Pete Davidson Flaunts Bold Tattoo Removal Progress During Babymoon With Elsie Hewitt
On August 29, a beachy Instagram selfie on Elsie Hewitt’s feed captured Pete Davidson shirtless and smiling as the fading map of his famous ink told a new story across his chest.
Call me Maya Rivers, scribbling sonnets out of sunscreen and saltwater, because this snapshot begs for verses. Here I am to spill the tender tea, humming a rhyme about celebrity skin and the quiet courage of starting over. A selfie, a shoreline, and a chest in soft revision, like a poem mid-edit.
Let us set the scene with hard facts and ocean light. Pete Davidson, 31, slipped into frame with goggles perched like a crown and a gold chain catching the sun, while his pregnant girlfriend Elsie floated behind him in crystalline blue. The couple announced in July that they are expecting their first child, and now this babymoon still captures something beyond vacation smiles. Look closer and you see it. Shoulders and collarbone cleared. Upper chest etchings diminished. The skull that once glared is now a whisper, the animal a suggestion, and the vivid red quote more memory than mark. Yet a few players remain bold on the stage. There is a crimson text that reads “MOMTATTOO,” a spectral ghost, and a show-stealing shark on his left pec, crisp and unapologetic.
This evolving canvas is not an accident. Davidson began removing his collection of more than 200 tattoos in 2020, a long haul he has described with a blend of brutal honesty and deadpan humor. He told Page Six last year that laser sessions are no spa day, noting, “They burn off your skin and then you’ve got to do it 10 more times.” Sometimes he is under anesthesia for the deeper work, he said, and when it is just an arm, he tries to tune out with music or chat with a nurse. Then, in April, he told Variety that the price tag is as unforgiving as the zap itself. “It’s a pretty uncomfortable amount of money to disclose. I’ve already spent like 200K and I’m like 30 percent done. So, like, it’s gonna suck.” He guessed that the journey might take another 10 years, and mapped his progress like a road trip. Arms, hands, neck, mostly cleared. Torso and back, still on deck.
The new photo lines up perfectly with those candid updates, which gives this little sunlit moment the weight of receipts. Instagram holds the image, Page Six holds the pain scale, and Variety holds the invoice. Together they sketch a portrait of a guy who is trading punchlines for patience, one laser at a time.
There is that added twist of timing too. As Davidson and Hewitt coast into parenthood, the vanishing ink plays like a prelude to a new act. It is not a declaration that tattoos and fatherhood do not mix, not at all. It is more like an artist repainting a wall before the nursery furniture arrives, a tidy-up before life’s loud lullaby. The surviving shark feels almost symbolic, a protector that patrols the left side of his chest like an all-seeing lifeguard.
Let us be real. Celebrity reinvention is often loud. This one is tender and incremental, the way clouds move if you look away and then look back. Weeks become months, and suddenly the negative space expands. The collage of past selves recedes. The body becomes a fresh page again, waiting for a new stanza. For a performer whose humor thrives on radical candor, the transparency tracks. The laser, like a punchline, is sharp and illuminating.
If you are keeping score at home, the receipts are straightforward. He started in 2020. He says he is about a third of the way through. He has already sunk roughly 200K into the process. He estimates up to a decade more to go. Arms, hands, neck are mostly done. Torso and back remain the big hills. And yes, that babymoon photo backs up the blueprint, showing a chest in transition, equal parts erasure and encore.
What happens next feels obvious and yet tantalizing. More appointments. More fade. Maybe a playful debate over which designs stay to tell the tale for his future kid, which ones bow out to be remembered in interviews and reruns. As any poet will tell you, the power of an edit is not what you remove, but what you make room for. On that beach, in that soft light, Davidson’s chest looked like a clean breath held between waves.
For now, chalk it up as a summer stanza. A selfie that doubles as a status report. Proof that transformation can be both expensive and exquisite, patient and public. When the sun swung low and the comment count climbed, I could almost hear the last line writing itself. The ink fades, the water shimmers, and the story keeps swimming. And so, yes, call this progress. Call it prelude. Call it a punchline that lands with a gentle glow. The tide goes out, the chest grows clearer, and the next chapter skims the horizon like a gull ready to glide.
Watch this space for the next check-in, the next laser lap, and the day the shark finally shares the stage with a baby grin in the family album.
The ink dries for now, but the poem is not finished.
Sources: Celebrity Storm and E! News, Page Six, Variety, Instagram
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