Interview: Artist 02Percentof02 on How Instagram Changed South Korea’s Tattoo Scene

If it weren't for Instagram, Young wouldn't have permanently inked a lemon wedge onto my right shin in a Bushwick, Brooklyn, tattoo shop last November. We don't have any mutual friends, and my travels haven't taken me to her hometown of Seoul just yet. Without Instagram, her colorful, abstract work under the name 02percentof02 would never have popped up on my radar. And I never would have discovered she'd be traveling to the States to work as a guest tattoo artist at studios in Los Angeles, Miami, and New York City.

Instagram has been instrumental to Young's career, too. Without the social media platform, she wouldn't be in America to tattoo — and she wouldn't have the majority of her clients in Korea without it, either. "I'm not the kind of person to like SNS," the 23-year-old admits as she cleans up her station, using the colloquial Korean abbreviation for social network services. "But we need to do SNS to promote ourselves." She is, however, the kind of person to effortlessly pull off poppy-red cargo pants and laugh off a bird pooping on her head, which happened to occur on the day of our interview.

Instagram is Young's storefront — mostly because her home studio in Seoul doesn't have one. "We don't have a sign," she explains. "It's a very random place." Like most tattoo shops in Korea, Young's is hidden away on the third floor of a five-story building. You can't round a busy corner and happen upon it like you can with Gristle Tattoo, the shop she has a guest spot at on the New York City stop of her U.S. tour. Her home studio doesn't have its name painted on the front window in large black-and-white gothic script. You can't peek inside to see people trying not to wince in pain as tattoo artists run buzzing needles over their skin. It finds you the way it found me: through Instagram. From there, her customers slide into her DMs to book an appointment.

This incredibly modern approach to tattooing is shrouded in antiquated, stigmatized ideas, though. In Korea, tattoos have been historically associated with gangs, Young tells me as she blots away fresh blood from my newly inked lemon tattoo. K-pop stars like G-Dragon and Hyuna adorning their arms and legs with body art have helped defy this stereotype. However, the industry is still literally underground because tattooing without a medical license is illegal in Korea.

"Only doctors can tattoo in Korea," Young explains. This revelation is baffling to me. "It's stupid," Young laments.

Without thinking, I ask if she has a medical license. She shakes her head from side to side. "Nobody does," she adds. Young mentions more than once that she hopes tattooing will be legalized soon. Not only will it allow her certain protections that she doesn't have now, but it will also help regulate an industry that currently has no rules.

Despite all this, Young has been able to support herself enough as a tattoo artist that her parents no longer care that her job is essentially illegal. She didn't tell her dad about it until 2017, though. By the time he found out she was a tattooist, her Instagram follower count was growing, and clients were streaming in. "So my father said, 'You're doing great now, so do what you want,'" Young recalls. "My whole family is historians, actually, so they couldn't have expected me to be a tattoo artist."

Young always knew she wanted to be a tattoo artist, though. The idea of tattoos attracted her because "someone getting a tattoo and giving a tattoo at the same time is art," she explains. "It's eternal art for someone's eternity." Although she doesn't pinpoint which age the desire to be a tattoo artist came to her or when she wanted to pursue the dream, Young started a bit earlier than she planned.

At 17, she was suffering from depression, and drawing became her coping mechanism. "At first, I wanted to draw stories, feelings, and emotions," she says. Around the same time, she got her first tattoo: a heart-shaped peace sign on her neck. "[It's a] little bit classic," she laughs. Like most of the U.S., the minimum age to get a tattoo in South Korea is 18, so Young lied and told the tattoo artist she was 20.

By the time she was actually 20, Young was in college studying fashion. Her depression became too much for her to go to class, so she stopped going. Drawing became her escape once again. "I just couldn't lie at home all day," she says, "so I was drawing and drawing." From there, Young realized she wanted to be a tattoo artist someday and decided to seize the moment. "In Korea, if you want to learn how to tattoo, you pay a tattoo artist for lessons," she explains. So Young asked her favorite artists, one at the time, to help her learn.

When the time came to do her first tattoo, Young called upon her ex-boyfriend. "He made a promise when we were dating that he'd be the one to get my first tattoo, and he kept it, even though we broke up." As sweet as this story sounds, Young adds that she heard he covered up the tattoo last year.

Three years later, hundreds of people all around the world are wearing her work loudly and proudly on their bodies. Unlike many Korean tattoo artists gaining popularity Stateside, nothing about Young's art is dainty or realistic. Her tattoos are as bold and unapologetic as Young. Even amongst the artists who work full-time at Gristle, her style stands out. One of them declared she was one of the most colorful people working there. (If beloved hand-poke tattooist Git B hadn't traveled to the U.S. from Seoul with Young to do the same tour, then Young would have hands-down taken the title for herself.) Other than Git B, Young is usually surrounded by other tattooists like her. "At my home studio, they all use color and do illustrations," she says.

Although some of her work, in particular, may seem random, Young insists that "each piece has their own stories and feelings." However, you don't have to know which stories or feelings she's trying to convey. "I want people to see their own experiences from each drawing," she adds. Young's style takes cues from fine art, which she plans to study in Berlin later this year. Her work features the bold lines of Basquiat, the primary colors of Mondrian, and the abstract aesthetic of Picasso — all combined through the lens of a 23-year-old Korean woman. This is an important element to point out, as she believes being a woman in Seoul's tattoo scene is an advantage for her.

With an estimated 70 to 80 percent of her clients being women, "I think being a man is [harder] because when the customer is a woman and they get tattooed here or here," she explains, pointing to her ribcage and chest, "they feel uncomfortable when the tattoo artist is a man. I think being a woman is better."

I definitely felt that energy the second I pulled up my pant leg to show her where I wanted my tattoo to be and remembered I rarely shave my legs. When she didn't flinch or make any snide remarks, I immediately felt more at ease, despite feeling intimidated by how impossibly cool she is.

After she gives my new tattoo one last wipe-down, I stand up and Young takes a picture of the lemon. She tells me to leave my jean jacket on the ground behind me because it looks cool. (She was obviously right.) By the time I get home, her favorite shot is already posted on Instagram and has been liked by hundreds of people. I'm sure it popped up on several people's Explore pages, continuing the cycle.

Read more about tattoos:

• Insta-Famous Tattooer Mars Hobrecker on Why Tattoos Don't Have to Have Meaning

• How Much Does it Really Hurt to Get a Tattoo?

• Here's What I Learned After Getting a Controversial Black Light Tattoo

Learn more about the history of tattoos in America:

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