Rick Genest aka zombie boy fascinates me, but then that’s the point, isn’t it?
The thing that fascinates me about tattoos in general and Rick in particular is what are you trying to cover up? Rick has clearly covered up Rick. He has ceased to be Rick and transformed himself into Zombie.
This is the whole point of tattoos. The young woman who wants to be sexy (or sexier) and gets a tramp stamp. Even the term tramp stamp conveys assembly line sex appeal. (I can’t help but think of Britney Spears and Pamela Anderson. At the height of their sex appeal both got tramp stamps. They weren’t sexy enough?)
I’m a little familiar with not being comfortable in my own skin. A universal condition I fear. Almost everything I see in the mirror could be improved upon. Exhibit A my profile pic. My hair has been every color and length imaginable. (Don’t get me started on my nose.) I don’t have a tattoo, but I’m wary of regrets. What if I don’t like it anymore, I can hear myself whine.
Who is me? What is the individual? What is identification? How much can you alter before you cease to be you? Or is that the unspoken truth, I don’t like me. Alter me so I know longer recognize myself, and then I’ll be happy.
Rick is a clever guy, he sees the end run coming. When asked about the why of his body art he answers, “I didn’t do this because I wanted to be different, I did it because I wanted to be me.”