I recognize that “not cool enough” and “too old for” are subjective when it comes to opting out of joining specific social media platforms, but I don’t utilize TikTok for those reasons, and I am pretty firm in that. I felt the same way about Vine, which did not stand the test of time, so I have learned to trust my instincts when it comes to that sort of thing.
However, on occasion, TikToks will migrate over to Instagram as Reels, make their way to my feed, and I’ll watch. This is how I came across JPalm Hairdressing, a queer-owned salon based in Omaha, Neb. Run by Jordan Palmer and Alex Bauer, JPalm offers services like genderless pricing, enhanced accessibility, and no-cost styling for clients experiencing hair loss due to medical treatments.
I viewed JPalm’s videos through “stitches,” in which other content creators respond or react to posts not made by them. These stitches featured videos, both staged and organic, demonstrating informed consent, a practice more familiar to medical ethics and patient information. In each video, the stylist shares their pronouns and invites the client to share their own, asks what they would like, and requests permission to touch them. Most of the stitches were in critique of these practices, or poking fun at the idea of someone asking permission before beginning a haircut.
Seeing these made me realize that, when many of us receive services, we often don’t consider our bodily autonomy. Getting a haircut may seem routine, but this and many other services are deeply intimate experiences. You’re allowing someone into your personal space and essentially trusting them with your physical well-being. There’s a vulnerability that comes with allowing another person to touch and shape parts of your body. It’s a moment of connection and trust, where you’re not just changing your appearance or relieving tension; you’re also engaging in a subtle exchange of energy and empathy. In these moments, the person rendering the service becomes a conduit for both physical transformation and emotional release, making these seemingly mundane tasks profoundly intimate encounters.
This is what informed consent is about. Every individual has the right to make decisions about their own body, and clients should feel empowered to voice their preferences, concerns, and boundaries. This open dialogue fosters a collaborative relationship between the artist or stylist and the client, laying the groundwork for a positive experience. By providing thorough information about the procedures involved, potential side effects, and aftercare instructions, clients can make informed choices that prioritize their well-being.
My first encounter with bodily autonomy and informed consent was through tattooing, which requires a shared understanding of the significance of the piece, and the trust placed in the artist to bring it to life. Ultimately, getting a tattoo is not just about the final design; it’s about the connection forged between artist and client in the space of creation.
In my younger years my attitude towards tattooing was generally more frivolous, and I was too immature and ill-informed to advocate for myself in terms of placement, design, or any number of factors involved with getting something permanently done to your body. (This has unfortunately resulted in several cover-ups). Such is the nature of being a tattoo person, but also of being “just a girl”; who among us has never walked out of a nail salon with a shape, design, or color they didn’t like; left a stylist’s chair with a disappointing press and curl that was reminiscent of a childhood Easter Sunday look; concluded a doctors appointment where they did not entirely feel their needs were met or concerns heard, but could never quite muster the courage to push back?
I met artist Lou Hammel during the COVID-19 pandemic, at the time when mandates relaxed and businesses were first starting to open back up. My mental health had taken a steep decline, and as a way to curb self-harm impulses, I searched for tattoo shops that were taking clients and connected with Lou, who, at the time, was working out of Gypsy Tattoo Parlor.
Opened in 2010 by artist Michelle Joy, Gypsy is a Romani-owned tattoo shop on the border of Bloomfield and Lawrenceville. I started working with Lou when I was in a very vulnerable space, and what stuck out to me the most was the care and consideration he offered, which included asking for my pronouns and permission to touch me, assessing my comfort level throughout the process, and encouraging breaks or rest periods if needed.
I became so attached to Lou that I continued going to him after he left Gypsy and opened his own shop, Dream Machine, located at 5423 Penn Ave. Dream Machine is LGBTQ friendly, and a safe space for trans clients. Lou himself is trans, and the staff at Dream Machine is primarily queer/trans-identifying as well.
As a result of frequenting that shop, I began to attribute informed care specifically to queer spaces, because I had not experienced it anywhere else. However, in speaking with Lou about this, I began to view it more as incidental to queer spaces, and not fixed. We discussed how informed consent is a fundamental ethical principle that applies universally across all interactions. And while the language and practices surrounding it may have been adopted and emphasized within queer spaces due to historical marginalization and the prioritization of individual autonomy, its importance extends far beyond any specific community.
Informed consent serves as a cornerstone of respectful and ethical engagement. As a Black woman who recognizes that Black tattoo artists are few and far between in western Pa., it is especially important for anyone I’m working with to utilize anti-racist practices, but also acknowledge cultural sensitivities and historical traumas that may intersect with services specific to self-expression. Artists must approach their work with cultural competence and humility, recognizing the diverse backgrounds and lived experiences of their clients.
I am a cis-presenting woman who has primarily been tattooed by cis-men, and, therefore, have experienced my fair share of inappropriate conduct, and not feeling respected or valued. When I was a new mother, one man paused mid-way through a painful rib piece to tell me I “have an insane body for having had a child.” At a notorious South Side tattoo space, a staff member felt it necessary to interject in a conversation I was having with my brother to go on a rant about how “African Americans were more racist than white people.” These are in addition to all the instances of freezing cold shops blasting anxiety-inducing heavy metal that I put up with simply because it’s easier to tolerate things than to request accommodations.
I have dealt with uncomfortable comments about my “soft skin,” how the placement of certain pieces was “so sexy,” and how I sat so well and didn’t complain at all, because to be a woman is to not only suffer through the discomfort, but to smile, tip, and say thank you when it’s all over.
My aim is not to call anyone out, but I can wholeheartedly say that I did not particularly enjoy the process of being tattooed before patronizing queer artists. Besides Lou and the rest of the Dream Machine staff, there’s also Eric Galluzzo-Torres, owner of Dark Matter Tattoo Collective in Shadyside, who has done some of my favorite pieces to date; artists whom I have not worked with but who come highly recommended include Sara Eve at PMA Tattoo in McKees Rocks and Rita Santana, co-owner of Three Fates Tattoo in East Liberty, who offers free color testing on darker skin (and who I got mistaken for once at yoga).
The comfort and care I experience with these individuals should extend beyond queer spaces and become more commonplace. And while Lou feels that tattoo culture in general is becoming more aligned with these practices, it should apply to other industries as well.
Unfortunately, the concept of informed consent is not always prioritized in many of them. Pressure to meet client expectations, maximize profits, or adhere to trends may overshadow ethical considerations. Moreover, the rise of social media and influencer culture has fueled a demand for instant transformations and viral-worthy looks, potentially compromising the integrity of the client-artist relationship. Unlicensed “book me” stylists and invasive cosmetic procedures becoming more accessible necessitates some urgency when it comes to self-advocacy and considering the risks involved, and by elevating ethical standards, we can foster a culture of trust, respect, and authenticity within these various fields.
We can also empower ourselves to have more of a hand in these practices and requesting a better quality of care. This entails ongoing education, self-reflection, and a commitment to prioritizing well-being. Informed consent is not just a box to check; it’s the cornerstone of ethical practices, and by embracing the principles of autonomy, safety, and cultural sensitivity, service providers can create transformative experiences that honor each client’s unique identity. True beauty lies not just in the final result, but in the mindful and respectful process that precedes all the many things we have done for the purpose of gender affirmation, self-care, or simply to just feel good about ourselves.
This article appears in May 22-28, 2024.
