The Super Mario Effect Under Your Skin

Why do we feel compelled to engrave things on our bodies forever? Is it purely a matter of aesthetics? Might it be a tribute to the best and brightest guiding lights in our lives? Or are we still, subconsciously, reverting to rituals and rites far more ancient and deeply ingrained than the conscious mind can fathom?

Before they were a favorite of jailbirds and sea-dwellers, tattoos were signalers of tribal belonging and potent vehicles for healing. I wrote some years ago on the fascinating relationship between tattooing and injuries, often deadly, discovered on mummified bodies.

By tracing carefully the remnants of the past, we've been able to ascertain the vital connection between tattoos - simple, often no more than a dot or a line - and dangerous wounds. Far more than being a method of self-adornment, tattoos served as invocations of healing powers far beyond our realm. For some, often the last resort of their grievously wounded kinsmen.

Thousands of years later, we haven't changed much. While there is much debate nowadays among ink afficionados over what is worth tattooing, the general symbolism of the act remains the same (transformed and carried through the window of time).

Tattoos continue to be a vital form of healing for many.

More than a temporary patch, tattoos often mark one's only option to fight back against a world that's left him feeling alienated, or a situation that's vastly surpassed his resilience. This is why we ink the names of those we've lost. Because, for one, as long as we carry them with us, they can't fully be gone. But also, because some losses threaten to shatter us so utterly and completely, we'll latch onto anything that gives us a sense of not being powerless before a terrible, overwhelming fate.

It's certainly not nothing.

True to the tradition popularized by mariners and prisoners, tattoos continue to also be a signifier of alienation, a bizarre form of belonging to a group while also embracing a profound sense of otherness. To me, that is the great beauty of attending tattoo conventions - while the people there are wildly different, there is this overarching idea of togetherness, of being other, each of us in our own way, but together. It's saying,

Welcome. You are among souls who know what it is to ink one's befuddlement at the great miracle of life, and wear it on one's own skin.

Of course, over time, our understanding of tattoos has shifted and morphed to incorporate an increasing number of symbols. Though much to the chagrin of tattoo purists, the core of what we ink has not changed.

Across the years, people have sought to engrave the things that define the core of their being. The change in subjects and themes, rather than signaling some kind of perversion of the "original" tattooing themes, signifies (in my opinion) something far broader and more resonant: a shift in our very understanding of Self.

For much of the 20th century, popular tattoos included identity signaling - sailor motifs, gang symbols, and even, for a while, social security numbers. These, of course, interplayed with far more ancient symbolism - animals, tribal and religious patterns have never gone out of style because of the strong ties with one's psyche.

But in time, the way we define our identity changed. If, during much of the previous centuries, tattoos suggested "I don't belong", now they far more strongly shout "I don't care to belong".

Or, more accurately, I will belong on my own terms.

They are, for many, efforts to take on as mantles the heroes, values, and things most closely tied to our souls. While visiting the tattoo convention in Bucharest this weekend, I was struck by how many booths offered tattoos of the Mario Bros. characters, the Winnie the Pooh gang and other cartoon icons of previous generations. At first, I thought, why? What does this mean?

And sure, to some, it may seem silly to go around with an arm full of cartoon characters. Might be taken to signify that the person is childish, immature, too un-serious, or just inking for ink's sake. But what if we stop and consider what these characters meant for us as children?

The strength and resilience, the power to stand up in the face of dragons - one of man's most ancestral and primal terrors - and despite the odds being stacked against you, win. A theory known as "the Super Mario Effect" suggests that people tend to become more engaged and more open to tackling difficult or adverse conditions if they are presented in a gamified and playful manner. Could it be, then, that the presence of these increasingly playful motifs in body art is also a sign of humanity's increasing need for strength and temerity in the face of adverse situations?

I've heard people argue that this is just another mark of an increasingly infantilized society. And to an extent, that's true. Ours are the first generations who have made "adulting" optional. But though our symbols differ from our ancestors', the need to belong and to reassure ourselves that monsters can be beaten is as strong as ever. And perhaps stronger.

While the prominence of tattoos in the modern world can be simply interpreted as a ricochet effect - something that was taboo and banned for much of the past is now mainstream and commonly accepted - it might also signal something far more interesting. Man's search for meaning.

Regardless your opinion on it, we are living through an unparalleled situation via the slow death of organized religion. If the church occupied a central role in the lives of our grandparents, for us, in 2025, it's much less so. Now, even people who identify as "religious" seldom attend church or (more importantly) are part of those pivotal rituals of community. If there is a God, His or Her existence for us is gravely challenged by the terrible news we are faced with on a constant, incessant basis.

In 2025, we are more exposed than ever before (via the Internet) to atrocity. In parallel, we are experiencing what could be fairly termed a "crisis of faith".

And what's the link with tattooing? Well, it's certainly interesting to me that, against this backdrop, we are encountering more and more people covered in symbols (be they Mickey Mouse or the Cross) invoking strength, courage, resilience, power, and belonging, in other words calling on the safety and the will to power of the tribe.

Even a cursory assessment of our welfare shows - through everything from entertainment and social media to mental health studies - that we are increasingly more anxious, unsure, confused, worried, and yes, unfortunately isolated from one another, to a level perhaps unparalleled in our shared past.

Is it then strictly coincidence that more and more of us are covering ourselves in symbols with healing, identifying, and to an extent unifying powers?