Tattoo parlors aren't hurting for business

Loyal customers have kept the tattoo industry covered during the recession.

The ancient art form maintains an allure that keeps residents returning whether they have the cash to or not, local tattoo artists say. If they want tiny doves inked on their shoulder, flowers across their ribs or elaborate sleeves, they manage to get the art done.

"People want to be happy," said Matt Staydohar of Anvil Brand Tattoo. "If tattoos make them happy, they're gonna find a way."

He's been tattooing people for about five years, but his father, Richard Staydohar, has been in the business for more than four decades. The walls of Anvil are filled with old tattoo photos, sketches and other trade memorabilia gathered over the years.

The younger Staydohar said he's not surprised by the tattoo industry's apparent immunity to recession-induced challenges. It's one of the oldest methods of self-expression in the world.

"It survived in the '30s during the Depression, too," he said. "And it wasn't popular at all back then."

The Marysville shop stays busy, partially due to Beale Air Force Base personnel wanting to get inked. But Staydohar also has his share of soccer moms and gangsters, senior citizens and barely-legals, and just about every other sector of the population, he said.

On Saturday, he meticulously ground out an elaborate cross onto a man's arm, along with the names of the man's two sons.

"This whole recession, I think, is due to people watching too much news," he said, the ink gun humming in his hand. "I don't watch the news so I don't think we're in a recession."

Business has been a little less hectic around Righteous Ink in recent months, but the real hit came just after the economy started to decline, said tattoo artist Rogelio Robles.

"I think people were terrified and scared. They didn't know what was going to come next," he said. "Maybe they are realizing now it's not that bad."

Customers at the Yuba City parlor have found ways to adapt, Robles said.

Those working on more elaborate designs wait a little longer between sittings. It used to be a few days, maybe a week between sessions; now many people wait closer to a month.

And how they pay for their tats has changed, too. Robles has seen it all, he said, from unemployment checks to child support to grocery money.

"They make sacrifices just to get what they want," he said.

More than a few customers are paying for their art by means of lay-a-way, Robles said.

Righteous Ink will start up an envelope, and residents come in once a month or so to deposit some cash. By the time they reach $200 or $300, they can afford that really nice tattoo they were dreaming of, he said.

Interest and desire for tattoos is obviously more than skin deep. Other tattoo shops around the nation are reporting the same thriving business as that in the Mid-Valley.

Accurate numbers are hard to come by, but the Food and Drug Administration estimates 45 million Americans are sporting some kind of skin art. The business has grown into a billion-dollar industry, with reality shows like "Miami Ink," documentaries on National Geographic and conventions like the Body Art Expo in San Francisco, which attracts artists from around the country, including those at Righteous Ink.

Yuba City resident Joey Ocampo, 19, picked a cartoonish long-neck dinosaur for his first tattoo Saturday and had it inked straight into the inside of his lower lip. He said his dream tattoo is actually his grandmother's name below an Indian chief sleeve, representing his Cherokee heritage.

As a handyman, he hasn't had much work lately, so money has been a little tight. But the small cost for the dinosaur or a pricier sleeve are sacrifices he is willing to expense, he said.

The recession won't last forever, but his dinosaur and eventual Indian chief will, Ocampo said.

"Every tattoo can have a story behind it," he said. "It can be a short story, a long story or just a meaning."

Over the years, tattooing has carried less of a stigma and become more of a trend, adding to the business' popularity and recession-proof success, Staydohar said.

"Tattoos used to be about rebelling and being different; now it's something people are doing to be part of something to fit in," Staydohar said.

But for the artists themselves, the motivation to continue inking is driven by a passion for the art form.

"The money should not be your sole purpose," he said. "Tattooing is something that's pretty sacred to do. You're putting something on people for life."

Staydohar is so passionate about his art that he'd probably do it even if he didn't get paid, he said. The shop doesn't advertise, relying mostly on word of mouth.

"If you have a good name, you don't really have to worry about it," he said.

The biggest danger to tattoo parlors is not the economy, Staydohar said. It's "scratchers" who work out of their homes, named such for the shoddy method by which they do their art, and give the professionals a bad name.

In a time when other people have lost their jobs or changed professions to pay the bills, Robles said he feels fortunate he can etch out a living doing what he love, he said.

"We consider ourselves to be really lucky," he said. "To be really busy every day of the week is a rarity right now."

CONTACT Ashley Gebb at 749-4724 or agebb@appealdemocrat.com