Thank you — though if I’m being honest, the thought of making YouTube videos for myself fills me with the kind of dread normally reserved for customs interrogations and Lightroom crashes. Too much editing. Too much smiling. Too many thumbnails that feel like they’re screaming. I’d rather whisper weird stories into the void and trust the ocean (or the inbox) to carry them somewhere. But I do appreciate the thought.
Totally get where you’re coming from — but for me, it’s not that YouTube is hard exactly. It’s that I already spend eight hours a day editing footage for other people, and the idea of spending my one free hour colour grading my own voice while whispering “smash that like button” makes me want to throw my laptop into the sea and live off moss.
Maybe one day. But not while I’m still seeing LUTs in my dreams.
One day I’ll post photos. They exist — salt-warped, time-scratched, and far too shirtless for polite company. Not really made for Substack. They’re not content. They’re myth. Memory. A body of half-finished stories and sand-gritted mistakes that I haven’t figured out how to tell yet. Some already slipped out — ended up on Instagram, caught mid-dive or mid-laugh, blurrier than I remember. Half accidental, half offering. One day they’ll land here properly. When I’m ready. When the scars feel more like punctuation and less like open clauses.
The shoulder one, It’s got a scar ripped right through the ink. Came off a bike — post-ink, mid-stupidity, slightly drunk. Tore the story in half. So I had to go back. Re-stitch the myth. Needle through memory. Pain layered over pain like a dare. It’s still there. Rougher now. Less art, more survival. Better, maybe.
And your scars — the real ones, wherever they came from. They sound like they’re waiting. Not to be hidden. Not to be erased. But claimed. Turned into something new. Some people build tattoos. Some people build altars. Same instinct: honour the wound, keep going.
So I raise a bottle to you. And the scars. And the stories. Ink or no ink, you’ve already earned the right to wear your history like armour.
Just don’t let the polite ones tell you what’s beautiful.
Ah, you’ve made the classic mistake of thinking Substack is polite company 😏 Very tempted to go instagram stalking but I suppose I’ll respect your wishes especially considering my account here is anonymous haha
And damn. A scar through ink with a badass story to go along with it? Glad there wasn’t a more dire result but I must say, you are just getting cooler and cooler with each new thing I read.
Truly appreciate your words though. A friend offered to photoshop a scar out of my photo once and I think this is helping me finally understand my feelings about that..
Hold on — you’re telling me Substack isn’t what I thought it was? Not a haven of dry socks and well-adjusted photographers? Shocking. I may still pretend it is, though — if only for the drama of the reveal.
And look, I won’t stop you from sleuthing. I’ve left enough photographic breadcrumbs across the internet that a determined crab could piece together my face, tattoos, and probably my preferred sandwich. But I appreciate the restraint — anonymity deserves its own altar too. Especially when all I’ve got to go on is a username and the ‘source of happiness’. It’s cryptic. It’s poetic. It’s dangerously my type. Frankly, it’s more promising than most dating apps, and that’s saying something considering no one on Substack has ever tried to sell me protein powder.
Photoshopping a scar feels like rewriting history in the wrong direction. Not making it better — just making it disappear. And you? You’ve earned your marks. All of them, because they’re yours. No one gets to erase that.
Glad this helped you name the feeling. That’s all we’re trying to do here anyway. Name the unspeakable. Frame the blur. And maybe, just maybe, find the people who see it and say “yeah, I’ve been there too.”
Hey, I’m glad you brought that up. I actually have this really revolutionary product that will help you reach your protein goals. Only 69 weekly payments of 99.99…
Oh and I think I speak for everyone when I say we need more information on the tattoos you’re giving yourself?!
Now excuse me while I go search for that sandwich.
I got one done by a profi. I gave her a CD booklet & she draw a 1st draft, then a second & ~ a year after it was done, I asked her to mirror it. Now it fits me perfect.
I love that — giving it time, turning it over, asking it to mirror you once you knew what it needed to become. That’s what tattoos are for, really — not decoration, but alignment. Symbols that catch up with you, not just mark you. Thank you for reading, and for sharing that little ritual. That’s the good stuff.
Yes, so true – a l i g n m e n t. In my case against the preferences of everyone around me in this phase of my life. My tattoo stays, my mum got used to it & the rest is history. It was my starting point out of "pleasing" the needs of others.
Exactly that — Alignment against expectation. A declaration you carry on your skin, whether anyone else agrees or not. There’s something powerful about choosing permanence when everyone around you wants you to bend. Your tattoo stayed. You stayed. That’s the kind of story that doesn’t fade. Thank you for sharing that. Feels like defiance and grace all at once.
Your communication style is both funny and heartfelt. I think you might be good at making YouTube videos about your experiences.
Thank you — though if I’m being honest, the thought of making YouTube videos for myself fills me with the kind of dread normally reserved for customs interrogations and Lightroom crashes. Too much editing. Too much smiling. Too many thumbnails that feel like they’re screaming. I’d rather whisper weird stories into the void and trust the ocean (or the inbox) to carry them somewhere. But I do appreciate the thought.
I get it; YouTube can be hard
Totally get where you’re coming from — but for me, it’s not that YouTube is hard exactly. It’s that I already spend eight hours a day editing footage for other people, and the idea of spending my one free hour colour grading my own voice while whispering “smash that like button” makes me want to throw my laptop into the sea and live off moss.
Maybe one day. But not while I’m still seeing LUTs in my dreams.
I want to bottle this up and sip on it all day.
I don’t have any tattoos but now you have me wanting to fly to a random island and get a full body tattoo to cover all my scars (not metaphorical)
PS I would kill for photo proof to go along with this one
One day I’ll post photos. They exist — salt-warped, time-scratched, and far too shirtless for polite company. Not really made for Substack. They’re not content. They’re myth. Memory. A body of half-finished stories and sand-gritted mistakes that I haven’t figured out how to tell yet. Some already slipped out — ended up on Instagram, caught mid-dive or mid-laugh, blurrier than I remember. Half accidental, half offering. One day they’ll land here properly. When I’m ready. When the scars feel more like punctuation and less like open clauses.
The shoulder one, It’s got a scar ripped right through the ink. Came off a bike — post-ink, mid-stupidity, slightly drunk. Tore the story in half. So I had to go back. Re-stitch the myth. Needle through memory. Pain layered over pain like a dare. It’s still there. Rougher now. Less art, more survival. Better, maybe.
And your scars — the real ones, wherever they came from. They sound like they’re waiting. Not to be hidden. Not to be erased. But claimed. Turned into something new. Some people build tattoos. Some people build altars. Same instinct: honour the wound, keep going.
So I raise a bottle to you. And the scars. And the stories. Ink or no ink, you’ve already earned the right to wear your history like armour.
Just don’t let the polite ones tell you what’s beautiful.
They’ve never bled for it.
Ah, you’ve made the classic mistake of thinking Substack is polite company 😏 Very tempted to go instagram stalking but I suppose I’ll respect your wishes especially considering my account here is anonymous haha
And damn. A scar through ink with a badass story to go along with it? Glad there wasn’t a more dire result but I must say, you are just getting cooler and cooler with each new thing I read.
Truly appreciate your words though. A friend offered to photoshop a scar out of my photo once and I think this is helping me finally understand my feelings about that..
Hold on — you’re telling me Substack isn’t what I thought it was? Not a haven of dry socks and well-adjusted photographers? Shocking. I may still pretend it is, though — if only for the drama of the reveal.
And look, I won’t stop you from sleuthing. I’ve left enough photographic breadcrumbs across the internet that a determined crab could piece together my face, tattoos, and probably my preferred sandwich. But I appreciate the restraint — anonymity deserves its own altar too. Especially when all I’ve got to go on is a username and the ‘source of happiness’. It’s cryptic. It’s poetic. It’s dangerously my type. Frankly, it’s more promising than most dating apps, and that’s saying something considering no one on Substack has ever tried to sell me protein powder.
Photoshopping a scar feels like rewriting history in the wrong direction. Not making it better — just making it disappear. And you? You’ve earned your marks. All of them, because they’re yours. No one gets to erase that.
Glad this helped you name the feeling. That’s all we’re trying to do here anyway. Name the unspeakable. Frame the blur. And maybe, just maybe, find the people who see it and say “yeah, I’ve been there too.”
Keep the scar. Wear it like punctuation.
And thank you. Truly.
—
Harry
(still half-shirtless, slightly road-burnt, always feral)
Hey, I’m glad you brought that up. I actually have this really revolutionary product that will help you reach your protein goals. Only 69 weekly payments of 99.99…
Oh and I think I speak for everyone when I say we need more information on the tattoos you’re giving yourself?!
Now excuse me while I go search for that sandwich.
-HN (fully shirted, slightly stalkery)
Well said.
Thank you, Søren. Coming from you, that means a lot. I’ll keep scratching at the page until the story bleeds true.
I got one done by a profi. I gave her a CD booklet & she draw a 1st draft, then a second & ~ a year after it was done, I asked her to mirror it. Now it fits me perfect.
Lovely read.🙏
I love that — giving it time, turning it over, asking it to mirror you once you knew what it needed to become. That’s what tattoos are for, really — not decoration, but alignment. Symbols that catch up with you, not just mark you. Thank you for reading, and for sharing that little ritual. That’s the good stuff.
Yes, so true – a l i g n m e n t. In my case against the preferences of everyone around me in this phase of my life. My tattoo stays, my mum got used to it & the rest is history. It was my starting point out of "pleasing" the needs of others.
Exactly that — Alignment against expectation. A declaration you carry on your skin, whether anyone else agrees or not. There’s something powerful about choosing permanence when everyone around you wants you to bend. Your tattoo stayed. You stayed. That’s the kind of story that doesn’t fade. Thank you for sharing that. Feels like defiance and grace all at once.