Stefyn Hall was 17 when she got her first tattoo. It wasn’t the way most teenagers would imagine getting one. Her mother gave her consent and signed for permission. At the time, she was living in Louisiana.
“I actually, ironically, got the sun, the moon and the stars, because it was on the Salt Lake Temple,” Hall said. “And I thought that that was the prettiest thing, the prettiest building I've ever seen.”
When she showed off her new ink to family members in Utah who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they hated it. Tattoos were taboo back then.
Now, she lives in Salt Lake City and has been an active church member for 12 years. Despite the negative reaction years ago, she’s seen a change.
“I don't feel like I have to cover it,” Hall said.
It’s been almost two years since the church softened its official guidance on tattoos. In the 2022 “For the Strength of Youth” guidebook, it suggests letting the “Spirit” guide decisions and recommends seeking advice from parents and leaders.
“I think that it really has relaxed so much. I think that it's such a common practice,” Hall said. “I mean, almost all of my siblings now that are active in the church, they've all served missions. They all have tattoos now, too.”
Utah has more than 2 million members of the faith, according to the church. The state unexpectedly also has a lot of tattoo shops.
The Salt Lake County Health Department has approved 459 body art permits as of Aug. 7 this year, nearly four times higher than the number of permits in all of 2016. That comes out to about 38 tattoo and piercing studios per 100,000 Salt Lake County residents.
Walt Watts also grew up in the church. He’s been a tattoo artist in Utah for 13 years and finally opened his own shop, Giant Robot Tattoos in downtown Salt Lake City, on June 1. The shop is in a large open space, with a high ceiling and tall windows looking out on the street. Finding a place to rent wasn’t easy.
“The funniest thing about it was that it was impossible to find a building,” Watts said. “As soon as I said it's for a tattoo shop, the doors were closed.”
Alyssa McDonald
/
KUER
He was turned down eight to 10 times, he said, before securing his downtown spot.
“I'm playing a game of trying to get someone interested in having me set up shop there. And also avoiding all of the other tattoo shops in the valley and not trying to step on their toes or jump into their turf.”
Walt thinks that the abundance of tattoo shops is in part caused by the presence of the church.
“The religion is so stringent, and has its very set way of living life, and everyone else is like, ‘Don't tell me how to live, I’m going to be over here doing what I want,’” Watts said. “And you see that they kind of like, grow together.”
Paul Reeve, chair of Mormon studies at The University of Utah, said the church likely changed its language for a few reasons. One is to reduce judgment between members.
“So imagine either people who are already within the faith getting tattoos, or people outside of the faith who then convert and come in with tattoos, and they are experiencing this sense of rejection, ostracization.”
Another reason is to keep young members. The “exodus” of younger generations from the church, in his experience, is because they are less interested in do’s and don’ts, and more interested in larger issues facing their communities.
“They're more invested in big picture kind of global engagement,” Reeve said.
“What is their faith community doing to help those in need more than they're worried about who has tattoos or multiple earrings.”
Nevertheless, there is still judgment on Sundays between pews, and of former members of the church.
Alyssa McDonald
/
KUER
Ella Fairrington of Gilbert, Arizona, started to distance herself from the church this year. She got her first tattoo about a month and a half ago. While she was at the tattoo shop, she was filled with nerves, and not only about the tattoo.
“Walking around I was kind of nervous that somebody was going to recognize me.”
No one recognized her and she left the tattoo shop with a key on her forearm. Although it was nerve-racking, it was a powerful experience.
“It was mainly like, liberating to get,” she said. “It was something that I've always wanted. And also, it's like, I’m coming into my own skin, diversifying myself from my family.”
Her family had mixed reactions. Farrington made sure her mom knew in advance, and then her mom mentioned it to her dad, who is more involved in the church.
“He's never really talked to me about it. But with my husband's family being around them, it definitely feels ostracizing to have a tattoo on my body. And I can definitely feel them staring at me all the time.”
Alyssa McDonald
/
KUER
Blake Hasson grew up in Salt Lake City. When he was 20 years old, he decided to get his first tattoo.
“Even when I was younger, I was fascinated by them,” He said. “I always wanted a tattoo, and it was just one of those impulse moments.”
Hasson and his friend found a shop on State Street that did walk-in tattoos. He “almost instantly regretted it, but it was a really fun experience.” The tattoo was a car logo on his right bicep, which has since been covered up. Twice.
Now he has tattoos all over his body. At the time, he already started distancing himself from the faith, but his first tattoo still caused some varied reactions.
“Some of them thought, you know, thought it was silly, some of them thought it was kind of cool. Definitely got a little bit of, you know, shock from a few of them.”
While some members may still think of tattoos as “graffiti on the temple of the body,” older people may be more “skeptical,” Hall said. She appreciates the change in language the church now uses. She thinks it allows people to make more choices, rather than placing guilt on those that do.
“I really believe that the church is trying to stop people focusing so much on every member's outward appearances, and focus more on what the church actually stands for,” Hall said. “And that is focusing a life on Jesus Christ, not whether or not people have tattoos.”
