Having a designer logo tattooed on to one's ankle or
wrist has become the ultimate in chic. Grace Bradberry reports
Picture the scene. Charlotte - Charlie to her friends - stands
before the mirror in her Notting Hill flat, preparing for a big
night out. She is in torment. No style magazine, ever, has sanctioned
the wearing of a Gucci-logo belt with Nike trainers. What is she
to do? Must she really choose between the two names that mean
most to her in the world?
Fortunately, no. One afternoon of exquisite pain will ensure that
she never again has to face this dilemma (though she may one day
need laser surgery as a result).
An entire page of this month's issue of The Face is devoted to
an image of a woman's leg bearing the Gucci logo just above the
latest Nike trainer. In a trend that gives new meaning to the
phrase "fashion victim", tattoo parlours are facing
an increasing number of requests for corporate branding on their
clients' flesh. "This winter's label-for-life ethos has nothing
to do with footie bonding," writes Peter Lyle in the style
bible, "and everything to do with conspicuous consumption,
posh sex and the current couture class system."
Couture used to be a private language, summed up by Nancy Mitford
in Love in a Cold Climate . Fanny, disappointed by the Schiaparelli
jacket her mother has given her, says: "It seemed to me quite
plain and uninteresting except for the label in its lining, and
I longed to put this on the outside so that people would know
where it came from." Then along comes Cedric, who spots it
at a glance: "My dear, one can always tell."
"It used to be that the more you spent, the less visible
the label was," says Mr Lyle. "But the new Gucci shoes
have the Gs." The hierarchy of who owns what has reasserted
itself with a vengeance in the late 1990s, and there are no longer
any prizes for discretion, and few for discernment.
Still, having Gucci drilled on your ankle is a particularly reckless
act. The history of this fashion house well illustrates how fickle
fashion can be. One of the century's most chic luxury goods companies,
it plunged into apparently terminal naffdom before enjoying a
resurgence courtesy of Tom Ford in the 1990s. "We won't do
logos," says Andy Dixon, one of London's best-known tattoo
artists, who has a parlour called Skinflash in Kensington. "We
won't do things that are going to be a fad and that people will
live to regret. We certainly don't do pop groups - (clients would)
feel like prats at 65."
Mr Dixon, who has been in business for 18 years and is, "self-taught,
in Her Majesty's big house", likes to do artistic work. He
also talks longingly of his old clientele. "There are no
sailors and dodgy people any more," he says. "Instead
we get Sloane Rangers who have come along to upset Mummy, and
professional women in their mid-twenties."
Hence the feature in Tatler earlier this year, which recom mended
that the tattoos be tucked away on the heel of the foot, nape
of the neck or inside of the wrist: "Like great perfumes
applied well, tattoos shouldn't smack you in the face, but hint
at something delicious." And what could be more delicious
than a pricey designer name?
Models, of course, cannot show any brand allegiances. This has
not stopped them from succumbing to the vogue for flesh decoration.
Kate Moss has a noncommittal heart on the back of her hand, while
Danielle Z has a star hidden away on the back of her head. The
name Shangri-La circles Georgina Grenville's navel.
You might think the designers themselves would recoil. But they
are as drawn to the art as the rest of the fashion pack. Both
Jean Paul Gaultier and John Galliano have designed realistic body
stockings covered in tattoos. Clements Ribeiro have produced tattooed
tights, while British designer Fabio Piras sent models down the
catwalk with barbed-wire markings across their mouths. And a few
years ago daisy-chain designs around the ankles were the epitome
of rock chic.
Not any more, which is why anyone with ambitions to reinvent themselves
will go for something less permanent. Urban Decay's home body
paint kits have become popular. But there are still enough brave
souls to give the tattoo artists a laugh. "We had a man who
wanted a Rolex (watch) crown, with the word Rolex underneath it,"
says Kate Wilson, business manager of Into You, in Clerkenwell,
North London. "We did it for him. We've also done the Fairy
Liquid baby for someone. None of us can understand it at all."
November 20, 1997, Thursday
SECTION: Features