It’s midnight in mid-September, the night before what turns out to be the hottest day of the year, and a small group of valley girls has gathered outside West Hollywood’s Shamrock Tattoo parlour. The air is licking an unseasonable 30C and the girls are scrambling to get a glimpse of the celebrity inside.
Justin Theroux and two of One Direction are reportedly floating around the area tonight, but these girls are not here for them. They’re here to get a glimpse of a man called Dr Woo, who is currently inside, tidying away his needles. Dr Woo is, in fact, a 33-year-old tattooist called Brian whose hyper-real, fine-line, one-needle tattoos have turned him into the most in-demand tattooist in the world (or at least the fashion world). His style is instantly recognisable, and in the last year or so, he’s inked singers Drake and Ellie Goulding, and models Zoë Kravitz and Erin Wasson. They come to him without fanfare and, just like everyone else, they have to book – which presumably is why they go to him and why everyone else wants to, too.
Woo is booked up until spring 2015. “It’s demand and supply, really,” he explains. “People want one because they can’t have one.” But after some negotiation via email, he’s agreed to let me into his studio, and even to get my own tattoo. Even then, the only appointment was late on a Saturday night.
The girls outside, all stick-legs and hot pants, have come to Shamrock (tucked in between the Viper Room and Soho House on Sunset Boulevard) to beg Woo for an appointment. “I’d, like, die if he did me,” screams one. Another waves her Vogue cigarette over her wrist, showing where she’d get hers. Of what, she doesn’t know – with Woo, it’s a case of wanting one before deciding what you get. Then the door opens and in she runs, screaming his name. Woo, meanwhile, is inside finishing an $8 juice and waiting for a safe moment to leave.
Shamrock houses nine tattoo artists, including Mark Mahoney, a 57-year-old Catholic-Irish tattooist who has inked Sid Vicious, Johnny Depp and Tupac, and is Woo’s mentor. David Beckham, Jared Leto, Harry Styles, Adele and Brad Pitt are all Shamrock clients. The day after the Oscars (which take place near the studio), Cate Blanchett and Amy Adams were seen here, Blanchett leaving with a black bandage on her wrist.
Bent over his bench, the inkmaster of the moment looks hip as hell, in Saint Laurent, Red Wing boots and his Gunner Foxx hat, and he’s covered in tattoos, of course. He’s gentle, funny and, at moments, shy. Tattoos have gone through many cycles of popularity, but in the last 12 months Woo’s fame has gone up and up, thanks, in part, to the current trend for fashion tattoos. This boon is inextricably linked to social media, in particular to models such as Cara Delevingne, Jourdan Dunn and Woo’s client Erin Wasson, who spurn the notion that they should be blank canvases, choosing instead to tattoo (and then post pictures of those tattoos on Instagram) whenever possible. Equally, reality TV shows such as LA Ink, set in a tattoo studio called High Voltage Tattoo, have turned tattooists such as Kat Von D and Dr Woo’s New York-based “rival” Bang Bang into celebrities, the latter allowing celebrity clients such as Rihanna and Justin Bieber to tattoo him in return. Woo hasn’t done high-profile TV, yet: “I’m waiting for the right offer,” he says, “but the offers come.”
It used to be that a tattoo was a commitment to nonconforming, a guarantee that you couldn’t ever get a “straight” job: “We called those job-stoppers,” Woo says. “But nowadays, if you don’t have a tattoo, people think you’re square.”
I’m here to get my second tattoo. I got my first – a 15cm orchid – on my back just a month ago, at the age of 31. I went to a Brazilian artist called Francisco in London’s the Family Business, because he’s an expert with colours. I’d been thinking about it for a while. I knew I wanted to have it somewhere that wasn’t on show all the time. The orchid was allegorical, and the story goes: when my grandmother, of Assamese descent, was living in Shillong in the 1940s, my grandfather climbed a tree to pick an orchid, which he presented to her in a shoebox. As romantic gestures went, it was a good one, and they married soon after. She died when I was 14 and my stepfather died just before I started university. Both were big losses. Traditionally, the Assamese idea is to tattoo the initials of loved ones when they die, and I have theirs tattooed underneath. I wasn’t sure what my mum would make of it, but she said it was a “nice enough sentiment” for her not to hit the roof.
A week before we meet, I email Woo to tell him I would like a piranha on my ribcage. I have been obsessed with them since I can remember, and at 19 went to the Amazon to see them. To me, they’re beautiful and otherworldly, like demonic robins, and pretty tasty, too. We look at some anatomical sketches online, discuss the mouth, then, when we meet, he sketches it by hand on tracing paper and stencils it on to my side using his trademark delicate, monochromatic style.
If you want a tattoo, probably don’t do what I did and watch a TED video beforehand, which explains that a tattoo is basically a lifelong infection between skin and dye. It also bleeds. Still, if pain’s a concern of yours, honestly: it’s just like a controlled wasp sting – manageable. I’m kind of into it. I fell asleep during my first (which took two hours). And once I had one, I wanted another. Lying there on a bench, experiencing a mix of raw pain and emotional vulnerability, you honestly want your entire body covered.
Woo understands: “I got my first, a dragon on my leg, when I was a teenager and had no intention of getting more.” He reckons he now has 52, but it’s impossible to tell because they merge, like vines, over his body, creating a blend of flowers, birds and faces, his favourite being a portrait on his forearm of his grandfather, done by Mahoney.
Shamrock Tattoo parlour itself is a small, rockabilly mood board – pool table, distressed sofas, shamrock bunting and a small library. Woo’s working area is a modest 4ft x 2ft. He does between five and 11 tattoos a day, each one taking upwards of an hour. They cost anything from $200 to thousands (mine is $250). Woo’s USP is his ability to replicate in fine detail from books or digital images. He doesn’t use colour, and he uses only one needle, creating a super-fine line (most tattoos use eight needles, all at once). He’s done everything from hand shadows to wasps, carousels and typewriters. “My style is recognisable, so I torture myself that each one has to be perfect. Whenever I do one, I go, ‘Is that OK?’ I always want to know what people really think,” he says.
A classically trained violinist, Woo worked as a fashion buyer, then a fashion designer, but struggled to make money. He grew up in Agoura Hills, north of Malibu, an area famous for producing pro skateboarders. Woo used to skate and credits it with sparking his interest in subculture. All the kids got into tattoos, and after moving to LA, Woo gave up fashion and started hanging out at Shamrock, befriending Mahoney and becoming his apprentice for two years. To many, Mahoney is the real star, but he was of a different time, or a time before social media.
Dr Woo has almost a quarter of a million followers on Instagram, where he posts a picture of every tattoo. Later, we head to Soho House for a drink, where he is stopped by high-powered music types, who know that he is a person to say hi to. “There are times when I get swept up in it,” he admits. “I want to be famous for my work, regardless of who I tattoo. But I understand it’s a positive thing as well. To me, the challenge is to stay relevant. The buzz has been going for only a year. Of course I’m scared it will end.” So how does he keep it going? “Social media.”
Indeed. Scroll through his Instagram and you can try to match the newly done tattoo with the celebrity (Drake, Goulding, Kravitz). Woo won’t divulge much – “The minute I do, they’ll stop coming” – but, when pressed, admits, “Ellie is a lovely girl, very open, fine with pain… and if Drake comes in, he just comes in.”
This approach isn’t very LA, “a land where hype can pay your rent”, mock-sings Woo. He’s referring to the slew of tattooists who have become household names in the US by naming all their celebrity clients.
Given his stature, his prices aren’t outlandish. I watch Woo do a flower on a Mexican tourist’s back as her boyfriend films. It costs $400. She gives Woo a $50 tip and a charm bracelet, and hugs him for slightly too long. Woo behaves as if it’s the first time he’s been given a gift, but his work station tells another story: there are expensive bottles of Hennessy, Polaroids, sketches and thank you notes.
Woo earns Shamrock several thousand dollars a day, and isn’t shy about this, but he leads a pretty normal life, spending the mornings before work with his wife and their three-year-old and three-week-old sons, in an apartment in Beverly Hills.
While he tattoos me, he talks quickly and openly about his family, skateboarding injuries and food. He becomes shy when I laugh at his jokes. He’d rather discuss Tyler, The Creator’s album and which hills are best to hike than, say, what Drake’s neck looks like up close.
Woozy from endorphins and wine, I unpeel some of the protective clingfilm to inspect my piranha later that night. It’s tender, but nothing short of exquisite: the shading, the mouth, the quasi-3D effect of the white ink is so fine, it’s almost imperceptible without my glasses. The next day, I head out for a walk and am stopped by a Woo fan who is so keen to photograph it, she exposes my side boob to onlookers. Later, I check Instagram: Dr Woo’s posting of a picture of my tattoo, captioned “lil piranha dude”, has almost 6,500 likes.
Who’s who in tattoos
The regrettable one When X Factor judge and nation’s sweetheart Cheryl Fernandez-Versini spent eight hours getting giant roses on her bum, to cover up other tattoos, the tabloids went to town with some entry-level Jungian analysis.
The model one Giving new meaning to the phrase “body of work”, model Cara Delevingne now has more than 10 bits of ink, including a lion on her right index finger, her initials on her hand and “Made in England” on one foot.
The awkward one Last autumn, David Dimbleby, 75, got a scorpion on his back, calling it a “dream come true”. That it was anatomically inaccurate (it’s missing two legs) wasn’t terribly comforting to fans of his fact-based journalism.
The confused one Not content with appropriating Maori culture by getting a traditional tattoo inked on her hand, last year Rihanna flew tattooists Keith McCurdy (aka Bang Bang) and Cally Jo 1,500 miles in order to further “pretty” her Maori design with a more western one.
The addicted one Staggering, really, to think that experts are able to DNA source Jack the Ripper, yet are unable to count how many tattoos Lil Wayne has. The rapper is known for his 100-odd tattoos, including teardrops on his face, although he did have one removed at his mother’s request.
The pop star one One Direction’s Harry Styles has more than 40 tattoos, including a butterfly and two swallows on his chest, which act as reminders that he earns enough money to fund a hefty tattoo habit – and also that he is no longer 16 years old.
The sporty one David Beckham has about 35 tattoos, 15 of which are dedicated to his wife, Victoria – which seems fair enough: she gave him tattoo vouchers for his birthday this year.
