Woman in a studded denim and leather outfit, with black and grey linework tattoos on her stomach and thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Studded denim outfit with thigh and stomach tattoos

Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A torso and thigh are shown from a close crop, with the face outside the frame. The woman wears a studded denim waistcoat over a studded leather bustier, with leather sleeves and a wide studded belt. The tattoos are sketchy black and grey linework on the stomach and a large design on the thigh, and the image is lit with a cool, soft tone.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The denim came out of a skip behind the Corn Exchange, three pairs of jeans with the back pockets gone white at the seams, and Nan Harrow said it would make a waistcoat fit for a crow. She cut the panels on the kitchen table with shears older than my mother, and I sat across from her with a tin of studs and a hammer that rang like a bell every time I missed.

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There were two hundred and twelve of them in the end. The pyramid ones went along the lapels where the light could catch the points, and the domed ones ran down the front in a line so straight Nan made me measure it twice with a length of string. She wouldn't let me set the last row. You don't let the apprentice close the lid on the thing, she said.

The order came from a woman who lived up at the new flats, and she brought a sketch on the back of a bus ticket: wings, folded, spreading across a hip, drawn in biro with the feathers pressed so hard the paper shone. Nan read it, turned it over, and said the wings would wait until the metal was done. Ink follows steel in this house, or it goes wrong.

The waistcoat was finished on a Thursday in February. Nan pushed the last stud through with her thimble on and gave it one tap, and the whole room went quiet like a held breath. She hung it in the shop window where the streetlamp came through, and the studs threw small hard stars across the wet pavement until a man stopped to look at them.

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