Black ink tattoo of a simplified face wearing a wide-brimmed hat, dark sunglasses and a moustache, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Stylised face in hat and sunglasses on an arm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A bold black outline portrait shows a simplified male face under a wide-brimmed hat, with solid black sunglasses, a moustache and a plain line for the mouth. The linework is thick and clean, with solid black fills for the hat and lenses and a few short horizontal lines across the forehead. The design is in black ink only on pale skin, set against a plain background with a yellow fabric sleeve at the edge of the frame.

Forearm Face Hat Sunglasses Moustache Portrait

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mr Hollis taught chemistry for thirty-one years and retired with a bad hip and a grudge against Margaret Pennock, who had won the Ashworth Village Show Victoria sponge four years running. He spent the winter treating the problem as a titration, weighing flour to the gram and keeping his notes in the same neat capitals he had once used on the blackboard.

Keep reading

The hat was his late father's, grey felt with a brim wide enough to shade a kitchen table, bought in Blackpool before decimalisation. The sunglasses came from the chemist's counter on Church Street and were darker than he needed for anything but this. On the morning of the show he wore both, turned his collar up, and queued at the back of the village hall with his entry under a tea towel, as anonymous as a man could be in a parish of four hundred people who had known him since 1978.

The judges had been brought in from Skipton and did not know faces. Mr Hollis watched them cut each cake with a knife warmed in hot water, nodding at the crumb, the rise and the pale, even colour he had calculated for weeks. Margaret's sponge sagged in the middle like a tired lung. Ribbons went out at half past two.

When the blue rosette was pinned to his lapel he took off the glasses to accept it, and Margaret, two tables down, stared at him until she recognised the smile he had worn at parents' evenings for three decades. "Hollis," she said flatly. "I should have known you'd use a scale." He tipped the hat to her, and it was the nicest thing anyone had said to him all year.