A story about ink, identity, and the slow, painful process of learning to listen.
At 24, I feel like a completely different person than I used to be. And I mean that in the best way possible…. mostly.
The way I dress, the way I carry myself, what I care about. All of it has shifted. I used to walk into a room focused on the wrong things entirely. Now I walk in thinking about presence, polish, and whether I’m the most prepared person there. Growth, right? That’s what we’re calling it.
But here’s the thing about growing into yourself. Sometimes you’re dragging along choices your younger self made that your current self would absolutely not approve of. And for me, that comes in the form of a very large, very colorful, very permanent tattoo.
I got it young. I thought I loved it. At the time, it made complete sense, the way most things do when you’re young and certain you have everything figured out. I did not have everything figured out. Surprise!
Turns out, the most consistent reminder of that fact isn’t a memory or a feeling. It’s every morning I wake up and start getting dressed.
The Closet Problem
Picture this:
I have found the most beautiful outfit. Feminine, polished, put together. Exactly the look I’ve been going for. I put it on. I look in the mirror. And there it is.
My tattoo.
Big. Bold. Colorful. Clashing with everything I just put on. The outfit is lovely. The tattoo is… a statement. Together, they are not telling the same story.
I’ve basically stopped wearing patterns altogether because of this. Do you know how difficult it is to avoid patterns in fashion right now? Very. And don’t even get me started on the cottage core era. All those flowy, floral, feminine dresses EVERYWHERE. Don’t get me wrong, they are stunning on everyone else. On me? I looked like a Renaissance fair had a disagreement with a tattoo parlor. I say that with complete awareness knowing that I brought this on myself.
I have spent more time than I would like to admit rearranging my wardrobe around one decision I made years ago. Anytime I want to wear something sleeveless, I’m covering up. Anytime I find something I genuinely love, I’m doing the mental math of whether it works with what’s on my arm. It is exhausting in the most avoidable way.
Femininity Is Something I’ve Had to Work For
I have invested real effort into embracing the woman I’m becoming. The way I present myself matters to me deeply, not for anyone else’s approval, but because I want to feel like myself when I walk into a room. I want to feel polished. I want to feel feminine. I want to feel like the version of me I’ve been working toward.
And most days, I get there. But there are still moments where I put something on that I love, something that feels exactly right, and then I catch a glimpse of my arm and something deflates a little. Not because the tattoo is offensive or wrong, but because it simply isn’t who I am anymore. It belongs to a chapter of my life I’ve long since closed.
I also know that when I walk into a room, people notice it immediately. It’s striking. Nobody can quite figure out what it is just by looking at it, which means I field the same questions constantly. What is it? What does it mean? Why would you ever cover that up? I smile and I answer. Every time. Because what else do you do? But after the hundredth time, you start to feel less like a person and more like a walking art exhibit that didn’t consent to being on display.
Now Add Luxury Real Estate to the Mix
I sell luxury real estate in St. Louis. That context matters here, because the stakes of first impressions in this business are not small.
My clients are accomplished people making significant financial decisions. They are trusting me, my knowledge, my judgment, my professionalism, with one of the largest transactions of their lives. Before I say a single word, they are already forming an opinion. That is not paranoia. That is just the reality of this industry, and I’d rather be honest about it than pretend otherwise.
I have walked into showings and felt the shift in the room. I have seen the glance at my arm and watched someone’s expression change before I’d even introduced myself. I have lost clients because of it. I won’t dramatize that or pretend it doesn’t sting because it does. But I also refuse to let it define me or the quality of work I bring to every single transaction.
What I’ve learned is that reading the room is not a weakness. It’s a skill. Some clients don’t give my tattoo a second glance. Others do. And when I sense that it matters to someone, I dress accordingly. I cover it, I walk in prepared, and I do my job. I am very good at that job. That is not compromise. That is professionalism.
The agents who thrive in this market are not the ones who look a certain way. They are the ones who are prepared, consistent, and genuinely invested in their clients. I show up with all of that every time, sleeves long or short. The tattoo doesn’t change my market knowledge. It doesn’t change my negotiation skills. It doesn’t change the results I get for the people who trust me.
But I would be doing a disservice to other women in this industry if I didn’t acknowledge that navigating appearance in a field like luxury real estate is genuinely complicated. There are unwritten expectations. There is pressure to present yourself in a way that puts clients at ease before you’ve even opened your mouth. And when something about your appearance creates friction you didn’t ask for and don’t love, you feel it. Every time.
And Then There’s My Mom
She told me not to get it. I want to be very clear about that. She looked at me with that calm, knowing expression that mothers have perfected over centuries and told me I would regret it.
I did not listen. Because I was young and hardheaded and absolutely certain I knew better than everyone around me.
I did not know better.
Here’s the thing about my mom. She is always right. Not occasionally. Not usually. Always. And I have spent the better part of my life being too stubborn to admit it in the moment, only to arrive at the conclusion she already had weeks, months, or years earlier. If I had simply listened to her more, I am fairly confident I could have avoided a significant number of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn the long way around. But that is a blog post for another day because there is truly too much material.
For now I will just say: Mom, you were right. Again. As always. I hope you enjoy this very public acknowledgment. I know you will.
Where I Am Now
After facing numerous years of frustration, I am finally in the process of getting it removed. That is my decision I made for myself, and I feel good about it. Not because a client looked at me sideways, not because someone told me I should. I’m doing it because the woman I am today deserves to get dressed in the morning without doing mental gymnastics about her own arm.
I want to wear what I want. I want to feel like myself completely. Not mostly, not almost. Completely. And I am getting there.
In the meantime, I will keep showing up to every single appointment prepared, knowledgeable, and completely committed to my clients because that is what actually matters in this business. The tattoo is temporary. The reputation I am building is not.
And one day soon, I am going to put on a sleeveless dress and not think twice about it. That is the goal. That has always been the goal.