Tiktok
Gen-Z's Go-To Tattoo Guru Is Flipping the Script on Ink Stereotypes
If you’ve scrolled through TikTok lately, you’ve probably stumbled on those quick, witty videos demystifying the intimidating world of tattoos—no skull-and-roses clichés here. Meet Jamie Lo, a Dublin-based tattoo artist turning the ink scene upside down with his refreshingly honest approach. By day, he’s dotting needles; by night (and sometimes mid-tattoo), he’s filming lighthearted skits about the absurdity of client requests—like that couple bickering over whose name gets spelled right in a "forever" sleeve, or moms drafting blueprints for their teen’s first tattoo. But what really sticks isn’t just the laughs; it’s how he quietly chips away at the "rough biker" stereotype, showing that walking into a parlor shouldn’t feel like joining a secret society. His mission? Making tattoos feel as normal as grabbing coffee, especially for Gen-Zers who’ve always assumed the chair wasn’t meant for them.
Lo’s content thrives on duality: one clip has him deadpanning about a client demanding a "minimalist butterfly" that somehow sprawls across three ribs, and the next dives into raw, uncomfortable truths. Like the time a customer backed out last minute during peak pandemic panic, muttering about his half-Chinese heritage as if ink carried contagion. He doesn’t sugarcoat it—he shares these moments with a quiet "this still happens" gravity, letting the sting linger just long enough to remind followers why representation matters. It’s not performative activism; it’s vulnerability with purpose, wrapped in humor that keeps you watching even when the subject gets heavy. You catch glimpses of his reality—like adjusting his wrist tattoo while explaining aftercare, or the way his voice softens when chatting with a nervous first-timer on camera.
Being an openly gay, Asian artist in a field still dominated by older white men isn’t just a footnote for Lo—it’s the lens through which he reshapes the conversation. He’s upfront about the microaggressions (the "you don’t look like a tattooer" comments, the side-eye from traditionalists) but refuses to let them define his space. Instead, he amplifies joy: showcasing delicate floral pieces on women who’d never felt "tough enough" for ink, or filming collabs with queer artists that burst with rainbow energy. His feed feels like a safe hangout spot, where asking "Is it weird to get my cat’s face tattooed?" won’t get you laughed out of the room. Little details—like his go-to playlist of K-pop during sessions or how he keeps vegan aftercare creams on hand—signal thoughtfulness you’d miss in a glossy ad.
What’s striking is how he’s turning newcomers into true believers. Teens DM him thanking him for explaining parlor etiquette (no, you *can* ask for a water break mid-tattoo), while women of color share how his videos helped them book appointments without second-guessing their safety. He’s racked up serious traction—115k on Instagram alone—by prioritizing relatability over reels trends. Forget staged "perfect artist" vibes; he posts the messy bits too, like accidentally smudging a line and fixing it live on camera. That authenticity? It’s contagious. Followers don’t just want his art—they want to be *in* his world, where kindness is the ultimate flex.
Lo’s still hustling out of Dublin, but his impact stretches further than any single parlour. He’s not just tagging along with tattoo culture—he’s remodeling it from the inside, one viral stitch at a time. And honestly? We’re all here for the ink-redible glow-up.