There are a great number of experiences in the panoply of male (and occasionally female) rituals to which I have never been privy. That is not to say I am unfamiliar with them; on the contrary I am frequently made aware of their existence on the fringe of my peripheral vision. I am aware that this blog might ruffle some feathers, raise some dander, and perhaps pique some ire (I really enjoy a good ire piquing), but It must be understood that it is my ignorance that I am attempting to remediate. If you can suggest a programme of treatment, I would be most beholden to you.
At the nub of my ignorance is Marshall MacLuhan’s notorious aphorism that, “. . .the medium is the message.” I am unsure whether the hallmarks of contemporary tribalism are symbolic representations or in themselves the message. The most simplistic example, I suppose, is trans-dermal illumination or tattoos.
My father had a couple of tattoos; a nasty looking bayonet with his regimental ID number beneath, and a cross with a sun rising (setting?) behind it and the inscription ‘mom’ across the transept. Now I can be reasonably assured that Dad didn’t wake up one day and think to himself, “How can I express what a badass I am and still show folks I love mom, the hope of a new day, and a thoroughly Christian ethos”. No. He was already a member of a tribe-the Canadian army. This was a tribe that had reasons to bond, having marched through hell and occasionally returning. I suppose, to a degree, this holds true for those incarcerated in our penal institutions. Their tattoos were a badge of honour or courage that told the world who they were. The original ‘truth in advertising’?
But badassery aside, can other fraternities possibly subscribe to this form of personal advertising? How about dental techs (a sticky finger logo superscribed with ‘We’re looking down in the mouth’, or teachers (‘Born to raise learners’). I somehow think that this is not sufficiently badass. So what of fashion tatoos? Personally I am a great fan of sweet little hummingbirds with long beaks hovering next to a beautiful woman’s labia, and my own ankle Canadian maple leaf is a functional reminder of where terrorists should send my body. Sweetness and functionality.
But help me out here. I don’t understand the significance of a unique Celtic-design ‘bicep bracelet’ that adorns the arms of so many. What is being spoken here? Is it like the child who never wanders too far from home base when playing tag? “I’m unique, but only to a point”? I’ve actually sat with tattoo artists in a pub in Vancouver and watched as they identified patrons’ tattoos by catalogue number; “Yup, that’s a 14!”
And the full scale rendering of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ or Marcel Duchamp’s ‘Nude Descending a Staircase’ absolutely confounds my simple mind. Is this a genuine symbol of a badass individual, or the desire to be seen as badass, regardless of the reality? And don’t get me started on ‘tramp stamps’, unless they contain the complete works of James Joyce. Please. . . help me!
