To 27-year-old tattooist Seolhee, skin is a "walking gallery." She left a career designing hanbok — traditional Korean dresses — to pursue tattooing, considered an illegal path in Korea until last week. Plum blossoms have become her signature motif, attracting clients from abroad through social media.
"I love the meaning behind plum blossoms and the idea of painting life itself," she said. "When drawing branches, men tend to use bold, strong lines, while women express them more delicately — and I find that very special."
"I design each piece to match the placement, size, and colors they want, so the tattoo feels harmonious with their body," she explained. "Above all, I hope people see it as a work of art."
Seolhee is part of a rising generation of Korean tattooists who work freely, unbothered by the old stigma of illegality that haunted their predecessors. Earlier pioneers expressed fury, frustration, and rebellion in underground studios, their art linked with outcasts, rappers, and dissenters. By contrast, today's generation has gained international recognition for subtlety, delicacy, and playfulness.
"Foreign artists are fascinated by how delicate our designs are – tiny dogs, plum blossoms, calligraphy-inspired lines," Seolhee noted.
Her brightly lit studio in central Seoul's Yongsan district reflects how far the industry has come. And now, after decades in the shadows, tattooing has finally emerged into the full open.
Last week, South Korea's parliament passed the Tattooist Act, formally legalizing the profession for the first time in 33 years.
Since 1992, only licensed medical doctors had been allowed to perform tattooing. Thousands of artists were forced underground, even as tattoos and semi-permanent makeup surged in popularity. The Ministry of Health and Welfare estimated in 2021 that some 350,000 tattooists were active, mostly offering eyebrow, lip, and hairline enhancements. Surveys suggest that nearly a third of South Korean adults — about 13 million people — have tattoos or semi-permanent procedures.
Yet the penalties were severe: up to five years in prison or fines of 50 million won ($35,000). Many artists went abroad or built reputations online, ironically raising the global profile of "K-tattoo" aesthetics — delicate brush-inspired lines, watercolor effects, and traditional motifs like blossoms, cranes, or calligraphy strokes.
Left: A client receives a tattoo from Korean tattooist Zero (Lee Min-su) in his studio in Gyeonggi Province on Sept. 23, 2025. Courtesy of @dusseldorftattoo_zero
"Korean tattooists are eagerly sought out by international fans," said Seolhee, who blends East Asian painting traditions with pop-cultural references.
"Tattoos last for life, so I want them to carry dreams and hope. I use the gumiho — the nine-tailed fox from our folktales — as a recurring motif. It’s a mischievous, mysterious creature, and I hope my work can help share its unique story with a wider audience,” she added.
"Simply saying, 'I'm a Korean tattooist,' already carries weight abroad."
For veterans of the scene, legalization comes after decades of frustration.
"Many of us have struggled under decades of restrictions, facing penalties just for practicing our craft," said Song Kang-seob, president of the Korea Tattoo Association. "Now, we hope this change allows the industry to grow without the shadow of illegality."
Korean tattooists have been winning international awards for years, he noted. With legal recognition at last, the industry stands ready to blossom alongside the global popularity of K-pop, K-drama, and K-beauty.
"The ban lift came too late — but better late than never," Song said.
Copyright ⓒ Aju Press All rights reserved.
