Written in Blood: A History of Tattooing in Japan

Early Origins:

Tattooing in Japan has roots that stretch back thousands of years, making it one of the oldest and richest tattoo traditions and culture in human history. Evidence of tattooing dates to the Jomon period (10,000 BCE - 300 BCE), By the Yayoi period (300 BCE - 300 CE), Chinese records noted Japanese men adorning themselves with tattoos, hinting at a cultural practice that evolved over time.

Scholars like Donald Richie and H.D. Harootunian suggest these markings may have served spiritual or tribal purposes, perhaps to ward off evil or signify status. The Yayoi period (300 BCE–300 CE) offers more clues. Chinese texts, like the Wei Zhi (297 CE), describe “Wa” (Japanese) people with tattoos, noting fishermen in Kyushu who inked their bodies to protect against sea monsters or mark their rank. These early tattoos were likely simple—dots, lines, or fish motifs—applied with bone or shell tools and plant-based inks. By the Kofun period (300 CE – 710 CE), tattooing’s role shifted. The Nihon Shoki (720 CE) records it as a punitive measure: Emperor Richū reportedly ordered a man tattooed on the face for a crime in 403 CE. This marked a turning point—tattoos began to carry a stigma, especially as Japan centralized under Confucian ideals that prized an unblemished body as a gift from one’s parents. Meanwhile, the Ainu people in Hokkaido maintained their own tattoo tradition, with women receiving intricate lip and arm designs for beauty and spiritual protection, using indigo ink and hand-poking methods—a precursor to later irezumi techniques.

The real explosion of tattoo culture in Japan began during the Edo period (1603 CE –1868 CE). Tattooing had transformed into an art form called "Irezumi", heavy influence coming from woodblock printing. Craftsmen, firemen, and laborers, all walks of life embraced elaborate, colorful designs— dragons, koi fish, and cherry blossoms— beautifully complimenting the skin of everyday humans. Often done with a traditional hand-poking method called Tebori. This technique, using bamboo tools and Nara ink, gave tattoos a unique vibrancy and depth that set them apart. But it wasn’t all beauty and prestige—tattooing also became tied to the underground. Tattooing in Japan also has a dark side. The Yakuza, Japan’s most notorious organized crime network, adopted Irezumi as a badge of loyalty, toughness, rank and status, a body full of tattoos symbolizing their commitment. These weren’t quick jobs; a bodysuit could take years and a fortune, showcasing endurance as much as art.

Eventually though this underworld connection led to trouble. In 1872, during the Meiji era, Japan outlawed tattooing to appear “civilized” to the West. It went underground, thriving in secret among the Yakuza and artist brave enough to break the law. Foreigners, especially sailors, flocked to Japan for these illegal masterpieces, spreading the style globally. Hence the influence it began having on American tattooing around the 1950s and 60s. The ban lasted until 1948, when Allied forces legalized it post-World War II, but the stigma stuck and tattoos still carry the stench of criminality in Japan today. It wasn’t until 2020 that Japan’s Supreme Court ruled tattooing didn’t require a medical license, finally easing restrictions on artists, though public perception lags behind.

Japan’s massive contributions to the development of techniques and tradition is undeniable, and has has had a massive global impact. The bold lines, vivid colors, and storytelling inspired Western tattoo pioneers like Sailor Jerry, Ed Hardy and so on. Blending into modern styles like neo-Japanese. Traditional Tebori, while pretty rare to see, still captivates purists worldwide for its craftsmanship. True tattooers and some collectors deeply understand the roots attached to full Tebori body suit, and the imagery used to create it. Dragons for strength, koi for perseverance..... these have become common pieces of subject matter in the grand world of tattooing that we live in today.

Japan’s tattoo history is an incredible story of tradition, honor, and commitment to the craft. It’s not just ink; it’s a cultural saga of rebellion, resilience, and jaw-dropping art that still turns heads and inspires artists of current times.

The Yakuza Connection:

Fast forward to the Edo period (1603–1868), where tattooing and the Yakuza truly intertwined. This era saw Japan under the Tokugawa shogunate, a rigid feudal system that stratified society into samurai, farmers, artisans, and merchants. At the bottom were the outcasts—gamblers, peddlers, and vagabonds—who would become the Yakuza’s ancestors. Tattooing, already linked to punishment (bokkei), took on new life as these groups rebelled against their lot.

Punitive tattoos were brutal but basic: a line on the forearm for theft, a cross on the forehead for graver offenses. Criminals, ostracized by these marks, began covering them with elaborate designs—dragons, warriors, flowers—turning shame into defiance. This shift coincided with the rise of ukiyo-e (woodblock prints), which flooded Edo’s urban culture with vivid tales of outlaws from the Chinese novel Suikoden. Artisans like Utagawa Kuniyoshi depicted tattooed heroes like Lu Zhishen, inspiring a new aesthetic. Woodblock artists, facing economic slumps, moonlighted as tattooists, using their carving skills to etch ink into skin with bamboo tools, creating the vibrant, narrative-driven compositions we know today.

Yakuza, Origins:

The Yakuza emerged from two main groups: bakuto (gamblers) and tekyia (peddlers). The name “Yakuza” comes from a losing hand in the card game hanafuda (8-9-3, or ya-ku-za), symbolizing their status as society’s “losers.” By the mid-18th century, these bands organized into syndicates, extorting protection money and running illicit trades. Tattoos became their badge—an excruciating, expensive rite of passage. A full-body irezumi could take 50–100 sessions, costing a year’s wages, and was done without anesthesia. The pain was a test of loyalty; the ink, a permanent oath to the clan.

The Yakuza isn’t a monolith; it’s a patchwork of syndicates (kumi or kai), each with its own history, turf, and personality. Tattoos, while unified by the broader irezumi style, often reflect a clan’s identity—its values, origin, or even its feuds. Below, I’ll spotlight the major clans, their tattoo tendencies, and how these inked signatures evolved. This draws from sources like police records (Keisatsuchō archives), Yakuza memoirs (e.g., Jake Adelstein’s Tokyo Vice), and anthropological works like H. David Kaplan’s Yakuza: Japan’s Criminal Underworld.

Yamaguchi-gumi:

Founded in 1915 in Kobe by Yamaguchi Harukichi, a fisherman turned gangster, the Yamaguchi-gumi is Japan’s largest syndicate. By the 1970s, it controlled 40% of the Yakuza world, peaking at 22,000 members. Today, it’s fractured but still dominant, with about 8,000 members as of 2021.

Bold, maximalist, and status-driven. Full-body suits (Horimono) are the norm for this sect, often completed over decades. They favor dragons.... huge beasts wrapping around torsos or climbing legs—symbolizing the clan’s unrivaled power. Gold or red dragons signal leadership; three-clawed black ones mark foot soldiers (wakashu). Cherry blossoms and koi fish are common too, reflecting their Kansai roots where sakura bloom fiercely.

Their tattoos scream hierarchy. Bosses might add a phoenix or Fudo Myo-o to signify rebirth after turf wars—like the 1980s split with the Ichiwa-kai. Lower ranks stick to simpler designs, often leaving backs unfinished until promoted. The clan’s Kobe port heritage shines through in wave motifs, a nod to their smuggling days.

Under Shinoda Kenichi (sixth kumichō, 2005–2015), tattoos became a loyalty test—new recruits got inked early to prove allegiance during the 2015 schism that birthed the Kobe Yamaguchi-gumi. Photographers like Anton Kusters, who infiltrated their ranks, noted members proudly unveiling bodysuits at private sento baths, a ritual of trust.

Sumiyoshi-kai:

Born in Tokyo’s shitamachi (working-class districts) in the 1950s, the Sumiyoshi-kai traces its lineage to Edo-era tekyia peddlers. With around 4,000 members today, it’s the second-largest syndicate, fiercely independent and rooted in Kanto culture.

Subtle but intricate, leaning on Edo aesthetics. They love tigers—sleek, prowling beasts with bamboo or maple leaves—echoing Tokyo’s urban wildness. Oni masks and severed heads (Namakubi) pop up more here, tied to their gambling and protection rackets. Designs tend to stop at wrists and ankles, preserving a “public face” for their legit fronts. Unlike Yamaguchi’s flashiness, Sumiyoshi tattoos are less about size and more about storytelling. A tiger glaring through a storm might recall a famous hit; a Hannya mask (jealous female demon) could hint at a betrayed ally. Their Tebori preference keeps colors muted—deep greens and blues—versus Yamaguchi’s vivid reds.

The clan’s Edo pride shows in nods to Ukiyo-e heroes like Kyumonryu Shishin from Suikoden. Older members, per interviews in The Last Yakuza by Alec Dubro, boast tattoos from masters like Horikin, who worked Tokyo’s backstreets in the 1960s, etching clan lore into skin.

Inagawa-kai:

Founded in 1949 by Inagawa Kakuji in Yokohama, this Kanto-based clan (around 3,400 members today) bridged Japan’s ports to the world. Known for drug trafficking and ties to Korean gangs, it’s less traditional than its rivals.

Eclectic and modern. Dragons and koi dominate, but you’ll see Western influences—skulls, roses, even anchors—reflecting Yokohama’s sailor traffic. They’re more likely to use machines over tebori, speeding up the process for a younger, impatient generation. Inagawa tattoos are less uniform, mirroring their diverse membership. A dragon might coil around a pistol, a rare fusion of East and West, or a koi swim beside a lotus, hinting at Buddhist ties from Korean influences. Full suits are less common— individual chest or sleeve pieces rule.

Their port-city vibe made them a tattoo export hub. Horiuno, who inked King George V, worked near Inagawa turf, and clan lore claims early members escorted him to clients. By the 1980s, per Kaplan’s research, their ink reflected globalized crime—such as cocaine leaves creeping into designs.

Aizukotetsu-kai:

Hailing from Kyoto since 1868, this smaller clan (about 1,000 members) has a samurai vibe, tied to Aizu’s warrior past. It’s quieter but ruthless, focusing on loansharking and extortion. Esoteric and spiritual. Fudo Myo-o, with his flaming halo, is a favorite, guarding against the chaos of their trade. Phoenixes and lotus flowers bloom across backs, symbolizing purity amid violence. Colors lean dark—black, indigo—suited to Kyoto’s somber elegance.

Aizukotetsu tattoos feel ceremonial, less about bravado than Yamaguchi’s. Smaller, symbolic pieces, like a single lotus on the neck, were markings of higher status, while full suits are rare. Their ink often hides personal adornments, such as a tiny Tengu (trickster spirit) for cunning. Their samurai roots shine in disciplined designs. A 1970s Oyabun, per police files, bore a Fudo Myo-o clutching a noose, a chilling nod to a rival’s fate. Their Horishi were often temple-trained, blending Buddhist iconography into gang life.

Tattoos and the Yakuza go together like smoke and shadow. A mesmerizing tale that’s equal parts defiance and art. Japan’s infamous crime syndicate didn’t just pick up Irezumi as a hobby; they turned it into a full-on cultural cornerstone, born from society’s fringes. This bond is as dark as it is beautiful.

From Punishment to Pride:

Picture Japan in the Edo days—samurai strutting, merchants hustling, and the government cracking down on troublemakers. Tattoos back then? They were a punishment, called bokkei. Steal a sack of rice, and you’d get a line branded on your arm or a cross on your forehead—a scarlet letter for life. But the thieves, gamblers, and outcasts who’d later become the Yakuza? They weren’t having it. They took those marks of shame and covered them with jaw-dropping designs—dragons, tigers, swirling waves—flipping the script from disgrace to swagger. By the time the Meiji crew banned tattooing in 1872 to look “civilized” for the West, the Yakuza were hooked. Those ink jobs became their secret handshake, a bold yet dangerous sign of a life beyond the law.

Getting a Yakuza tattoo wasn’t a quick trip to the parlor. We’re talking tebori—hand-poked ink with bamboo tools, session after grueling session. A full-body Irezumi could take hundreds of hours and cost a fortune along the lines of ¥500,000 to ¥1,000,000 in today’s cash, or thousands of bucks. The pain was the whole game: surviving it showed you had what the yakuza were looking for... Strength, discipline, and unshakable loyalty to the syndicate. In a way a rite of passage. In a buttoned-up society that shunned them, tattoos screamed “outsider” or "criminal" —a badge of their self-styled Ninkyō Dantai vibe, or “chivalrous organizations.”

The Yakuza didn’t just wear tattoos—they made Irezumi a global icon of rebellion and craft. Those bold, story-packed designs sailed back to the UK, and America inspiring tattooers to adopt these images and stories and weave them in a meaningful way into the western flavor of tattoo. The idea of a tattoo as a blood oath, a code you can’t scrub off? That’s their gift. And let’s be real—how badass is the image of shadowy artists needling mythical beasts into the "warriors" of modern times? You know the answer.

The massive impact this era of tattooing in this sector of the world has impacted global tattooing on a scale that is UNDENIABLE. So many of the sound techniques, images, how we shape the body to create composition and flow, were greatly refined during this time. We stand on the shoulders of the multitude of humans who helped develop this craft we all hold so closely to our hearts. Not any on person can be attributed to causing this growth, we all are part of this history. Some may stand out for revolutionizing how something was approached, or refining a new technique, that being said we are a multitude. A collective spanning the globe, connected by the love we all have for tattooing, and telling our own individual stories.

In modern times traditions have been largely forgotten or unspoken about. Forgetting where we come from is a true slap in the face to people who paved the way for us. I think understanding where tattooing has been, how it has been scrutinized, why its been so protected, and the honor that came with just carrying one of these pieces allows us to better respect and appreciate the work done by our ancestors in tattoo realm. We would not be as good as we are today without them. We wouldn't be able to tattoo for a living without them. We wouldn't get to share this beautiful art form in the manner we do without their contributions. So next time your sitting in a studio talking about this badass huge dragon sleeve you'd like to get started on, make sure to thank your local Yakuza member ( if you have one)

Happy Tattooing

-Ross