Two days ago, I finally covered up one of my very first tattoos — the one on my thigh, an owl.

It was one of those impulsive decisions you make when you’re 14, after begging your mom to let you get that poor tattoo, swearing you definitely know who you are and what you want to carry on your skin forever.

Spoiler: no, you don’t.

That owl was the only tattoo I never really loved, and now it’s been replaced with something completely different.

The lines on the owl were super thick, so covering it wasn’t easy.

My friend — who also happens to be my tattoo artist and the person I’ve given my whole leg to for a big project — and I decided to do a blast-over in the shape of a flower, in barneo style.

Honestly, I’ve been really lucky when it comes to tattoos.

I used to date a tattoo artist — the same guy I mentioned in the chapter about depression — and over those years I ended up with a bunch of tattoos and lots of connections in the tattoo scene.
Almost all of my tattoos were done for free or through barter — in exchange for supplies, my own art, or just out of mutual interest and creative collaboration.
I offer the blank canvas (my skin), and the artist brings the idea to life.

It wasn’t about “special treatment” — it was a real exchange between people who share a passion for tattoos and the visual language they speak.

Every tattoo on me is a little story.

Not just about what is drawn, but how, when, and with whom it was done.

Sometimes I remember how those ideas were born — sketches on scraps of paper, jokes, laughter, deep late-night conversations that somehow led to ink.
There was so much realness in those moments that the tattoos themselves became memory anchors.

For example, on my arm there’s a postage stamp tattoo from the French city of Marseille.

I got it done in Marseille, to mark my first ever trip outside my country.

Travel is one of my passions, and that first solo trip took me to Paris and then to Marseille, where I stayed with a friend.

It was a lot of fun.

And now I’ve added another story — a new tattoo that covered the old one, but didn’t erase it completely.
It just became another layer in the visual biography I wear on my skin.

And I really love that.

What about you? Do you have any interesting stories behind your tattoos?

P.S. I’ve officially lost my mind and decided to repaint my kitchen — come hang out on my Insta (@_lysergicc)