Marked in Korea

Photo by Jon Dunbar

On the wrong side of Ehwa Women’s University, you can find cheap stores filled with unpackaged junk, old men fighting in front of the convenience store, and North Americans picking through the trash. This is where you find Sun Tattoos, one of Korea’s underground tattoo shops.

I can’t give you more specific directions because it might get the owner, TK, arrested.

Tattoos are a touchy subject here. “They’re an insult to God!” blusters one editor to me. More importantly, they clash with Confucian belief, which is still strong in Korea. Most Koreans believe that our bodies are gifts from ancestors, so it is our duty to preserve them. It’s not surprising, then, the reactions that most Koreans have to tattoos. Expose your tattoos here, and you may never experience the (in)famous Korean hospitality. In Europe in the past, tattoos were used to mark all kinds of criminals, slaves, and undesireables; Korea has not moved as far beyond such practices. Consequently, getting a tattoo in Korea is harder than getting a nice cold beer in Salt Lake City.

Moon So-Yee, a Korean living in London, was shocked to observe that “Seven out of ten people here wear a tattoo like shirt or hat. I wondered, are they all gangsters? In Korea, if someone has a tattoo, he must be a criminal.” Among tattooed Korean criminals, the practice is a rite of loyalty. Once you’re marked by a gang tattoo, you may never fully leave—at least in theory. I recall a taxi driver one night who covered his tattoo with an armband. He was released from his gang after he had done his time in prison. I never got to see his tattoo, other than the odd bits not covered by the armband.

It takes hours to find the unmarked entrance to Sun Tattoo, which is down a narrow basement stairway in an unmarked alley. Outside a group of kids are kicking a soccer ball around, unaware of the secret laboratory underneath their feet.

Yet the criminal element doesn’t account for all tattoos in Korea. Binool, a tattooist based in the Hongik University area, claims that most of his customers are “regular people,” mostly in their 20s. “There are many artists like musicians, dancers, actors, and painters among my customers,” he says, “but also university students, office workers and even housewives.” The difference, as with real estate, is location, location, location: Foreigners are more likely to have plainly visible tattoos, whereas Koreans tend to get them on the shoulder, the back, or the thigh, areas easily hidden under clothes.

Speaking of hidden, it takes hours to find the unmarked entrance to Sun Tattoo, which is down a narrow basement stairway in an unmarked alley. Outside a group of kids are kicking a soccer ball around, unaware of the secret laboratory underneath their feet. We’re assured by everyone that we’re not breaking any laws, but the speakeasy nature of the parlor’s entrance does nothing to dispel that notion.

Tattooing is technically legal in Korea, but tattooists are often arrested, fined, and convicted, charged with illegally practicing medicine without a licence. “I was in prison for ten days,” says Gun-won, a Korean tattooist, in an article in local bilingual zine DDD. “They took me in, but they couldn’t find any evidence. They took all my customers’ phone numbers and called, but they couldn’t find anybody to incriminate me. So they regarded me as an illegal medical doctor and charged me with that, because the needle goes through the skin.”

These verdicts obviously upset Binool. “It might be a drastic example, but [according to this law they’re prosecuting under], it’s illegal even if you apply medication to your son’s knee at home when he falls.” Although no one has ever been brought to court for this, it is illegal to practice any form of medicine on another person in Korea.

Korea also lacks any sort of tattooing licensing body, so standards for hygiene are set by agreement between artists. “Since there is not any institution giving lessons to become a tattoo artist in this country,” says Binool, “I traveled all around the country to meet as many tattoo artists as possible.” Unfortunately, there is no guarantee you’re getting a quality tattoo, unless you know the artist.

“Don’t get tattooed in Hongdae,” warns Drew, an American who’s lived in Korea for most of his life. He reveals his most embarrassing tattoo, an illustration of a man yanking on a bull’s privates. It’s not the subject matter that bothers him: the circle around the tattoo is uneven. He got it in the back of a piercing shop. “I told the artist I had to catch a train in two hours, which may have been my mistake.”

Another concern is hygiene. “The room [for Sun Tattoo] kinda puts people off,” says Paul, a half-Korean punk who plays guitar in a band called Suck Stuff. “But I don’t see why, because the room’s not going into your arm.”

An alternative to a tattoo parlor is one of the many cosmetic surgery clinics in Korea, all operated by certified doctors. All kinds of cosmetic surgeries are popular in Korea, from spot removal to the famous eyelid surgery to “permanent makeup.” Cosmetic surgeons are accredited to administer tattoos, although they’re not used to anything more than eyebrows or other natural-looking makeup tattoos. And they are not peers of underground tattoo artists: “That’s makeup, not a tattoo,” sneers Binool. “No, I would never think of it as a kind of tattoo.”

“Uncle” and “Sam” (two American Air Force pilots involved in the Korean punk scene who are breaking several regulations just being in this article, hence, the nicknames) recently got a tattoo at one such place. “Look for a green cross,”says Uncle. “If it’s a surgical or medical clinic, go for it. It’s expensive, but worth it—you won’t get chlamydia or Hepatitis A.”

“Hepatitis B,” corrected Sam.

“Whatever,” retorted Uncle.

Sun Tattoos turns out to be adequately stocked with hygienic equipment. The owner of the shop, TK, shows up at 6pm to let us in. While we thumb through his library of Japanese tattoo magazines for Sam’s design, TK sets to sterilising his equipment. TK has his portfolio on display throughout all of Korea’s punk scene. He’s the official tattooist of Skunxs.com, the Korean punk online store.

Tattoos are popular in the Korean punk scene. As a result, most of them can’t get decent jobs, relying on labor work to pay the bills. When they go to public baths, everyone glares at them. So why do they get tattoos?

“Because other people did it,” says one punk.

“I was curious,” says another.

“I just thought it would look cool,” adds a third.

Pretty disappointing reasons, especially considering the hardships they face from having tattoos. So why do they keep getting inked? The Korean punks say it gives them a feeling of achievement, and makes them feel special.

There are, or once were, better reasons to get a tattoo in Korea. Every Korean male must serve two years in the army before turning thirty. Until recently, the Korean army refused to accept recruits who had tattoos over two-thirds of their bodies. With no Canada just across the border to flee too, some chose the too-many-tattoos method of draft-dodging. Rather than “death of a thousand cuts,” it’s deferment of a thousand pinpricks.

The young men were shown in the national media, disgraced, handcuffed, heads lowered, and shirts removed to reveal tattoos of dragons, fish, birds, and roses. Body-borne talismans meant to protect the wearer, however indirectly, from bullets and harm.

“There used to be many people who took advantage of that law before,” says Binool, “but nowdays you cannot get an exemption from the army by having tattoos anymore.”
According to a 2003 article on CBS News, about 170 men had been arrested over the years for trying to dodge the draft by getting tattoos, a crime punishable with up to three years’ imprisonment. The young men were shown in the national media, disgraced, handcuffed, heads lowered, and shirts removed to reveal tattoos of dragons, fish, birds, and roses. Body-borne talismans meant to protect the wearer, however indirectly, from bullets and harm.

Naturally, removal and cover-ups are a profitable business, and Binool admits he’s got a piece of this pie. “Some people got many kinds of tattoos just because of curiosity when they were young and ruthless,” he says. “That gives them a lot of handicaps in their lives: they cannot go to public baths, swimming pools, gyms—they’re even afraid to socialize.”

Binool tells of one family man who came in for a cover-up tattoo. He had never been naked in front of his young son because he was ashamed of an old tattoo. “He cried for happiness to have gotten a cover-up tattoo,” recalls Binool. “When I watch these people going back home after I give them cover-ups, when they starting being proud of themselves again, I feel proud of what I do. I believe what I do can change their lives. That’s what they get tattoos for. It is for a change in life.”

Apparently, Sam is not ready for this change just yet. He has an idea, but getting it to look right is much harder. He makes an appointment to come back next week.

“Thanks for coming,” says TK. “Don’t draw any attention to this place as you’re leaving.”