This is an account of my first experience with a professional piercer. Prior to this experience I had given myself about a half dozen or so piercings, some successful, most not so successful. I was probably 13 trying to pierce my cartilage with a safety pin, and moving to the 'forbidden' navel piercing at 14. My mom always said "until you turn 18, your body belongs to me, and you aren't poking any holes in my body." At 16, I was planning on moving out, and traveling west, to write a book. Since I wasn't living under her roof any more, I was in a new position to liberate myself from the confinements of her home. I was downtown, a few days before my planned departure, and 2 weeks before my 17th birthday, hanging out with my buddy Panda. "I wanna give you something really cool for your birthday, something you'll remember, before you go...so I arranged for you to have any tattoo, or piercing you want, It's on me." I was soooo excited, a million things ran through my head, giddy as a 16 year old girl might be I jumped up and down hugged Panda and told him "I wanna tattoo.... But I don't know what I want." I'll tell you what a truly great friend he is... he said "well, If you don't know what you want, maybe you shouldn't get a tattoo right now." Disappointed, I agreed he was right. So a piercing it was. I wanted something that said ... because I can. "What should I get?"
At A Glance Author workingforceofkarma Contact workingforceofkarma@bme.anon When N/A Studio Museum of Livivg Arts Location Charleston S.C. "What do you want?"
I don't remember how it evolved, but next thing I knew I was at Lucky Seven, getting my septum pierced. It was a nice clean place, I remember my piercer, seeing as he was hooking me up as a favor to a friend, I won't mention my piercer's name, he was a good piercer though. Todd, an apprentice there was a freaking weirdo. He was a little too excited about the whole event, seeing a cute little girl volunteer for his seeming personal sado-masochistic ritual. Dork. Any who, Panda held my hand, shared in my nervous excitement....I think I was more nervous that I was trusting someone else to perform this procedure than it hurting. Deep breath.... Eyes water.... Intense adrenaline.....The jewelry was inserted w/o a hitch. Todd bout creams himself, and the piercer, irritated by Todd's lack of professionalism, sends Todd out quietly. The piercing was done freehand, and came out where the left was slightly forward of the right. He said it should straighten out as it heals, if I wear it flipped up. I was doubtful, but surprisingly it did. I got a pink bead for the CBR, to match my pink hair, and was fabulous. I remember leaving the place, with the best high I've experienced to this day, a natural kind of high. Good old adrenaline buzz. I kept the piercing for several years, and tapered it several times. I was able to wear it flipped up when I needed to conceal it, my mother found this to be a great relief. One of the first things I did was show my mom...It was fabulous. "Can you hide it?" she asked...with this look of shock and horror. "If I want to, but I don't want to...and I don't think I will, not any time soon."
My friend Panda said it was hot. I had to agree. It was hot. It was even hotter when It was stretched to a tiny diameter 10 gauge. I sported the ten for several years. Eventually, I tapered to an 8. That was a fun stretch. It hurt, but not in a bad way, it burned, made my eyes water. I' m not the kind of person who necessarily likes pain, but I liked the feeling of having my septum tapered. It was significantly different than the burn you get from tapering your ears, or other non-cartilage piercings. Actually, it wasn't like having the cartilage in your ear tapered either. It 's not comparable to much. Yes, it hurt a little. Even after the taper, much like after the piercing, it was sore to the touch, but I found myself touching it, just to feel the soreness....yep, still sore. There was this smell...I called it butt. It smelled like butt. I didn't like it It was gross. It was only after it had begun healing, that it produced that funk. It was only when I rotated the ring, or moved the jewelry when I smelled the funk. Yet again, I found myself touching it or rotating the ring, going, "man, that stinks," I' d rotate it again "gross that stinks." Then I would ask myself, if it stinks, why don't you quit touching it?" I would try, and fail. It was irresistible. The eight gauge didn't last long. I' m a small, dainty thing. The 8 made me look butch... I felt. I wore it for a day, replaced it with the ten I'd been sporting for years, and still felt as if it looked butch. Cursed that damned 8! My fabulous septum ring never looked butch before I tapered to an 8! Why was it fabulous 2 days ago and butch now?
Crap. Not much I can do now. It is what it is. I took it out, feeling a little empty. Where did my flare go? My fabulous character? At this time, I was an apprentice at a Piercing shop in Charleston called Purple Haze. I decided I would do something different. Something to suit my character. Something a little feminine. I pierced my lip. I didn't want any one else to do it. I'm a perfectionist. If it came out a little off, I wouldn't be so forgiving. It came out perfect, and to this day...it speaks of my character. I now own my own piercing studio in Charleston, The Museum of Living Arts. My mother tells her stories, proudly I'd say, of how I came to be there. She tells her associates and friends, "yes, I won the battle (referring to the ongoing battle over my navel piercing) but I lost the war."