Back in the days when I became a tween–which was before the term was even coined–malls sometimes had independent stand-alone retailers in their middles, similar to the visitors’ information booth. One of the most popular, and which has continued to serve customers for decades, is the Piercing Pagoda.
It is what it says: a place to go for pierced ears. The “pagoda” part was simply a part of the moniker and original logo. Its founders, the Cohen family, owned jewelry stores and decided it might be a convenience to offer ear piercings in a separate retail space, so they planted a pagoda-shaped structure in-between the pedestrian walkways of the Plymouth Meeting Mall in PA in 1972. Now the stores are known as Banter by Piercing Pagoda. They have implanted millions of earrings into people over the years.
Many of them have exchanged banter while visiting there. More on that later.
The story I want to tell actually took place inside a mall department store. A piercing station was set up in the jewelry department of the now-defunct Strawbridge & Clothier for a special event, and I was accompanying some of my classmates because one wanted to get her ears pierced there. It seems the piercing was free with purchase, though I’m not sure if our mall had Piercing Pagoda back then.
The initial journey to one’s first piercing seems similar to the minutes preceding one’s execution by firing squad. A condemned person may seem stalwart until the second comes when reality sets in. The determined individual’s inner strength dissolves from that of devil-may-care to mayday in mere moments.
Perhaps it’s the approach of the piercing gun, which back then was a commendably large piece of beauty weaponry for such a small task (possibly because it seems to be modeled after carpentry nail guns). Until the seated victim sees the preparations as the assigned technician loads the earring post (and its backing to hold it in place on the other side of the earlobe), the fact that something is about to be rammed at high speed into a body part doesn’t seem at all intimidating. It’s, as they say, a rite of passage.
As the inevitable approaches, a first-timer will often start rambling, either by praying or repeating comforting mantras. Sometimes they will desperately start asking for somebody to hold their hand, or even squeezing their eyes shut as if that action will subvert all the negativity that is to follow.
When my classmate started rambling, I moved away to look at the new fashion lines. I saw the piercing gun long before she did, and decided no way was I subjecting myself to such a ritual.
Sometimes only one person is available to do a piercing, and when you have two earlobes this means two of the same experience. With two people piercing, they can coordinate the firing squad technique to prevent unintentional movement by the subject and potential misfires. With one, the victim must steel themselves for a second dose of anxiety.
The technique is also similar to that of a firing squad: ready (set the coordinates of where the earring is going to go with a pen dot), aim (place the gun at the correct spot), and fire. It is at this point that the newly pierced person reacts the strongest. Sometimes people complain about the discomfort, or say they felt nothing. Some pass out. Sometimes the onlookers nearly pass out. I was only listening as it was done, and I felt queasy.
I recently saw a video of a person who got their lower lip pierced, known in the industry as a vertical labret. The subject had multiple other piercings, as well as tattoos, but this particular addition caused her to pass out momentarily. Her friend, who was filming the event, lowered her cell phone camera and did not keep filming while the newly-adorned individual recovered. Some other video compilations feature young tweens whose faces morph from fear to finality as they survive the process. One of my favorites is a girl who cussed “Son of a biscuit eater, that hurt!” And like being before a firing squad, something inside dies as a mirror is brought in and the victim gets a first look at the reddening earlobes freshly impaled with gold, silver or titanium.
Why am I covering this topic? Because after all these years, I still don’t get the concept. I don’t condemn it, nor do I have anything bad to say about it. In fact, one of my favorite comics has a character named Pierce, who has excessive head hardware in his ears, brows and elsewhere, and he’s hilarious. But I always leave videos about this subject scratching my head. I have no piercings, though I’ve had some encouragement to get at least one from past relationships. Among my jewelry is a pair of simple post earrings I was gifted as a subtle hint, and which will probably end up becoming estate fodder.
I guess Piercing Pagoda will never get a cent from me. I’m giving myself a reprieve.
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