What’s the deal with blackout tattoos?

Most of the comments and questions that I get about my work relate to blackout tattoos.

An example of a blackout sleeve covering old tattoos.

While many of these are positive and supportive of my art, there are also a large number that are… not so positive. In fact, the majority of negative comments I receive—both in person and on social media—are about blackouts. 

But why the hate? What about blackouts makes people so uncomfortable? And why do they inspire such controversy?

I have always felt that people tend to dislike what they don’t understand, and a lot of people don’t understand blackouts. After all, they are large, solid black pieces that often cover huge areas of skin, sometimes without any patterns added in. It’s unsurprising that not everyone “gets” them.

Which is why I think it is so useful to talk about blackouts: what they are, why people get them, and what impressive feats of strength they are. 

A lot of the critiques of blackouts come from their perceived plainness. “Where are the patterns?” is a refrain I often hear. But what draws many to blackouts—and to tattooing in general—is their minimalism. While a small, fine-line tattoo might seem more traditionally minimalist, for those seeking a large-scale piece, blackouts are far more aesthetically clean than a patterned piece. Their look is one of striking simplicity. 

However, a blackout doesn’t have to stay minimalist. Once the ink has faded to a lighter gray tone, an artist can tattoo lines or dots over the blackout to create subdued patterns. This “black on black” style has lead to experimentations in white and color ink as well. So while the initial draw to get a blackout might be its minimalism, clients aren’t stuck forever, and can always experiment with adding patterns later on. 

  The blackout’s minimalist aesthetic is often used to complement and visually enhance other patterns on the body, especially in large-scale work and bodysuits. A large piece made entirely of patterns, while certainly a look, can appear busy. Solid black areas break it up and add emphasis to the different patterns. This can be a huge draw for clients who are getting complex, large-scale tattoos such as bodysuits, with results that shape and contour the body without looking overcrowded. 

Apart from aesthetics, there are several practical reasons why someone might want a blackout tattoo. For many, they are coverups, and can give a client a blank slate from which to create a new tattoo aesthetic. 

Katie touching up her own blackout tattoo.
(Done by a trained professional. Do not attempt this at home!)

Blackouts are also tremendous feats of physical endurance. The pain is extremely intense during application and tenderness persists over many hours and days. Nor is it just the actual time under the needle that is difficult, but the healing process. Healing involves a lot of blood and swelling, and the risk of infection is higher, as you basically have a giant open wound over your entire body. Not fun!

It’s ironic, really, that people get so much heat for blackouts, when in actuality they are a badge of honor.

Within the tattooing world, blackouts are known for being one of the most technically difficult techniques to master, and some artists undergo them in order to learn how to do them properly.

An artist who can do blackouts has a deep understanding of skin and knowledge over every aspect of tattooing, from types of ink to subtle differences in machines. These artists must also be enormously skilled, as the window in which to correct a mistake during a blackout is very small. During this brief period of time, an artist must pack the ink solidly enough, or else the tattoo will heal patchily, without overworking the skin. It’s a fine line to walk, especially when using large needle groupings, hard-hitting machines, and a precise rhythm of peppering the ink into the dermis. This must then be done again and again, consistently, over a large area of skin, often for hours. 

An a full blackout sleeve with clean cutoffs.

All this to say that while getting a blackout is certainly a badge of honor, mastering the art of tattooing one is as well!

Of course, there are numerous reasons why someone might get a blackout, but understanding these common ones can be key to destigmatizing the style.

Probably one of the worst stigmas around blackouts is the accusation that they are blackface. Blackface is, of course, a very serious and unacceptable form of racism, and for some people who are off-put by blackout tattoos, it can be a quick assumption that anyone who would undergo such a drastic body modification must want to change their race. Within the tattoo community, there is a range of opinions. Some people feel strongly that blackouts are blackface, while other people find this accusation absurd. 

I don’t personally think that blackouts are a modern form of blackface. Blackouts are a very old style of tattooing that can be found in several early tattoo cultures, such as that in Samoa, the Marquesas Islands and other Polynesian islands, and have never been used to mimic and mock Black people, the way that blackface was designed to do. Nor do they look like melanated skin. They have a bluish tint to them that is distinctly different. In my experience, people who get blackouts are never motivated by a desire to change their race. If someone did want to change their race to look Black, a blackout tattoo would not be the way to do it. (Case in point: Rachel Dolezal, who darkened her skin using makeup. If she had gotten a blackout tattoo, no one would have believed that it was melanated skin.) Sometimes I wonder why tanning makeup and salons or the act of sun-tanning outside does not come under a similar scrutiny. I suspect that society understands that this type of skin darkening is a personal preference, not an effort to change one’s race, whereas blackouts are fighting an uphill battle against a long history of general tattoo stigma. And of course, many Black people also get blackout tattoos. Contrary to what the stereotype might be, blackouts are not just for white people. 

Still, I understand why the accusation of blackface persists. For that reason, I think it’s really important to talk about why blackouts? and to be open-minded and kind to people with body modifications you don’t understand. I urge you to be curious about them, instead of leaping to bad faith conclusions. 

My own reason for getting blackout tattoos was a combination of many things. To begin with, mine were coverups of earlier tattoos, mementos of my time learning the ins and outs of the tattoo industry. This was a welcomed step towards a more cohesive, overall, bodysuit. And while much of my bodysuit consists of patterns, large portions are blacked out in order to balance out these beautiful and intricate shapes. I also knew I wanted to learn to do blackouts, which, for me, meant that I had to undergo them. My blackouts became a rite of passage. If I understood what my clients were going through—which parts of the body hurt the most to tattoo; the physical and psychological preparation needed before each session; what the healing process was like—then I knew I would be a better artist for them. 

And I have no regrets. I love my bodysuit, done by Eddie Rise over the course of a few years. I’ve forgotten the number of sessions we’ve done though I must praise him for his speed and efficiency. (And we’re not done yet!) We still have “black on black” to do as well as my armpits… I’m actually quite nervous about the pain of tattooing the armpits, which may or may not also be blackouts. While I do sometimes get heat for my full bodysuit—unwanted touching, invasive questions, accusations of ruining my good looks—I simply remind myself that people dislike what they don’t understand and try to use my position as a tattoo artist to educate and enlighten.