Blue, Gold, Tattooed Souls, and Structured Chaos

Before she wielded a tattoo machine, Irae was elbow-deep in food engineering textbooks. “At first, I didn’t take it too seriously,” she says, which is exactly the kind of thing someone says before accidentally becoming excellent at something. Tattooing started as a detour, but turned into a full-throttle, ego-disassembling love affair. “The more I practiced and worked, the more I realized how much I didn’t know. That feeling of dissatisfaction made me realise this was something I truly cared about.”

Her early tattoos were solo missions: no roadmap, no permission, just pure, room-lit ambition. No big declarations, no punk rock monologue. “There was no energy left to worry about anything beyond getting better,” she says. Survival? Defiance? “The desire to improve was always stronger than anything else.” It’s the kind of mindset that turns skin into scripture.

And with every line, her limits got called out. “I spent most of my time figuring out what I knew, and what I didn’t,” she says. “I came to realise that what I once believed to be the ‘right answers’ weren’t always complete.” Cue montage of existential forehead slaps and sudden breakthroughs. “That process, in itself, became one of the most fascinating aspects of tattooing for me.”

Her colour palette? Intuitive, elemental, quietly mythic. “I love the colour blue,” she shrugs. But this isn’t your passive sky-blue daydream. It’s deep sea and midnight bruise, countered with gold—borrowed from her mentor Ziho and chosen for its contrast and texture. “Using gold’s physical texture as a base and layering it with various expressions of blue has been a really enjoyable exploration.” Translation: She makes your shoulder look like a sacred scroll.

That mentor relationship rewired everything. “Before that, I had been self-taught, so I lacked confidence and clarity in my abilities,” Irae admits. Ziho didn’t just teach technique; he bulldozed her comfort zone. “I didn’t know what was truly possible through tattooing, nor did I have the courage to explore my own potential.” Real growth, she realised, is less about swagger and more about patience, repetition, and learning how not to freak out when ink meets skin.

Speaking of freakouts - perfectionism nearly became her side hustle. “I used to wait until I felt fully prepared before pursuing things seriously,” she says. “But I’ve known for a long time that there’s no such thing as being fully ready.” Sound familiar? Irae weaponised her own inadequacy as an excuse, until she didn’t. “Once I stepped outside that box, I knew I couldn’t go back. Just like a butterfly can’t return to its cocoon.”

So where does she recharge? In the dance between solitude and community. “When I work, I prefer a space where only my client and I exist. Just us in the station, fully focused,” she explains. But outside those sacred sessions, she thrives on artistic dialogue. “Everyone has their own unique style and technical background… I always feel like there’s something I can learn.” The studio becomes church, but the group chat is still gospel.

And despite the calm exterior, Irae admits she can spiral like the rest of us. “Before a piece is finished, I often feel emotionally overwhelmed,” she says. Between skin variables and differing design visions, no session is predictable. “On the outside, I might come across as very confident, maybe even arrogant at times. But that’s often a kind of protective shell I put on to stay composed.”

That shell cracks open at just the right moment. “Once everything starts to flow smoothly… that’s when I can let go of that burden and meet the client simply as one person to another.” When that happens, it’s not just ink; it’s a mutual unlocking. “I start to get curious, not just about the tattoo, but about their life, their experiences, and the values they carry with them.”

So how does she stay grounded, eight years and thousands of needle strokes later? “I’m actually a pretty lazy person,” she says. “I’m not naturally full of energy or discipline. What I do have, I pour entirely into my work.” That internal fire is carefully rationed, conserved like a monk budgeting candlelight.

And if you’re wondering how she keeps showing up: she doesn’t leave it to chance. “It’s like flipping a mental switch: ‘Now it’s time to work.’” She adjusts her sleep, her meals, her routines, everything to honour the ink. “What’s even more crucial for me is structuring my life around tattooing first, and letting everything else fall into place after.” That’s not obsession. That’s devotion. And Irae, in all her soft-spoken intensity, would probably never say it like that. But that’s exactly what makes it true.