I came to win... and justify tattoos

Photo credit: Paras Griffin

My first tattoo were lyrics of a song that, when I was 17 years old, were so invaluable to me I needed them permanently inked on my body: ”I came to win.” They were my battle cry. My guiding light. Unfortunately (maybe), they  were also Nicki Minaj lyrics. 

I don’t know if you’ve been on the internet at all in the last few years but… Nicki has been having a rough go. And while I don’t love having the lyrics of a unhinged Twitter warrior emblazoned across my back (to quote her most recent single - yikes), does that really change what the lyrics mean to me? The argument for separating the art from the artist is a slippery slope of ethics. And while I fully believe we should #MuteRKelly, am I ashamed enough of my own poorly-aged tattoo to cover it? 

I’ve considered lying about it’s origins. The lyrics are from the hook of the song “Fly” a Rihanna collaboration from Nicki’s first album, “Pink Friday.” The song did not do well. What the kids might call a flop. I recently listened to a Nicki Minaj deep dive on the podcast “Narcissistas,” and the hosts, two self-identifying Barbz, proclaimed the song was so terrible it wasn’t worth discussing during their review of the otherwise iconic album. Ouch. Needless to say, I don’t think anyone would judge me for spinning a new tale for my ink. 

But... I don’t want to. Because there’s no fictional version of the story that strikes the same emotional chord as the truth. Sure, “I came to win” sounds aggressive. Overly competitive. Intense. And not for nothing, those are all adjectives that have been used to describe me. But the importance of the tattoo isn’t in who wrote the song. It’s in what song represents. And doesn’t that exist independent of Onika? 

“Fly” is about a woman who managed to take flight despite all the circumstances that threatened to keep her down. What about that isn’t relatable? I’ve spent a good portion of the last decade embarrassed of the San serif proclamation etched into my skin, but I want to spend the next decade talking to my younger self with some compassion. 

Sure, I don’t care for Nicki Minaj anymore. And yeah, it’s a tattoo that can quickly become the butt of a joke. Cue frat boys on the otherwise of the beer pong table asking me if “came to lose.” But I’m tired of being ashamed of what once meant something to me. What still means something to me. So yeah, I came to win. Deal with it.