在地下经营33年后，纹身艺术家们迎来了一项具有里程碑意义的法律，尽管相关诉讼仍在持续

周五，在首尔北部地方法院外，金度润（Kim Do-yoon）在又一次上诉听证会结束后步入寒风中。

他的罪行：为一名满意的顾客纹身。

“我今天来的时候并没有抱太高期望。”金某（艺名Doy）说道。

就在几周前，韩国国会通过了《纹身师法案》，结束了长达33年仅有医生才能从事纹身行业的限制。这一变革将于2027年国家实施执照制度时正式生效。在此之前，无医师执照从事纹身工作从技术层面而言仍属违法行为。

对多伊（Doy）而言，法律变革来得太迟：尽管新法已通过，但他自2019年起因给名人纹身而面临的诉讼仍在继续。不过，与韩国许多其他艺术家一样，他欢迎这项新立法，并希望这将使纹身行业走出灰色地带。

在隐匿中创造美好

在韩国，纹身长期以来一直与有组织犯罪相关联。一些公共游泳池、澡堂和健身房至今仍禁止有明显纹身者入内。

然而年轻一代的态度已发生显著转变。纹身已成为个人表达的标志，而**韩式纹身**——以其细腻的线条工艺和精湛的色彩技法为特色——更赢得了全球范围内的认可。

对纹身的限制可追溯至1992年，当时最高法院裁定将墨水注入皮下组织属于医疗行为。只有持照医生才能为他人纹身，但提供此类服务的医生寥寥无几。

在随后的几十年里，一个庞大的地下经济体系逐渐形成。虽然没有官方统计数据，但行业估算显示，目前韩国约有1600万人拥有某种形式的纹身，包括永久性和半永久性纹身，例如纹眉。

尽管这些工作室广受欢迎，但寻找它们往往还是依赖口口相传或社交媒体推荐。

“我们绝不会在预订确认前透露地址，”艺名为Stella、在首尔梨泰院地区工作的玄吴（Hyun Oh）说道。

这感觉就像在隐秘中创造美好。

她回忆道，这个行业建立在谨慎行事的基础上，摄影棚隐蔽难寻，连标识都没有。

这感觉很奇怪——我热爱自己的工作，但内心总有一种‘非正式’的隐忧。有时仅仅因为通过皮肤表达艺术，就仿佛我们做错了什么。

基俊（Kiljun）是另一位在首尔工作的艺术家。自2007年起，他便从事纹身行业，期间既要面对社会偏见，又需应对法律诉讼。十年前他曾被罚款一次，但始终坚持经营。

“我从不认为这是错误或犯罪的行为，”他说。“但在社会上——尤其是在老一辈人眼中——他们觉得我是个坏人，所以我一直不得不保持低调，谨言慎行。”

基尔均（Kiljun）表示，该行业长期处于"灰色地带"，尽管当局对大多数工作室心知肚明，却往往视而不见。他指出，这种模糊状态至今仍未消散。

对纹身师而言，争取行业合法性的斗争从未停歇。2020年，多伊（Doy）通过创立纹身师工会并将该组织与韩国最大的劳工联合会之一挂钩，为这场斗争提供了有力支持。

该组织发起抗议活动、游说政界人士，并指出将相关行为定罪既荒谬又危险，这迫使从业者在无保护状态下工作，且无法举报虐待行为。

与此同时，韩国医学会强烈反对纹身合法化，警告称这可能导致感染风险并干扰核磁共振扫描。该组织曾建议用“纹身贴纸”作为更安全的替代方案。

新法规建立了包含考试、培训要求和责任保险在内的全国性执业许可制度。去除纹身仍仅限于医生操作，未经父母同意为未成年人纹身同样受到限制。

新规将于2027年10月正式实施，以便为制定许可标准和卫生规范预留时间。现有从业者将获得两年的宽限期来完成全面许可认证。

对艺术家们而言，这份姗姗来迟的认可令他们百感交集。

“这感觉像是一个新的开始，但仍充满不确定性，”斯特拉说道。“终于得到认可让人如释重负，但我们许多人仍在观望事情的实际进展。我抱有希望，但也保持谨慎。”

对于过往罪行并未出台正式赦免政策，类似多伊案的起诉仍在持续进行。

杜伊（Doy）在首尔出庭一天后，尽管疲惫但仍坚定地表示，他将返回中国担任全球最大纹身大会之一的评委。

“人们告诉我，只要等上两年，等法律生效后，我的案子就会不了了之。”他说道。

但这并非我发起这场斗争的初衷。六年过去了，我宁愿以公正的结局，妥善地走完这段历程。

After 33 years underground, tattoo artists celebrate a landmark law as prosecutions continue

Outside Seouls northern district court on Friday, Kim Do-yoon stepped into the cold air after another hearing in his appeal.

His crime: tattooing a satisfied client.

I didnt come with high expectations today, says Kim, known professionally as Doy .

Just weeks earlier, South Koreas parliament passed the tattooist act , ending 33 years of tattooing being restricted to doctors. The change will take effect in 2027, when a national licensing system is introduced. Until then, tattooing without a medical licence continues to be technically illegal.

For Doy, the legal shift has arrived too late: his prosecution for tattooing a celebrity C which began in 2019 C continues despite the law being passed. But, like many other artists in South Korea , he welcomes the new legislation and hopes it will bring his industry out of the shadows.

Creating something beautiful, in hiding

Tattoos in South Korea have long been associated with organised crime. Some public pools, bathhouses and gyms still ban visibly tattooed people.

Yet attitudes among younger generations have shifted sharply. Tattoos have become markers of personal expression, and K-tattoos C characterised by fine-line work and sophisticated colour techniques C have gained worldwide recognition .

The restrictions on tattooing date back to 1992, when the supreme court ruled that inserting ink beneath the skin constituted a medical procedure. Only licensed doctors could tattoo people, but very few offered the service.

In the decades that followed, an enormous shadow economy took hold. Official numbers do not exist, but industry estimates suggest that up to 16 million South Koreans now have some form of tattoo, both permanent and semi-permanent, such as eyebrow tattoos.

Despite the widespread popularity, finding a studio has often depended on word of mouth or social media.

Wed never share the address until a booking was confirmed, says Hyun Oh, who goes by the artist name Stella and works in Seouls Itaewon neighbourhood.

It always felt like creating something beautiful, but in hiding.

She recalls an industry built on discretion, with studios tucked away, without signs.

It was strange C I loved what I did, but there was always this underlying feeling of being unofficial. Sometimes it felt like we were doing something wrong just for expressing art through skin.

Kiljun is another artist working in Seoul. He has been tattooing since 2007, navigating both prejudice and prosecution. He was fined once a decade ago but kept operating.

I never thought this was wrong or criminal, he says. But socially C especially among older generations C they think Im a bad guy, so Ive always had to keep a low profile and be careful with everything I do.

Kiljun described the industry as having long existed in a grey zone, with authorities aware of most studios but often turning a blind eye. That ambiguity still lingers, he says.

For tattooists, the struggle has always been about legitimacy. Doy helped channel that fight by founding the Tattoo Union in 2020, affiliating it with one of South Koreas largest labour confederations.

The group staged protests, lobbied politicians and argued that criminalisation was both absurd and dangerous, forcing practitioners to work unprotected and unable to report abuse.

The Korean Medical Association, meanwhile, fought fiercely against legalisation, warning of infection risks and interference with MRI scans. The group once suggested tattoo stickers as a safer substitute.

The new law creates a national licensing system with examinations, training requirements and liability insurance. Tattoo removal remains restricted to doctors, as does tattooing minors without parental consent.

Implementation begins in October 2027 to allow time to build licensing and hygiene standards. Existing practitioners will then have a two-year grace period to obtain full licensing.

For artists, the long-awaited recognition brings mixed emotions.

It feels like a new beginning, but still uncertain, says Stella. Theres relief in finally being acknowledged, yet many of us are waiting to see how things will actually work. Im hopeful but also cautious.

There is no formal amnesty for past offences, and prosecutions like Doys continue.

In Seoul for a day to face his court hearing, Doy expresses weary determination before heading back to China to judge at one of the worlds biggest tattoo conventions .

People told me to just wait two years until the law takes effect and my case would disappear, he says.

But thats not why I started this fight. Its been six years now, and Id rather see it through properly, with a just ending.