Ah, Tattoo — a title that promises ink, artistry, rebellion, and skin-deep storytelling. But what we get here is the design equivalent of asking for a full back piece from a master tattoo artist and instead getting a “Live, Laugh, Love” decal from HomeGoods.
The cover opens with the word Tattoo in a red script font that says, “I am edgy, but I also bake banana bread on weekends.” It’s bold yet strangely polite, like it would apologize to you if it accidentally cut in line. Beneath it, the pièce de résistance: a stock tribal tattoo graphic so aggressively 2004 that you can almost hear a Linkin Park track fading in. It’s the kind of design that once adorned the lower back of every person who swore they’d never regret it — until they did.
The background is an expanse of pale beige, which I assume is meant to represent skin, but unfortunately resembles a Word document that’s been left to stagnate in the sun. And then there’s the author’s name, small and perfectly aligned, floating in that empty sea like the afterthought it clearly is.
This is not a cover that celebrates tattoo culture — it’s a cover that whispers “I got my ink at a kiosk in the mall and paid extra for the glitter.” It’s a visual anti-climax, and it belongs more in a waiting room pamphlet rack than on the front of a book.