The Inamuras, a Tattooed Family from Kinshicho, on Full-Body Japanese Tattoos, Unconventional Parenting, and Prejudice Against Tattoos

The eldest son, Souru, is 19 and turns 20 this year. While active in the tattoo enthusiasts' association, he works in railway-related civil engineering, doing scaffolding and construction work.

The father, USK (Yusuke), is 41. He works as a tattoo artist at the studio alongside his wife, but by his own account, his main role is "basically manager." He began studying tattooing three or four years ago, under his wife. They are a married couple and also master and apprentice.

The mother, Hori-ina, is 43, and her real name is Hiromi. She has been a tattoo artist for about 15 years. The name "Hori-ina" comes from Inamura, her husband's surname.

The eldest daughter, Ran, is 18. She is an exclusive model for the magazine egg while also working in interior finishing, hanging wallpaper. She was wearing long nails during the interview and keeps them on at interior job sites too; they occasionally break, but she says she's "used to it by now." Ran also hung the studio's wallpaper. Her mother ordered the materials on Amazon, and Ran finished the job while complaining that "the materials are no good." The studio is now in its fourth year.

Apart from Ran, all three family members are tattooed over their entire bodies.

Souru spends much of the year in a fundoshi loincloth at the association, so he's used to tying one. He sometimes ties them for other people, too. During the interview, he and his father changed into fundoshi to show their full bodies.

Souru said his first tattoo was at 18, but according to his mother, the actual first one was something he did himself at 15 with a thumbtack and ink. He calls it "youthful indiscretion." Quite a few people around him were also tattooing themselves.

The tattoo that means the most to him is his father's surname, "Inamura," in the center of his body. In the world and industry he was part of at the time, "your old man is absolute," so he wanted to wear his father's name.

The overall theme is "hell." His arms are entirely filled with severed heads, and there is also a blood-soaked samurai. On his back is Danshichi Kurobei, a subject of ukiyo-e prints who ends up killing his father-in-law. Souru said the design carries the meaning that he harbors a plan to "someday take my old man's head."

Some designs are playful. Hidden under his armpit is an anime-themed design that his father drew. On his nipples are Anpanman and Baikinman. While he was being tattooed, Souru had been doodling on his nipples with a pen, and Hori-ina simply started tattooing over the doodles. His groin is also tattooed right up to the limit, with an oni sitting atop his penis. When he has an erection, the oni appears to be seated on it, prompting the joke "an oni with an iron club."

The work went quickly. Whenever he had free time, he would ask to be tattooed, and his back was finished in two weeks. Through sheer grit, he once sat for ten hours straight. The most painful areas were the nipples and around the testicles. The full body took a little over a year to complete and was nearly finished while he was still 18. He had been counting down to his birthday. It was all free of charge; his parents joke that he can "pay us back once he makes it, and we'll bill him in one lump sum when we retire." In monetary terms, the work would be worth roughly 3 to 5 million yen.

USK's tattoos are also mainly traditional Japanese, but some designs are somewhat cute. He has an imitation hannya mask, and his tiger is a cute one, "not very ferocious." On his legs are Fudō Myōō, Kintarō with an oni, and an oiran courtesan. The oiran design is shunga depicting a sex scene, and he laughs that it lets him teach the kids, "You're here because we did this."

On his back is a fireman figure who himself is shown wearing a nine-tailed fox tattoo. He also has Chucky and Tiffany, characters from the horror films, because he thought, "They're just like us as a couple." On the back of his head is the family dog. Between his neck and the back of his head, the back of the head hurt more. The hanafuda cards on his neck form the Inoshikachō (boar-deer-butterfly) combination. He intended to stop at one card, but was told "half-done looks shabby" and ended up with the full set. He has no plans to tattoo his face. When USK said, "It's the face my parents gave me, after all," he was immediately shot down with "Too late."

USK's tattoos were made by his wife tattooing whatever she wanted, section by section, and then forcibly connecting them in the end. In effect, he was his wife's practice canvas, treated as if to say, "I'm lending you my body, do whatever you like." On the other hand, the couple says it is their son's body they want to leave behind as a work of art.

USK has a design just above his pubic hair, but nothing on his penis itself. The reason is that he's afraid he'd no longer be able to get an erection. While he thinks there's probably no effect, the penis can only be tattooed when erect, so there are methods such as tying it with a rubber band. However, his wife won't let him practice that. Souru is considering getting one if it can be done.

Many of Hori-ina's own tattoos were done by herself as practice. At 15 or 16 she hand-poked a heart, and after turning 18 she had it covered up with a koi. The oiran on her back was done by someone else early on.

Ran has no tattoos at all. Recently she has been saying she'd "kind of like to get one," but she hesitates because of her modeling work. On top of that, her family has told her, "If you get one, you have to go full-body," and she isn't ready for that level of commitment yet.

When the family used to go to a pool, only one of them could get in. Back when the two children had no tattoos, the parents covered up their whole bodies and took them to Spa Resort Hawaiians. At hot springs, they could use the private family baths, so they say it wasn't particularly difficult.

Both parents are from Yamagata and have been married for 21 years.

USK's father was a chef who worked together with his mother. Neither parent had tattoos, and the household was strict about things like manners. USK went to high school on a soccer scholarship, but in his first year, "instead of the soccer ball, I went for the girls." He prioritized having fun, stopped going to school, fell behind on credits, and dropped out. After that he drifted between jobs at pachinko parlors, restaurants, and elsewhere.

His first tattoo was at 18. Although he had quit soccer, he reconsidered, thinking it "a waste," and got a Virgin Mary to protect his feet. He thought he might be able to play soccer again if the chance arose, but in the end it never happened. He hid his tattoos from his father. His father eventually learned he had them, but died of illness without knowing how extensive they were.

Hori-ina's parents were office workers, a "truly ordinary" family with no connection to tattoos. However, when she was little, her father often watched yakuza films, and seeing them, she thought tattooed people were cool. She says she wanted to someday marry someone like that. She left school partway through. The school reportedly called her in and asked her to "please graduate," but when asked what behavior led to that, she answers, "It's a mystery." Afterward she worked part-time at a convenience store and as a shrine maiden. Older peers around her had tattoos, and she imitated them by tattooing herself at around 15.

The two met when USK was 19 and Hori-ina was 21. Hori-ina decided to become a tattoo artist when she had the heart she had done herself covered up with a koi; she thought it was cool and wanted to be able to tattoo too. She never worked at a studio but learned by hanging out at one and watching.

USK, who was working as a tradesman, heard from an acquaintance that she was looking for a practice canvas and decided to get tattooed by her. Their first consultation was at an izakaya through the acquaintance, where they discussed the schedule and design. The first thing she tattooed was his back.

Here their accounts diverge. Hori-ina says that at the izakaya, USK's eyes "had turned into hearts, like in an anime." USK denies this and counters that his first impression of her was "she seems like she has a nasty personality." On the way home from the consultation they shared a taxi, and things went as far as a kiss. USK insists, "She kissed me," while Hori-ina laughs that her attitude was more "Oh well, guess I'll give him one." From there, they grew closer every time they met, and before they knew it they were dating.

Listening to this alongside them, the children took it as "If that hadn't happened, we wouldn't exist." Souru even said, "I'm jealous."

They married the year after they met. When USK had gotten a single small tattoo, his parents had told him, "Either remove it or get your whole body done." Having chosen full-body, he says he needed to get it finished quickly. Neither family opposed the marriage itself.

At the time of their marriage, Hori-ina was still at the practice stage, and USK continued working as a tradesman. For a long time, Hori-ina charged almost nothing. She wasn't satisfied with her own work and felt she couldn't charge for it. The couple recalls that while the children were small and needed a lot of attention, she couldn't focus, and she was only able to get going in earnest once the children had grown up to some extent.

Souru was born when USK was 21, about a year after the wedding. In elementary school, having heard tattoos hurt, he didn't want any. After starting junior high, watching yankee delinquent films and seeing how his parents worked, he came to think tattoos were cool. He tried hand-poking in junior high and wanted to get a real one.

Ran, by contrast, thought everyone had tattoos. Her mother's younger brothers also had tattoos, and she grew up thinking it was normal.

Friends often told them things like "Your parents look tough" or "They're scary." Even so, in elementary school, friends ran around playing tag with the parents. According to Souru, in elementary school kids saw them more as "grown-ups who play with you," and in junior high, as kids got wiser, he sensed that people might be afraid of them. He didn't think anything of his parents being feared, since that was normal to him. His parents covered up to some extent for things like class observation days, but he says he looked at his flashily dressed, conspicuous parents with admiration, if anything.

Both Souru and Ran attended only one year of junior high.

Souru was isolated in a separate room because of his slicked-up hairstyle. When the school contacted his parents and they went in, they were told he couldn't be allowed in the classroom with that hairstyle. There was actually nothing in the school rules about it, and they couldn't understand the point of the school's response. If he was going to be treated unfairly at every turn, wasn't it fine for him to choose not to go? Thinking this, USK agreed with that choice. But since he couldn't just do nothing, USK had him attend the martial arts gym USK himself went to, and for a while Souru aimed to become a fighter. His mother also saw no problem with him not going to school.

At the start of her first year of junior high, Ran went to school with black hair, intending to attend seriously. But around summer vacation, she read egg, wanted to become a model, and dyed her hair. Then she was no longer allowed into school. She decided that if she couldn't do what she wanted, there was no need to go.

USK explains his parenting philosophy like this: Do what you want to do. But don't do anything halfway. If you're going to do something, climb all the way to the top and keep at it until you're satisfied. If you're not going to high school, you can't just slack off, so he made them decide for themselves whether to work or what else to do. Both of them left junior high and are working properly, so as parents they have nothing to complain about. He has always told them never to have regrets, and if they don't regret it, it wasn't a mistake, USK believes. The two answered, "None at all" and "No regrets."

Souru no longer does martial arts. His work is mainly night shifts and he sleeps during the day, so going to the gym would leave him no time to sleep. His previous company was tolerant of tattoos, but his current company deals with railway passengers, and he's been told not to have any in visible places. So he keeps his tattoos to areas that clothes can cover, up to his neck. In the future, he wants to become a foreman or start his own company.

Ran admired gyaru because her mother was a former gyaru. Hearing that her mother used to read egg, she picked it up herself and thought, "Gyaru are cute." In second grade, her father and mother pierced both her ears at once, using a thumbtack with an eraser held behind. She had been dyeing her hair since first grade. No other kids around her did that, but eventually some started copying her, and the school couldn't get things under control. USK described Ran as having "led the way" for those around her.

She became an egg model toward the end of age 12. She started going to auditions after she stopped going to school and passed on about her third try.

She started interior finishing work at 15, after finishing junior high. She had a "self-centered preconception" that the trades world wasn't strict about appearance and that hair color and piercings were fine. When she asked her father, he told her there were many women in interior work. It's physical labor, but she says she's strong, so it's no problem. She doesn't play sports; she just runs a lot.

Her take-home pay is around 400,000 yen a month, varying from month to month. In addition to modeling and interior work, she also works part-time at a monjayaki restaurant. She is on job sites six days a week, and sometimes goes to the monja restaurant on her days off or after interior work. Her goal is to become someone whose name comes up no matter who you ask about gyaru models.

The family moved from Yamagata to Tokyo around when the children started elementary school. When they wanted to get serious about tattooing, they judged that the city was better than the countryside. Being told "come on over" by an older acquaintance who had looked after them also pushed them.

They didn't set up a studio right after moving to Tokyo. At first they tattooed on house calls to clients' homes or in rented rooms. USK was an office worker then, at a company in Shinjuku that ran manga cafés and similar businesses. There were hardships, but nothing worth making a fuss about, they say.

Given the nature of the tattoo business, renting a property isn't easy. Their current property came from a real estate agent they knew who said, "Feel free to use it," and it is their first brick-and-mortar shop. The family already lived in Kinshicho, so the neighbors knew they were tattooed and that they made a living from tattooing. The landlord also said, "If you're putting up a sign, put up as many as you like." Being somewhere they could run the business without holding back was the deciding factor.

Now in its fourth year, the business is doing well. USK says that in addition to having clients from their house-call days, it made a big difference that Souru joined the Ishijima-kai, part of the tattoo enthusiasts' association, and got to know the association's chairman and others. Since the whole family looks like this, they get introduced when they go to gatherings. On top of customers coming through those connections, the location near Skytree and Asakusa brings many overseas customers who find them online, as well as customers who like Hori-ina's style.

USK began studying tattooing in earnest when they opened this shop. He had always liked tattoos and practiced by imitation on practice pads and listened to people talk about it, but had no intention of doing it himself. Figuring that if they ran the shop together, more artists would be better, he became an apprentice. However, from the customer's perspective, it's far better to be tattooed by the more experienced, more skilled artist. So he is training in a strict master–apprentice relationship.

Even when USK says he wants to take clients, Hori-ina won't allow it, saying he's "still not good enough." Hori-ina acknowledges, "I think he's totally fine, actually," but says she still has some concerns and that he lacks the final finishing touch. The reasons, she says, are that he "gets cocky" and "moves his mouth more than his hands."

According to USK, Hori-ina herself has a long career but is never satisfied with her own work, so she still says she's "still in training." Lately she has been doing a lot of design work.

The couple's styles are completely different. USK likes designs that aren't traditional Japanese, and when customers who like anime come in or someone orders a Hello Kitty maneki-neko, he ends up whistling happily while drawing. The anime design under his son's armpit is one of USK's designs of that kind.

Souru says it doesn't matter to him whether a partner has tattoos or not. He has dated many times.

Ran, on the other hand, has never had a boyfriend. Ran says that because USK has declared, "If you want to date her, you have to spar with me, and you have to win," everyone probably gets scared off. USK stated this rule in all seriousness. A guy who would run away if they got harassed by thugs on a date won't do; as her father, he can't entrust his daughter to anyone who wouldn't shield her with his own body. Ran replied that it's "a bit much," and smiled wryly that only someone who does martial arts could manage it. She has never yet brought a potential boyfriend home.

Asked whether they feel prejudice against tattoos, the family pointed to comments on social media. They feel that old-fashioned Japan, unlike other countries, still has nothing but prejudice. When they traveled to Cebu and showed their tattoos, foreigners fawned over them and asked to take photos, but it doesn't go that way in Japan.

The family says they want to change the prejudice rather than accept it. USK sees the number of tattooed people as having grown compared with the past, and awareness as having increased. But when someone arrested on the news has tattoos, that alone links tattoos with crime. Because tattoos used to carry an image of criminality, he says it can't be helped that people find them scary at first glance, but he wants those very people to go see the association or a tattoo event at least once. If they actually see middle-aged men frolicking at the beach, their image will truly change, he says. In America, police officers have tattoos, and so do people in positions that would be unthinkable in Japan. Yet that doesn't mean people in that country assume tattooed people commit crimes. USK argues that Japan could take a more relaxed view too. Tattoos are ultimately fashion, something people get on their own responsibility, and they aren't bothering anyone. He wants people to know that even if they look like this, if you talk to them, you'll see what kind of people they are. It can't be helped that appearance comes first, but he wants people to know them on a deeper level, USK said.

A while ago, a remark to the effect that 99% of people with tattoos are idiots became a topic of discussion on social media. The video title attributes this remark to Shigechi.

USK says he took it not in terms of who said what or whether it was right or wrong, but as "a clever move." Since many people oppose tattoos, saying that would win over far more people. He thought it was a strategy to get views. As someone in the same business, he also agreed with parts of it, and he praised the person for being the first to come out and say it.

Asked about the idea that tattoo clientele have poor manners, USK acknowledged that some people, mainly young ones, are like that. However, he doesn't like that kind of attitude himself, and if a customer leaves without saying a word, he starts lecturing them. He believes introducing yourself and greeting people is a given. Saying they're fortunate in their clientele "because our place is scary," he added that clientele ultimately depends on the person and the shop, and the person who made the remark was probably just describing the people who come to their own shop based on their own impressions. When he said the "99% idiots" ratio doesn't apply to their customers, who are, if anything, all good and smart people, the kids chimed in teasingly, "There was 1%," drawing laughter.

Asked about their goals as a studio, the family said they want to increase the number of their works, including with new customers. They'd like more pieces that people at association gatherings recognize as "a piece from Hori-ina's place." They don't have goals like building their own building; their vibe is that everyone should do what they want and have fun. They describe themselves as a family with a strong friend-like bond.

Both children are financially independent, but the four still live together. Souru has no desire to move out or live on his own. It's still a ways off, but he wants to build his own house and live there with his parents. Even if he marries and has a partner, as the eldest son he wants to take care of his parents to the very end. He says he only started feeling this way recently, after he began working, because he has come to truly appreciate his parents.

Ran doesn't want to move out either. That might change if she gets a boyfriend, though. What Ran wants is a boyfriend who can get along with her parents. USK responded, "He can get along with me after he beats me," and with that, the interview came to an end.