Korea Dispatch

Yakuza tattoo

He strutted around like he owned the place. With this bow-legged bounce that would have been comical if it weren’t so damned authentic, like Toshiro Mifune in all those samurai flicks from the 60s. Short, squat and covered in ink, he sat down across from me and started to slap his chest and face, letting out these loud grunts as he began a series of squats in the overheated sauna. We must have made quite a sight, two tattooed foreigners from opposite ends of the globe sweating it out in Seoul.

Tattoos straddle the line between public statement and private sentiment, speaking as much to society as to the wearer. No place brings this out more than in the bathhouse, where one is both extremely public and intensely private. As he continued his routine, I tried to balance the urge to ogle the artwork that adorned his body — so clearly marking him as a member of Japan’s notorious underworld — while trying to look indifferent. Besides not wanting to intrude on the guy’s privacy, I just didn’t think it was safe to pay too close attention to a gangster. No one else there seemed to have that problem.

As far as I understand, members of the Yakuza are not allowed into bathhouses in Japan, so I imagine it must be nice for them to come to Korea, where they can at least enjoy a few hours of sweat-soaked relaxation. But while tattoos are slowly gaining acceptance here, for many they still carry the stigma of criminality. As he stepped out from the sauna and into the main bathing room all heads turned, following him as he made his way to the cold tub to submerge himself with a loud sigh that echoed through the room. Then they turned to me, and for the next hour their eyes went back and forth from Mr. Mafia to freaky foreigner. As if there were a connection.