For a long time, I hated covering my tattoos.

Not just because I spent a lot of money getting them.
Not because I went through sweat, blood and tears for them. (Like, literally)

But because I felt like hiding them meant hiding proof of who I was.

If my arms were covered, if my collarbones weren’t visible, if a jacket hid the ink on my neck… I worried people would assume something about me that wasn’t true.

That I was softer than I am.
More conventional than I am.
Less alternative than I am.

Which, looking back, is so stupid.

But when your identity has always been tied to being “the alternative one,” those visual identifiers can start to feel like a kind of armour.

The pressure to be visibly alternative

Alternative culture has always relied on visual indicators.

Hair colour.
Piercings.
Black boots.
Band tees.
And tattoos.

You learn quickly as the emo/goth/punk kid in school that appearance becomes shorthand.

It signals your interests.
Your music taste.
Your politics.
Your morals.

And when you spend years expressing yourself through those visual indicators, they start to feel pretty essential to your identity.

So when my style began softening as I grew up, I had a fear.

If I now dressed this way and my tattoos weren’t visible… HOW will people know I’m cool? Would people still read me correctly?

I used my tattoos to essentially compensate for the fact I dressed softer.

When your style evolves faster than your self-awareness

As my style shifted into what I now think of as more soft alternative, I realised something.

The clothes themselves were softer.

Loafers.
More neutrals.
Cleaner lines.

But the instinct to show my tattoos was still there.

I wanted the contrast. Like a visual reassurance.

Almost like a disclaimer.

“Don’t worry! I’m still alternative!!!”

But over time, I started noticing something.

The people who understood me… understood me regardless.

They didn’t need the visual shorthand.

Identity isn’t something you have to constantly prove

I always found myself feeling uncomfortable during colder months because I had to wear layers. Ones that covered my tattoos.

And the thought popped into my head:

People might think I’m just… normal.

I don’t know why that seemed like a bad thing lol.

Because the truth is, if someone needs visible tattoos to believe I’m alternative, then they probably never understood alternative identity in the first place.

Alternative has never just been about aesthetics.

It’s about how you move through the world.
What you value.
How you think.

The tattoos are important to me, but they aren’t the whole story.

Softness doesn’t cancel out edge

I think a lot of alternative women go through this shift.

The teenage years are about declaration.

Loud style.
Clear signals.
Visible difference.

But as you grow up, the relationship with identity becomes quieter and honestly, more peaceful.

You don’t feel the same urgency to prove yourself.
You don’t need strangers to understand you immediately.
You’re comfortable being a little harder to categorise.

And there’s something really freeing in that. And powerful.

Because softness and edge are not opposites.

They’re layers.

Grown, Not Toned Down

I still love showing my tattoos and always will when I can.

But I don’t feel anxious when they’re hidden.

Sometimes the most interesting contrast is letting the clothes speak first.

And then, when a sleeve moves or my collar shifts, you get a glimpse.

Not a declaration. Just a detail.

And maybe that’s part of growing up as an alternative woman. Realising you don’t have to constantly explain yourself and you don’t have to broadcast every part of your identity at once.

You can be soft.
You can be polished.
You can even look conventional at first glance.

And still be completely, undeniably yourself.

Because at the end of the day, the tattoos aren’t proof of my alternative identity. But they’re fucking cool, though.