Lelé was always drawing. In her hometown of Porto Alegre, Brazil, her notebooks were less about notes and more about doodles — a form of therapy she didn’t know she needed. This lifelong love for pencil-on-paper followed her all the way to Madrid, where Lelé studied marketing, PR, and graphic design at Universidade Madrid. But it wasn’t coursework that changed her life. It was ink.
On visits home, Lelé started turning her doodles into posters. No agenda, no messaging. Just vibes. Pure visual serotonin intended to brighten a stranger’s day. Her foray into urban art started gaining attention, eventually spilling over to Instagram, where friends and fans began asking her a very specific question: “Hey, can you design my tattoo?”
Back in Madrid, in 2016, she picked up a tattoo gun and began working with pigskin to learn her craft—an ethical nightmare for a vegan.
“It was awful,” Lelé recalls. “But that’s all that was really available in those days.”
By day, she was still grinding in branding and freelance design, but her heart wasn’t in pitch decks and Pantone charts. What lit her up was the deeply human connection that came with tattooing — working with people, not “clients,” having conversations, not contracts. So, in 2023, Lelé took the leap: she opened the Jardim Ecotattoo studio in Campo de Ourique, with which Lelé also decided to tackle one of the industry’s ugliest little secrets—waste.
Spoiler alert: tattooing is not kind to the environment. Plastic covers, non-recyclable packaging, and single-use everything. Lelé dove headfirst into the trash heap to rethink the whole setup. Out went the plastics and petroleum-based products; in came wheat- and cornstarch-based covers, biodegradable gloves, recycled paper packaging, and a post-tattoo gel that replaces traditional plastic wrap.
“I’m very meticulous about where the supplies come from and what they’re made of,” Lelé says. And clearly, people are noticing, because she’s getting harder and harder to book.
Her studio is a quiet rebellion against the gritty, ink-stained stereotype. Think dreamy botanical prints from Botanicum, leafy ferns, and a vintage wooden chest whose mirror drenches the space in light. It’s a calm, safe space that screams “let’s collaborate” rather than “get in, get inked, get out.”
Many of her clients are first-timers drawn to her delicate, minimalist style. We’re talking ultra-thin lines and whisper-light details.
“I’m not here to pressure anyone into getting tattooed,” Lelé says. “I’m here to mark a moment in time. And that’s a delicate process.”
(Side note: Lelé also confirmed we’ve officially moved on from tramp stamps and the dolphin-on-the-ankle era. Praise be.)
When asked about Lisbon’s tattoo scene, Lelé doesn’t mince words.
“It’s mostly male,” she says. “But that’s changing.”
Post-pandemic, more women have opened studios that break away from the traditional macho aesthetic.
“I’m building a space for other women, but I’m not the only one. The community is super collaborative. If someone isn’t right for a particular style, they’ll recommend someone else. There’s no judgment,” she says.
Lelé also leads workshops for artists at all levels, on co-conscious tools, tattooing techniques, and practical tips (like: bring your own razor, people). She also provides vegan practice skins, biodegradable gloves, and a breakdown of each material’s environmental footprint, pulled from meticulous research and her own trials and errors.
A turning point came after Lelé read How Bad Are Bananas? — a deep dive into the carbon footprint of, well, everything.
“It changed the way I look at the world,” she says. “There are some things we can’t change, but if we don’t try, we’re just making it worse. Honestly, it’d be easier and cheaper not to care as much as I do.”
Naturally, Lelé wears her values on her sleeve, literally. Her first tattoo (a silhouette of a young girl) was a gift from her mom at age 17. Her latest is pencil sharpener, honoring the humble tool that started it all. She’s also got a blue Portuguese tile on her ankle — a little love letter to Lisbon from herself to herself.
Curious about why Lelé doesn’t have more of her own designs inked on her body?
“Tattooing yourself is not ideal,” she laughs. “It’s painful, awkward, and you have to be a bit of a contortionist to finish the job. Of course we all do it eventually, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
And yet, those awkward contortions led to one of her most successful projects to date: the souvenir tattoo campaign. Think carnations for the 50th anniversary of the Carnation Revolution — something Lelé was doing almost daily between February and June last year.
“The design is subtle, but it means a lot,” she says.
Meaningful. Ethical. Beautiful. And just a little bit punk. That’s Lelé for you.
