Listen up. I see all these flashy artists out there pushing Tarot card tattoos, right? They make The Tower look super cool, all lightning and fire, or they ink The Death card with this deep, brooding vibe. And people go for it. Big mistake. Huge. I’m not talking about whether the art is good; I’m talking about the energy you permanently slap on your skin. Some of these cards? They ain’t just pictures; they’re magnets for chaos. I had to learn this the hard way, and trust me, it wasn’t cheap or easy. I basically bought myself a one-way ticket to realizing that some symbols you absolutely, positively should leave on the goddamn card stock.
How I Walked Into This Mess (The Fool’s Journey, Literally)
About five years back, my buddy Mike decided he wanted a big, statement piece. He was obsessed with the idea of transformation, so he latched onto the Death card—XIII, the skeleton riding the pale horse. Everyone, including the artist, was like, “It’s not physical death, man, it’s change! It’s deep!” Mike got it done. Took up his whole forearm. Looked killer, art-wise. But let me tell you, the minute that thing healed, his life fell apart. I mean, destroyed. It was a complete dismantling, not a gentle change.
I watched him go through it. First, his car was totaled—minor injury, major headache. Then, two weeks later, his long-term girlfriend left him, completely out of the blue, emptied the joint bank account. Finally, his job, which he’d had for ten years, merged with another division, and guess who got the layoff notice? Mike. Three massive, life-altering, destructive events in under three months. It wasn’t ‘transformation’; it was a demolition derby. He was sleeping on my couch, looking completely lost. It just got weirder, the constant bad luck. It was that kind of concentrated disaster that makes you think maybe, just maybe, ink has power beyond its aesthetic.
Digging Through the Dirt (My Midnight Study Sessions)
I’m a logical dude, but after seeing that level of pure, concentrated bad luck, I started thinking. Could the ink itself be the problem? I wasn’t going to stand by while my friend turned into a human lightning rod for bad vibes. So, I started digging. Not just Googling “Tarot tattoo meaning,” which is garbage advice half the time. I started talking to old-school occultists, guys who actually read cards for a living, and even some tattoo artists who flat-out refused to ink certain symbols. My practice wasn’t just reading; it was interviewing and comparing their lifetime of results to Mike’s current, very real, disaster timeline.
What I learned was that many cards, when permanently placed on the body, lose their dynamic, moving energy. The Tarot is supposed to be a journey, a flow. When you ink a single, heavy card, you lock that phase’s energy to yourself. And some phases are meant to be gone through, not lived in forever. Mike’s Death card wasn’t prompting a healthy change; it was just keeping him in a constant state of necessary ending, upheaval, and financial wipeout. Everything around him kept ending, but never actually finished. It took us six months of non-stop effort—including finding a specialized laser artist who even had to charge extra because of the “symbolic weight” of the design—just to start the removal process. The whole ordeal cost him his savings and nearly his sanity.
The guy who did the laser removal? He confirmed it. He told me he gets more requests to remove The Tower and The Devil than any other design. People get them, think they’re cool, and then their life becomes a constant dumpster fire. He said he refuses to ink them himself now. That was the moment I stopped being a skeptic and started being an obsessive researcher. I realized the common meanings people rely on are surface level. You have to consider the long-haul, permanent energy signature.
Symbols I Now Tell Everyone to Avoid Like the Plague
Based on what I watched Mike go through, and what I learned from the people who actually know this stuff, here are the cards you absolutely should NOT wear permanently. This is a shortlist of guaranteed bad times, unless you plan to counteract it with three other cards, which just turns your body into a whole mess of spiritual clutter. Stay away from these if you value a stable life:
- The Tower (XVI): Don’t you dare. It’s a beautiful card, sure, all dramatic and explosive, but it stands for sudden, unavoidable disaster. Why would you permanently ask the Universe to deliver a structural collapse? It’s asking for a dramatic fall in your job, your home, or your core beliefs. It’s too heavy. Hard pass.
- The Devil (XV): This one is tempting because it looks rebellious and raw. But you’re literally marking yourself with a symbol of material bondage, addiction, and self-imprisonment. It restricts your spiritual flow and makes you obsessed with the wrong kind of stuff—money, sex, petty power games. Leave it alone.
- The Hanged Man (XII): People think this means “new perspective.” Inked, it means “stuck,” “paralysis,” and “sacrifice.” You’ll be perpetually waiting, unable to act, giving up something essential for no good reason. You want to move forward, not hang upside down waiting for a revelation that might never come.
- The Ten of Swords: Oh boy. This is the card of total backstabbing, defeat, and feeling utterly victimized. Why would you ink a permanent reminder of the worst possible ending? It just holds the energy of hopelessness and betrayal right on your skin. That’s just dumb.
- The Reversed Card Design, Period: I found out some idiots intentionally get cards inked upside down, thinking it’s edgy. Getting any card in its reversed position—especially the Major Arcana—is like actively setting its negative traits in motion. A reversed Sun? Misery. A reversed Lovers? Bad relationship choices forever. Just no. If you want a negative outcome, you don’t need a tattoo, just make bad decisions.
So yeah, I was a skeptic, then I was an unwilling participant in my friend’s nightmare, and now I’m the guy who screams at people in the tattoo parlor parking lot to reconsider their life choices. When you’re picking ink, remember you’re not just picking a piece of art; you’re picking an energetic anchor. Mike’s still recovering, and the removal scars are a permanent reminder that some practices—like getting a “cool” Death card—should just stay a theory, not a reality. Learn from my friend’s awful, expensive mistake. Stick to The Star or The Empress, or better yet, just leave the whole deck alone.
