Tattoos during wartime: what people get in Ukraine now

I've been picking up the tattoo machine since 2009. I've seen a lot over the years — trend waves, shifting tastes, generations of clients. But nothing compares to what happened after February 2022. Tattooing changed together with the people — it became heavier, deeper and much more personal.

Today 70% of my clients are military

Before, I had a regular mix: young people, middle-aged, regulars who came back every year. The picture is different now. About 70 percent of those who come are military or volunteers. Some of my old civilian clients moved to safer cities, some went to serve.

There are still civilians — but fewer of them. And the atmosphere in the studio has changed. Quieter. Weightier.

From symbols — to Memento Mori

At the start of the full-scale invasion, people were getting symbols of resilience: tryzub, coat of arms, wheat ears, embroidery, ribbons, slogans. It was a reaction to the shock — a need to lock onto the body what they believed in, what gave them strength.

Now the themes have transformed. Patriotic imagery hasn't gone anywhere, but it's become more philosophical. People think about the balance between life and death, that tomorrow might not come, about the value of every day. These aren't slogans anymore — they're a conversation with yourself.

Memento Mori. Carpe Diem. Remember death, live today. These themes hit differently when someone comes back from the front line.

What the military get

An overview of symbols and subjects — the separate article on military tattoos. Among those who serve, a few consistent directions stand out.

Religion. Saint Michael, guardian angels, the Virgin Mary. A lot of it. These aren't just beautiful images — this is protection, asked for the self or for brothers-in-arms.

Combat themes. Tanks, drones, rifles — the things that have become part of daily life. People document their experience on their skin.

Historical heritage. Cossacks, medieval warriors with swords, Roman legionaries. A wish to feel like part of a long line of those who fought and won.

Civilians: between memory and running from it

Civilian clients split into two camps. Some want to keep Ukrainian identity — motanka dolls, vyshyvankas, Petrykivka painting, anything with national roots. It's a way to say: I'm from here, I remember where we come from.

Others, the opposite — want something that doesn't remind them of the war at all. A dragon, flowers, geometry, a neutral pattern. That's understandable too. Not everyone can look at a reminder every day. Sometimes you need a pause.

Tattoos you could write books about

The hardest sessions are when someone comes for memory. A portrait of a fallen brother-in-arms. The name of a friend who's no longer here. Women honouring their husbands. Mothers doing a tattoo in memory of their sons.

There are also people who come not from a personal loss but from the loss of a home. Someone evacuated from a city that no longer exists the way they knew it. And they want to carry that with them — not on paper, not on a phone, but on the skin. So they don't forget where they're from.

I listen to these stories. Without that you can't build the right sketch. And each time I understand: a tattoo isn't decoration. It's a testimony.

Morse code, ciphers and "second birthdays"

Among the military there are special tattoos where nothing shows at first glance. Coordinates of the place where someone survived. A date that became a "second birthday" — the moment they got lucky enough to live. Morse code with a short message. A cipher only one or two close people know.

It's a private language. A daily reminder to yourself: I got through this. And I can go on.

Black humour: if you don't laugh — you go mad

There are ironic tattoos too — and lots of them are dark humour about war and death. Soldiers say: without black humour you don't survive. It's therapy. A way to keep the darkness from taking you over completely.

When someone laughs at what they fear — they take part of its power away.

Tattoos as a chronicle of time

You could write history books from the dates on people's tattoos. Any serious event — and people right away reflect it on the body. So they don't forget. So no one around them forgets. So it stays.

I see this every day. And I understand: my work now isn't just laying down pigment. It's keeping memory alive. Living, human, unbreakable.