King Ink

Around the same time he was building the ink business, Barth began thinking about something few tattooists seem to consider: the customer experience. "Most people are intimidated when they walk into a tattoo shop," he says. "But if the customer is not comfortable, he's not telling you truthfully what he wants, which means he's not getting what he wants." Make customers feel good about their tattoos--rather than bullied--and they're far more likely to come back for more. "It's how you greet the customer when he walks in," Barth says. "It's how you pick up the phone and it's the music that's played in the stores. I bet you that in 95 percent of the stores you're going to hear death metal, when you want music that relaxes you." His shops play R & B and soul.

Barth says that he tries to make his shops feel like doctors' offices in order to assuage clients' fears about disease transmission. But that description doesn't do them justice. Although the Rochelle Park shop does indeed have drab white rooms that seem vaguely medical, its most striking feature is the lobby. The space is overcrowded with art and tattooing trophies, making it feel like the rec room of the world's most dedicated tattooing fan. The impression is reinforced by the proliferation of chairs and barstools, which make it a rather pleasant place to spend an afternoon. Barth says that's the point and credits Starbucks with the inspiration. "There's a big thing in tattoo shops: They want to get you in and get you out," he says. "We invite people to come back." Adds Jason Sall, who apprenticed with Barth in 2000 and now works as a staff tattooist in Belleville: "I don't want to say that we're corporate because that's a bad word. But we're very business-oriented."

Earlier this year, Barth opened his first new shop outside New Jersey, in the southern Spanish town of Malaga. But Starlight's future really depends on what happens in Las Vegas. After tattooing Diehl, Barth and a lawyer flew out to America's playground. They brought with them a signed contract to open a Starlight Tattoo inside the Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino. They'd planned to deliver it to the hotel's president, Bill Hornbuckle, but instead were asked to meet with the vice president of sales, who politely informed Barth that the hotel was rethinking the proposal and had decided to put it on hold. Barth walked out of the meeting stunned. A year's work was down the drain. "It was unreal," he says. "But there was no possibility in my mind that we would not have a store."

When he returned home, he immediately sent a gift basket with a note suggesting they might find another location within the hotel. That led to a face-to-face meeting with Hornbuckle several months later. "I got about five minutes," says Barth, "and I gave my best Donald Trump spiel: our white-collar, high-end tattooing philosophy." Hornbuckle was impressed. "The brand fit for us was fairly easy," he says. "Simply walk around the hotel and you will see many of our customers with tattoos." They landed on a new idea: to build adjacent to the House of Blues Las Vegas, a Mandalay Bay tenant that does $43 million a year in revenue hosting concerts and corporate events. The sixth Starlight Tattoo will be accessible, via a VIP entrance, to House of Blues guests--so that concert attendees (and performers) can get inked before or after a show. Barth signed a lease agreement with the hotel and a co-branding agreement with House of Blues parent LiveNation in July. Construction of the 1,800-square-foot store began shortly thereafter.

When the shop opens on Super Bowl weekend next February, Barth says, he will have spent more than $1 million getting it off the ground. But because of the heavy foot traffic, he believes that the single location easily could double the revenue of his other five. Rates will be comparable to what staff artists charge in New Jersey--between $100 and $300 an hour. "Obviously, the thinking is that if this works, it makes sense to open up in other locations down the road," says Greg Encinas, general manager of the House of Blues Las Vegas. If that happens, Barth is ready. "I've got six people ready to take over and manage their own stores," he says.

Barth often casts his life as a struggle for legitimacy: first as tattooist in Austria, then as an artist in America, and finally as a businessman. He's proud of the fact that he owns his company outright with no debt and that he tattoos businessmen and celebrities and actors. He's proud of his IT infrastructure, his OSHA compliance, and his Social Security payments--in short, of everything that makes Starlight Tattoo a mainstream business. While the idea of creating a Starbucks-like chain of studios may illicit snorts from most tattooists, Barth embraces the comparison. "I admire Starbucks," he says. "It's a great company with a great structure, great management, and a great concept. I like how Howard Schultz branded it in such a short time and that he owns most of his stores."

That a tattooist can say this without shame is amazing in itself. That Barth is saying it is a mark of how far he's come. He's gone from being a roving artist to a being married father. Barth may not succeed in taking tattooing corporate--or in keeping tattooing authentic, for that matter--but his fearlessness is admirable. Here is a born artist who decided to be a businessman and picked the toughest business he could find. When I suggest that he may be attempting the impossible, there's an uncomfortable pause: "But I am known to do the impossible." He says it slowly, with the self-assuredness of a man stating the obvious.

Max Chafkin is an Inc. staff writer.