Welcome to iChaseBadgers — A Soft Launch into Chaos

Welcome to Whatever This Is

"You should write a book". I've heard this from so many people whenever I talk about what I've gone through in this industry. So instead of writing a whole ass book that no one is going to read, I think starting with a blog would be better. Let's test the dang ol waters.

The idea of writing a blog felt about as natural to me as a possum in a swimming pool—loud, confused, slightly dangerous, and absolutely not supposed to be there. But sometimes, even the weirdest creatures float. So here I am: floating, mildly panicked, typing, and carrying more stories than I probably should.

Welcome to my life. (When you read my life, read it as Borat would say my wife)

This blog isn’t going to be clean. It won’t be curated, polished, branded, or optimized for anything other than maybe honesty and some rants here and there. You won’t find beige filters or wellness-core platitudes about how “tattooing is sacred energy exchange” Seriously that is probably the dumbest shit I have ever heard anyone say in this industry. What you will find here is the mess, maybe the good mess, maybe the bad; I think it all depends on who's reading and how much you hate me or like me. These blogs will be the kind of writing that sits with you long after. I really don't feel like filtering myself anymore or holding back what was done to me in the beginning. I would see the people that caused great harm to me as monsters, well, I still do, but now I'm not afraid to speak about it... I'll do the best anyway.

So if you’re here because you’ve been tattooed by me or you’ve been wondering what the hell the name means, or someone forwarded this to you with a warning and a compliment in the same sentence—hey, you're in the right place.

Let me tell you how this all started.

Who I Am (The Real Version, Not the LinkedIn One)

My name is Janelle. I’m a tattoo artist by trade and by pure willpower. I didn’t fall into this. I chased it and I got burned. I stalked it like something wild in the woods and refused to let go, and it attacked me, wrestling me like Leonardo DiCaprio did with the one bear in that one movie. Lets just say that I used the shit people threw at me to make my journey that much harder as fuel. What other choice did I have?

I started walking into tattoo shops when I was 12. I had no appointment, no real plan—just an oversized sketchbook filled with graphite-smudged celebrity portraits, Sailor Moon redraws with disproportionate limbs, Timmy the Turtle from NOFX on every other page, and more audacity than a twelve-year-old had any right to have.

I remember one day in particular—I'd been hitting every shop in Duluth, from West Duluth over to the sketchiest part of town, Downtown Duluth (1st street to be exact). I had with me this massive, awkward portfolio that was half the size of me, dragging it from one door to the next like it might be the key to open some door; any door. By the time I left the last shop, I realized I’d missed the bus home. Just completely stranded and at this time I didn't have a cellphone or any money; just a quarters for the bus. One of the artists offered me a ride (he didn't really offer, I just sat outside of the shop looking both ways for over an hour, and I think he took pity on me). He didn’t have to, and he could’ve said, “Tough luck, kid.” But he didn’t. He drove me home (Which, looking back now, I could have been murdered! The hell was I thinking?), but funny thing is, years later we ended up as roommates and coworkers. That’s how deep this thing has always gone for me—enough to be stuck in the cold with no plan and still thinking, yeah, worth it.

Nobody took me seriously, and honestly, fair. I was a kid with hope and a dream, paint-covered hands, and questions no one wanted to answer. But I knew. I knew I wanted to create art that didn’t just sit still in a frame. I wanted to draw things that traveled with people. To the gas station, a custody hearing, to France, didn’t matter—my art would go with them.

So I kept going.

The industry wasn’t soft with me. I was told to stay behind the counter and shut the fuck up, but do everything an apprentice should do. That I will never be an apprentice, that they don't want women artists working there because they “create waves,” I was given chances that weren’t chances—just power plays disguised as mentorship. I learned early that “opportunity” often came with conditions that had nothing to do with talent and everything to do with control.

And yeah—some egotistical neckbeard of a tattooer kicked a lamp in my face (You know who you are). This is not metaphorically, but quite literally. It hit me on the side of the face in front of a client, nonetheless. I came back the next day and cleaned the windows better. That’s how I survived: I didn’t fight to be accepted. I mutated.

Why iChasebadgers?

This name has followed me longer than some of my oldest friendships. People always assume it’s a Wisconsin thing. It’s not. No offense to cheese or football, but it’s way weirder than that. I'm also from the land of lakes, not cheese so it wouldn't make sense to name it after a state I was raised to hate.... It's funny to look back and realize that Minnesota hated Wisconsin, and Wisconsin had no idea because their hate was directed toward Illinois.

Anyways

This goes back to the early internet—the real internet. The chaotic, unsupervised, browser tabs of the early 2000s. Back when you could ruin your entire family computer with one LimeWire download and a Harry Potter Fanfiction that you read all 600 pages to realize it was not the real thing.

This was before MySpace. When I was trying to code on Live Journal to get the cute little pixel kitties or find the right song to tell about the mood I was in when I wrote my little journey entry. This is when I discovered the infamous looping video: Badger Badger Mushroom Mushroom. It was loud. It was stupid. It had no purpose, I Loved it. I'd leave it on, knowing full well my mom would go crazy and try to turn it off. She never really knew how to work the computer. I would just giggle as she struggled to stop the beautiful music that would never end. If you don't know this video, well, you are missing out. If you look it up now, just know that I was young!

Naturally, I made it my LiveJournal username: iChasebadgers, thinking that life isn't like a box of chocolates but like chasing a badger; little did I know how true that would be. Honestly, it made no sense why I picked that name, my AIM name was ModestJanelle; I thought it was amazing because one of my favorite bands was Modest Mouse... Through everything. Through bad haircuts, impossible situations, and worse apprenticeships. Through heartbreak, burnout, and rebuilding, the name became a weird little symbol of the kid in me who didn’t quit, who chased something that made no sense to anyone else.

What I Tattoo (And What I Really Do)

Let’s break it down.

I tattoo:

• Pop culture that slaps you in the memory like a red Corvette VHS rewinder

• Pet portraits that sit somewhere between sacred and ridiculous, and always land honestly

• Niche symbols, dumb cartoons, grief tattoos, impulsive moments that somehow end up meaning more than anyone thought would

• And yeah, sometimes meaningless stuff that just feels like it means something. That’s enough. Making memories.

  
  

People ask about my style. If you need to put a label on it, call it Neo-Traditional mixed with Realism. I didn’t get to find a style in peace. I had to build one out of survival. (This story will be talked about, but just for the time being, just know that I had no choice in the matter of what my style would be in the end. It worked out for me, so jokes on them.) I made a career out of things I wasn’t 'supposed' to do, and now people book with me for exactly that.

Who This Blog Is For

This isn’t just for tattoo clients or artists. It’s for anyone who’s ever felt like they were working twice as hard to be taken half as seriously. It’s for:

• People who’ve been underestimated so long that they stopped explaining themselves

• Clients who bring both humor and heartbreak into the room (and sometimes snacks)

• ALL folk, survivors, overthinkers, nerds, and grief-holders

• Artists clawing their way into a space that wasn’t built for them or wanted them

• And anyone who’s ever felt like the only person in the room who was both trying too hard and not doing enough

• People who laugh too hard, cry at weird times, and always show up anyway

  
  

If you’ve ever chased something that didn’t make sense to anyone but you, this blog is for you. If you’ve ever been underestimated, overlooked, or told you’re worthless and no one wants you around, pull up a chair. You’re in good company.

What You Can Expect

No schedule. No algorithm. Just stories. Messy, real, occasionally absurd stories from behind the machine, from inside the studio, from all the quiet places where big things happen. Stories that are only told in the chair, and some never told because of the people who caused the most harm, seemed like the monster under the bed.

Upcoming posts include:

• “When the Lamp Was Kicked Into My Face: A Cautionary Tale While Holding Windex”

• “The Style I Wasn’t Allowed to Find — So I Built It Myself”

• “You’re Just a Counter Girl”: A Love Letter to Women Who Refused to Disappear

• "I Don't Care If Your Dad Died, I Want My Tattoo Today": Tattooers Are Human Too!

  
  

Final Thought

If you’re still here, thank you. Truly.

This blog is just me. Not the brand. Not the filtered version. Not the person people imagine when they only see the final tattoo. It’s the one who survived. The one who stayed. The one who’s still chasing something strange and worth catching.

It might get weird. It might get sad. It’ll definitely be honest.

Let’s get into it.

— Janelle