Why China's youth is getting the needle

Loss of identity

Urbanization continues at a scorching pace in China. According to figures from the National Bureau of Statistics, by the end of last year, 54.77 percent of the population was living in urban areas. That's a huge jump from the 26 percent recorded in 1990, when 253 million people left their hometowns and moved to big cities such as Beijing and Shanghai in search of opportunities.

But as the urban population and prosperity have risen in tandem, people have been forced to contend with a range of problems, including traffic congestion, skyrocketing home prices and choking air. For many younger people, those factors are compounded by feelings of alienation and loss of identity, emotions that have seen the popularity of what was once a rebel subculture soar.

Opposition to tattoos has been deeply ingrained in the Chinese psyche for millennia. In ancient China, tattooing was considered a barbaric practice, and it also was common for convicted criminals to be branded on the face with a character such as Qiu, or "prisoner".

In the classic novel The Outlaws of the Marshes, also known as The Water Margin, several of the main characters are described as having tattoos that cover their entire bodies. Although there have been positive stories about tattoos - including that of Yue Fei, a general during the Song Dynasty (960-1279), who had one that read "Repay the County with Pure Loyalty" - mainstream society still views them as a sign of a rebellious nature.

Financial tiger

Liu Hongliang got his first tattoo in 2007 when he was working at a securities house in Beijing. In common with many others in the financial industry, he always wore a starched white shirt, had well-polished shoes, and used gel on his delicately styled hair. He said the market was booming before the 2008 global financial crisis, and, as a recent financial studies graduate, the monthly salary of 20,000 was very attractive.

"But I wasn't happy," the 29-year-old said. "As a tiny cog in a big firm, my life was depressing."

His employer imposed a strict dress code, and although Liu had excellent eyesight, he was forced to wear a pair of fake eyeglasses to "look more professional and likeable" and attract a larger number of clients.

At work, Liu frequently discussed business with bankers over dinner in high-end restaurants, but his personal life wasn't quite so luxurious. "I worked with rich people all the time, but I wasn't rich. I rode the bus to those restaurants," he said. "You have no idea how hard it was to prevent my starched shirt from getting creased in a crammed bus."

He also felt trapped in his cubicle, next to hundreds of other cubicles that housed hundreds of colleagues, all dressed in white shirts, black shoes and, sometimes, fake eyeglasses.

Eventually, Liu had a tattoo of a tiger, his animal birthsign according to the Chinese zodiac, on his right shoulder a short while after his 22nd birthday. He was careful to ensure that the tattoo was a few centimeters higher than the bottom of his T-shirt sleeve so it wouldn't be visible, even during summer.

"My tattoo is the only thing that will go into the coffin with me, not my money, not my house," he said. "It represents the real me."

The tattoo took four, painful hours, and Liu proudly returned to his work cubicle with his tiger. He said the environment hadn't changed, but he knew he had because the tattoo made him feel like a winner.

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