Tattoos in New Orleans with Suzie and Joel
Be impulsive, even if the results are permanent.
My friend Suzie isn’t a traveler. That’s likely one of the reasons why we get along so well—the chances of a White Lotus season three girl trip are zero, and thank god because I’m totally a Laurie in this scenario. Suzie would eat me alive, and I would not blame her.
But every few years I make Suzie travel with me. I’ve successfully dragged her to Tulsa for an Ani DiFranco concert, and New Orleans the weekend after Mardi Gras.
Suzie rarely drinks alcohol. She doesn’t eat pork, and she’s allergic to fish. Of course, New Orleans is a perfect fit for her.
What does Suzie do? She’s a fantastic singer-songwriter, cat wrangler, and tattoo collector. She’s also the Type A to my Type B and did some research on tattoo shops before we left St. Louis. She texted me a link to Electric Ladyland on Frenchman Street, a block from our room at the Royal Street Inn in the Marigny.
Now, I’m pretty heavily tattooed, and that’s the one area where I’m meticulous. All of my tattoos involved significant planning. It took me a decade to commit to my second tattoo. The theme: flowers, heavily researched for biological accuracy and literary meanings.
And then Suzie got a walk-in appointment at Electric Ladyland with Joel Van Goor.
I’d zeroed in on Van Goor’s art when we were browsing the shop’s website. Instead of the usual tattoo subjects, his book was full of vibrant, colorful, often anthropomorphic foods and drinks. This is one of my favorite art styles. Can we hang the original design of the Fruit Stripe zebra in MoMA already?
When I laid eyes Joel’s flash Jello mold with suspended barbed wire, I told Suzie that it would make the world’s dumbest tramp stamp.
Thing is, even though I started out joking, every time I said it, I laughed a little harder. Especially when I put together that I had made it to 50 years old as a heavily tattooed woman with a bare lower back.
Suzie opted for a lovely little floral design on her cats and plants tattoo sleeve.
I returned to our room during the tattooing, but not before begging Suzie to see if Van Goor had availability during our trip because the more I laughed at the idea, the more sure I became that I required a Jello mold tramp stamp to fill one of my many deep existential holes.
At my age, it will mostly be seen by medical professionals. A treat for the mortician. That was part of why I thought this was a good idea.
But also, many years ago (2009) I landed my dream job as a newspaper columnist (sort of) with a weekly blog about god-awful recipes I made from vintage cookbooks.
A lot of Jello was involved.
A lot.
Plus, I’m a Gen Xer from the southern part of the Midwest. Not only did I grow up eating Jello in both Jiggler and salad form, but my first restaurant job entailed keeping the feed trough at the Sedalia, Missouri Western Sizzlin’ Steakhouse full. And if you think we weren’t dipping into those five-gallon buckets of house-made Jello Fluff with our questionably scrubbed bare hands, well, I’m here to ruin your 1980s dining memories.
That, and I just loved everything about the idea of having a Jello mold tramp stamp.
Joel had an opening for me at noon two days after Suzie’s tattoo. Working from a room in a beauty parlor in the Bywater instead of Electric Ladyland, he spent about an hour using his light hand to customize his original design to my liking. The flash piece was pink, but St. Joseph’s Baby Aspirin is my favorite artificial flavor, so he swapped the original raspberry for the perfect shade of orange for a fourth grader’s cafeteria dessert.
Before he was even finished, we were brainstorming on future projects. Can you blame me? Just look at how fantastic his Jello unmolded:
I’ve been to New Orleans several times since Suzie and I got our tattoos from Joel. I visit him every time I’m in town, and he’s created a stunning line-up of desserts along the top of my ass: a slice of mile-high lemon pie, a bucket of blueberry sno-balls from Hansen’s Sno Bliz, and most recently a plate of beignets and a cup of cafe au lait on china from Café du Monde.
There’s one item left for the buffet—a Bomb Pop and a Cremesicle because I would not exist without Popsicles. Literally. My dad gave my mom a box of Popsicles when he introduced himself. Then, Joel is going to tie the desserts together with a retro Formica table pattern. Above it all, in the beautiful handwriting you find if you’re lucky enough to have your grandmother’s recipe book, it’ll read, “Who wants dessert?”
Goddamn, that’s one stupid tramp stamp. And I love everything about it, especially working with Joel. Since our first session in the beauty shop, he and his partner Molly have hung their shingle on a French Quarter storefront. He tattoos, and she’s a piercer who specializes in unique, beautiful body jewelry. Lose your barbell on Bourbon Street last night? She’ll set you up right. You can also nab Joel’s art as stickers, pins, and patches from their vending machine or website. You might even get lucky and find the original raspberry Jello mold that started this project.
Promise me you’ll think of my ass if you do.
Van Goor Industries 632 North Rampart Street, NOLA By appointment or luck. Book on Joel's website.
Ha ha - I was born in Iowa and had a huge conversation with work colleagues from Iowa and Wisconsin last Friday. We all agreed that jello molds are the bomb as long as they don’t include vegetables. Love your tramp stamp!
Every part of this is just so perfect.