch hunts – maintained an impressive equilibrium given the pressures of budgets, bitching colleagues, and a diverse student body. Both he and my managers marvelled at the fine detail of my tattoos – two whimsical illustrations from ‘Alice in Wonderland’ inked on my upper back and right bicep. There was never any suggestion that I should cover them up, so when the weather was warm I exposed my ink with no fear of professional repercussions. If I had not been employed in such conditions, I doubt I would have bothered being tattooed at all. After all, what would have been the point if I’d had to cover them up for most of the week? Because I have no desire for further ink, my tattoos exist simply because I was employed in a particular role in a particular industry at a particular age. However, I did ensure my tattoos could be easily concealed in the event I ever sought work in a bank or funeral home. After all, not all employers are accepting of tattooed women.
Tattooed women in the Australian workplace
Legally, employers cannot explicitly sack or discriminate against potential workers merely because they are tattooed, but ‘dress standards’ or other arbitrary criteria can be easily invoked to dismiss or not hire employees on the basis of their ‘look’. Figures from the Victorian Equal Opportunity and Human Rights Commission show that between 2008 and 2013, of the 96 workers in Victoria alleged to have been discriminated against on the grounds of appearance, 22 claimed it was because they had piercings or tattoos. It is not clear from these figures whether gender plays a role in such discrimination. American lawyer and business consultant Barrie Gross argues that employers are more likely to discriminate against tattooed women than men because they are accustomed to seeing tattoos on the latter. She warns businesses, ‘A woman with a tattoo of a skull on her arm is no less entitled to be judged based on legitimate business factors than a former U.S. naval seaman whose arm is adorned with a tattoo of a ship's anchor.’
It is difficult to determine whether a similar gender prejudice exists in Australian workplaces. Twenty-nine year old Mandy Lee, who has Egyptian symbols tattooed on her forearms, insists that there is general discrimination against tattooed women, giving the term, ‘tramp stamp’ as an example: ‘It's a horrible prejudice that's never applied to men. Because apparently if a woman chooses to mark her skin it's only because she wants to signal something sexual. It ties in to the cultural idea that a woman's skin and thus appearance are community property.’ To her knowledge, Lee hasn’t been discriminated against by employers, but does recall customers giving her negative feedback:
I've had little old men in cafes I waitressed in [say] that I had ruined my skin or something, as though I should actually give a shit what they think is attractive or not. Tattoos can be political in that way – as a woman, I'm marking my skin permanently, which is outside what society normally deems acceptable.
Twenty-two year old botany postgraduate student and café worker Charlotte Whilde, who has a tattoo of a cat on her left bicep, similarly notes that prejudice against tattooed women has a generational component, with older generations of Australians viewing them as ‘lower class, being wild or trashy, being rebellious and not worthwhile members of society.’ But are employers increasingly mindful of openly discriminating against potential employees? Delia*, who has fully tattooed arms, recalls a job interview at a Melbourne lolly shop ten years ago. Mistakenly thinking the funky, colourful business would appreciate her look, she attended the interview wearing a short sleeved shirt. The store owner ‘did not like the look of me. I could tell straight away. She kept cutting down everything I was saying, and in the end told me I was too short for the job’ (which, of course, is discrimination in itself). Now 32, Delia has not experienced difficulty finding work in her trade, hairdressing, yet she is sensitive to assumptions clients and others may make about her job and tattoos being reflective of her intelligence:
I feel people look at me as if I dropped out of school, got tattooed and ended up becoming a hairdresser. Which isn't the case. It seems that if a girl is heavily tattooed she must be dumb and work a bad job – yet men who are tattooed can work trades, earn a decent wage and be fine.
However, Delia observes, both tattooed men and women can be adversely judged because of the link commonly made between tattoos and criminality (particularly illicit drug use).
The hairdressing industry is just one of a limited few that seem to employ women with tattoos on exposed skin. Others are retail, hospitality, publishing, design, and film/TV production. Of course, there exists a variety of attitudes within the culture and management of individual companies, so tattooed women cannot confidently flash their tatts at job interviews in any of the above fields. Angela*, currently an account manager of a printing company, who has tattoos on her fingers, feet, and right arm has ‘been mindful of dressing appropriately depending on the place of employment.’ As she notes, ‘unfortunately, as human beings are visual creatures, people still do judge based on first impressions.’
For some women, being tattooed can bring attention in a way that actually boosts their professional profile. Feminist writer and social commentator Clementine Ford, for example, was delighted when after she appeared on ABC program ‘Q&A’, conservative Herald-Sun columnist Andrew Bolt described her as 'just some feminist with bared tattoos'. As a freelancer working mainly from home, she rarely has to cover up her tattooed arms, and believes, if anything, her ink lends her ‘a certain appeal in the line of work I do - brash young feminist, outspoken but also well-spoken and not afraid to be who she is.’ Being ‘just a lowly writer who can get away with working in [her] pyjamas’ or temping for publishing companies, she has not experienced workplace discrimination on the basis of her tattoos.
According to the 2012 La Trobe University study, ‘Who Gets Tattoos?’ the average Australian tattooed woman is aged between 20 and 29, smokes both tobacco and cannabis, has been diagnosed with depression and a sexually transmitted disease at least once, has a de facto partner with whom she doesn’t live, and is unskilled. The study’s authors suggest such a profile demonstrates a link between elevated risk-taking behaviour and being tattooed (I prefer the term ‘unconventional’), but the important detail to draw from the study is that Australian tattooed women’s lack of formal qualifications compared to other women limits their potential earnings and exposes them to economic fluctuations.
During economic good times, women with an outré look are perhaps valued (or at least tolerated) in the more creative industries, but are they more vulnerable in a recession? Recent Australian Bureau of Statistics figures reveal an overall drop in full-time jobs, with women losing full-time work at a greater rate than men. Will an increasingly competitive job market mean labour hirers in even the most progressive, open-minded industries choose the worker least likely to visually offend any conservative clients, and thus opt for the ‘cleanskin’? In which case, will us tattooed women regret our ink, and seek to erase it? The boom in tattoo removal businesses is evidence that both tattooed men and women are proving a valuable market, and with a quarter of Australians under 30 inked up (of whom, according to consumer advocate group Choice, more than a quarter want their tattoos removed), fear of unemployment could be spurring the growth of this largely unregulated industry.
The most vulnerable of all Australians in the labour market are young women and adolescent girls. Traditionally employed in clerical, hospitality or retail work, young female workers have been easily shed when company profits dive. As they have been valued more for their physical appearance than young men, ‘blemishes’ such as scars and tattoos (as well as perceived excess weight) are real hindrances, relegating them to roles with little customer contact or worse – unemployment. With tattoos increasingly fashionable amongst young women, a fairly large group could be finding the job market especially tough. According to the Brotherhood of St. Laurence youth unemployment rates are reaching ‘crisis point’. When employers are inundated with hundreds of resumes for entry level retail or service jobs, the recent school leaver with butterflies or motivational mantras stamped on her wrists may find herself at the back of the queue, regardless of her keenness, intelligence or reliability.
During the economic recession of the early 1980s, young tattooed women struggled to obtain anything other than factory work. Unlike now, when tattoos have a certain fashionable caché, in the 80s they were firmly linked to crims and prisons. There was, indeed, a high chance that if a young woman had tattoos (particularly homemade ones) on her arms, hands, legs or feet, she had spent time in an institution. From 1956, Victorian girls aged between 13 and 21 who were ‘at risk of moral danger’, on remand, or serving sentences for criminal convictions were held at Winlaton Youth Training Centre in Nunawading. Like all Australian institutions for juveniles and adults, throughout its history tattooing was a popular pastime at Winlaton. The girls would use smuggled in Indian ink and compasses to etch out wonkily shaped tributes to boyfriends and favourite bands. It was a way to pass the time and, according to 1960s ‘trainee’, Lynette Meyers, rebel against ‘the screws’, but the future employment prospects and self-esteem of Winlaton girls were compromised by these bodgey jobs. Other 1960s ‘Winnie girls’ include Merlene Fawdry who had to cover her arms with elbow length gloves and strategically placed band aids on her wedding day, and Karen* who was later ‘so embarrassed’ by her Winlaton tattoos she underwent expensive, painful skin grafts in her twenties to remove them. In the 1970s, Brenda Hodge irrationally tattooed her lower arm with the names of the two people she ‘disliked and feared the most, my mother and my older brother’ (which indicates a level of self-punishing behaviour in Winlatons girls’ tattooing efforts). In her published 1970s diary of her teenage Melbourne Sharpie days, Julie Mac writes of her friend, Andrea,
[She] is the roughest girl I have ever seen. Her hair is shaved with straggly tails, she has a skull and crossbones tattooed on her lower arm heaps of other boobjob homemade tattoos. Usually the only girls with tattoos are bikie moles … Andrea was made a ward of the state when she escaped from Allambie Reception Centre … [and is now] on the run for not returning to Winlaton after weekend leave.’
By the late 70s, Winlaton’s population – up to 90 percent – was dominated by girls just like Andrea who were on protection orders. It was thus unjust that former residents were assumed to be criminals due to the amateur inkings they had acquired while in state care. Recognising this unfair hindrance against such young women’s employability, in 1980 Winlaton’s management established a tattoo removal program, whereby former and current ‘trainees’ could have their regretted tatts erased. Prior to then, common methods of removing tattoos were salabrasion (scrubbing with salt and a toothbrush) or skin grafting. (Following her mother’s ill-conceived advice, Fawdry used caustic soda to try and remove hers). Ugly scarring was the typical result of such procedures. But in 1979, Sister-In-Charge at Winlaton, Mary Donegan, became aware of a method of removing tattoos that seemed to produce better results. She traced the technique to renowned Melbourne tattooist, Danny Robinson. After receiving a small grant from the Australian Schools' Commission, equipment was provided and Robinson was employed on a casual basis to remove tattoos from both former and current Winlaton residents. Following a thorough psychological and medical check (including tests for hepatitis and syphilis), the girl – or her guardians if she was under 16 – consented to the application of a removing solution (made up primarily of saline) with a tattoo gun. The removal usually took several sessions, its success dependent on the size, colour and location of the tattoo. Following concerns from Winlaton’s superintendent regarding the pitfalls of handing out sedatives and strong painkillers to girls with histories of drug or alcohol abuse, the only pain relief given was a local anaesthetic injected by Robinson.
Danny Robinson prepares to remove a tattoo from a young woman at Winlaton Youth Training Centre. Image courtesy of E. Amos
As a condition of receiving the grant, Winlaton had to document the efficacy of the tattoo removal program. The resulting report by staff member Sandra Cooke, ‘Tattoos Shape Your Future: An Evaluation’, is a revealing portrait of the then social attitudes to young tattooed women; the interplay of self-scarring behaviour and low self-esteem amongst abused and neglected girls; the destructive boredom of unemployment, and the concerted efforts of Winlaton’s management to improve the lives (particularly the employability) of its charges. Some of the program’s participants’ reasons for being tattooed – as listed in the report – included:
Everyone that I associated with had them or I wanted to stand out in the crowd like the others, I wanted to be noticed.
I was bored – I didn’t have a job, I didn’t have anything to do so I did them.
I was very young and I wanted to rebel against my parents. I knew that getting tattoos would hurt them. At the time it was the thing in the institution. I was also influenced by my friends.
Many described being drunk or drug-affected when they were tattooed, including four who were completely unaware of what they were doing: ‘It was a real shock when I woke up the next morning to see the ugly tattoos on my hands.’ The reasons given for wanting to have tattoos removed are heart-rending:
People look at you and stare, also I can’t wear short sleeves or dresses.
They make me feel depressed, also make me look back to the past.
I have a job where my tattoos must be covered up all the time. I also think that tattoos brand you as a prostitute, slut and a thief. Also, people don’t trust you.
I could do an air hostess course if I didn’t have tattoos. Also, when you meet a nice guy he doesn’t want to know you because of your tattoos. I can’t wear nice dresses because I would always be looking at my arms or legs to see if my tattoos were showing.
According to Cooke’s report, the program was a success, with participants revealing, ‘I feel better about myself’, ‘Get on better with parents/friends’, ‘People don’t stare’, and ‘Not ashamed to show my arms’ as benefits. Cooke also wrote,
Many staff observed that even during the treatment stage young women felt that prospective employers viewed them more positively during interviews (even though in many cases their tattoos were hidden under clothing) This perhaps indicates that these young women felt less embarrassed and more confident in themselves during the interview.
The program assisted the participants to ‘break away from being stereotyped into a particular form of behaving and functioning.’ No tattoos meant less antisocial behaviour.
Another direct result of the tattoo removal program was Robinson’s establishing the Tattooist Association of Victoria. ‘So incensed’ was he ‘at seeing young women potentially crippled for life because of large professional tattoos that he felt it imperative to form this association in conjunction with the more honorable and reputable tattooists in Victoria.’ The aim of the association was to ban tattooing of anyone under 18, standardize sterilization procedures, and ‘to prevent tattooing of young women of any age in those areas which are readily visible.’ That young men are not mentioned here demonstrates the particular prejudice against visibly tattooed women in the early 80s.
As a home-based mother of three small children, aside from some casual university tutoring and lecturing, I haven’t dipped my toe into the employment market for several years. So I haven’t had to consider the acceptability of my ‘Alice in Wonderland’ tatts in the workplace. But my contemporary, Mandy Lee, who is currently job-seeking after two years of full-time motherhood, is conscious of the impact her tatts play in her employability.
I'm doing a lot of job interviews at the moment and cover them depending on the organization: admin in a photo studio, I didn't cover them, because the employers seemed more laid back and funky. Job interview with a Christian college, I covered them, because I wanted a more sophisticated, professional presentation.
Yet Mandy is not prepared to cover up permanently should she be hired. Unlike the young Winlaton tattoo removal program participants her self-esteem is not lessened by her visible tattoos. Instead, she has a ‘take me or leave me’ attitude to potential employers: ‘If I'm hired by a conservative organization, I won't continue to cover the tattoos unless my contract has specific appearance clauses that says no tatts. They hired me. The tattoos are a part of that.’ As a fellow tattooed woman, I will be curious to see if she consequently has to lodge a discrimination complaint.
