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The so -called ‘tramp stamp’ is fashionable again, but not as we know it, says Jess Lacey – who had her own version in the noughties
ONCE UPON A TIME I was 17 and easily influenced. The giant tribal tattoo sitting above my bum is testament to that. Twenty years later, I’m back in fashion, as lowerback tats are enjoying a TikTok resurgence, and Google searches for designs are up 140%.
Unfortunately, I loathe mine – so much so that, a few years back, I took decisive action to have it removed. It was a procedure that proved so torturous, I managed two sessions before calling time. The half-faded, blotchy something on my back looks far worse than the original.
If I really unpack why I feel so much shame about my tattoo, it’s not the design or placement itself, but the slut-shaming association that’s been inked into it. My mind is cast right back to the writhing sex pit of the Britney Spears I’m A Slave 4 U video. The tramp stamp, as it was not-sofondly nicknamed, has always been a misnomer for me and many other women, insinuating that we’re ‘that kind of girl’ – the sort who’s ‘well up for it’.
Years later, I can’t help but feel it still conjures up the outdated, misog ynistic ideas we’ve worked so hard to leave behind. I keep the remains of my tattoo well hidden, just in case someone sees it and instantly decides that I’m trashy with questionable morals (though still making for an excellent dinner party companion).
So when I saw lower-back tattoos were back in fashion – riding on the wave of a ’90s low-rise jean revival – I was shook. But thanks to ballsy Gen Z-ers, these tats are ever ything mine isn’t. ‘The lower back tattoo is making a comeback with 19 to 27-year-olds, who weren’t old enough for it the first time around,’ says Adam Turley of Vagabond Tattoo in Hackney. ‘We’re still seeing butterflies, flo
