Still tattooing.
Still laughing.
Still showing up, every single day.
Kevin Mokuahi grew up in Waikiki — the real Waikiki, the one his father owned in the way only a beachboy can own a place.
His father was Sam "Steamboat" Mokuahi Sr. (1918–1998). Oahu's surfing community called him the Mayor of Waikiki, and the name fit. If you wanted to learn to surf, you went to Steamboat. If you wanted to know who was on the beach that morning, you asked Steamboat. He didn't need an election. He just showed up.
Kevin's older brother is Sammy "Steamboat" Mokuahi Jr., a professional wrestler who carried the family nickname into the ring. Different stage. Same blood. Same standard of showing up.
And then there's the part that almost reads like myth — except it's printed in his father's 1998 Star-Bulletin obituary: Kevin was baptized at Waikiki Beach. His godfather was Elvis Presley.
You don't get raised by the Mayor of Waikiki and learn to be small.
Kevin apprenticed under Tom Green in Costa Mesa, came home to Hawaii, and went to work at South Pacific Tattoos in Waikiki — the closest thing to a home base any tattoo artist on Oahu can claim.
He built a thirty-five-year career on a simple idea: treat every person who sits in your chair like they're the only person who sits in your chair. The locals knew it. The military families knew it. And along the way, the people who flew in to find him included:
Ask Kevin about the celebrity work and he'll wave it off in about ten seconds and start telling you about a Marine he tattooed last week whose grandfather had a piece by him in 2002. The famous clients were footnotes. The everyday people are the headline.
Three and a half decades of tattooing on Oahu, and he's still drawing flash on his off days because that's just what he does. The needle didn't make him. He made the needle.
In June 2024, Kevin got on a bicycle and rode Cycle to the Sun — thirty-six miles, ten thousand vertical feet, straight up Haleakala on Maui.
He'd been living with early-onset Parkinson's for over a decade and had finally stepped back from full-time tattooing. Most people in that chapter of life slow down, settle in, accept smaller days. Kevin pointed his bike at the tallest mountain on the island.
He didn't do it for proof. He did it because two wheels feel like freedom, and because he wanted somebody else who just heard the same diagnosis to see what a life with Parkinson's can still look like.
"It's not about me anymore.
Two wheels have been that thing for me.
I could literally tell you it saved my life." — Kevin Mokuahi, Honolulu Star-Advertiser, June 9, 2024
That's not a fight quote. That's a gratitude quote. It's the difference between a man who's mad at his body and a man who's grateful for what his body still does. Kevin has chosen the gratitude version, and you can hear it the second he walks in the shop.
Kevin doesn't take appointments at TNT. He doesn't have a portfolio link. He's not in the booking rotation.
He's something we couldn't hire if we tried.
He's the jokester who can defuse the tensest day in the shop with a single perfectly-timed line. He's the second pair of eyes when Isaac is two hours into a sleeve and needs someone who's drawn ten thousand portraits to look at the composition. He's the steady voice when Heather is handling a tough cover-up consult and needs someone who's been through that conversation a hundred times. He's the person who reminds Benson and Shane that "we tattoo for the people" isn't a slogan — it's a posture.
He keeps us humble. He keeps us honest. He keeps us laughing.
That's why his name belongs on a wall here. That's why this page exists. That's why we're closing the shop on June 27 and doing twelve hours straight for the cause he cares about most.
Today, Kevin serves as a pastoral intern at New Hope Manoa. He's a father. He's a grandfather. He's a husband. He's a man of faith.
If you spend any time around Kevin you'll notice three things pretty fast: he laughs first, he listens harder than anyone else in the room, and he doesn't waste time on bitterness. He's been given some hard chapters. He's chosen to read them as part of the story, not the ending.
He'll tell you the simplest version himself: show up. Be of use. Be kind to the next person who walks in. Laugh while you do it. Trust that the rest will get sorted.
It's not a strategy. It's a way of being. And it's the version of being we keep at TNT because Kevin keeps it here.
On Saturday, June 27, TNT Tattoo runs a 12-hour all-day event in Kevin's honor. Our artists work for tips only. 100% of tattoo proceeds go to the Hawaii Parkinson Association.
It's not a fundraiser-with-a-sad-story. It's a celebration. Kevin will be there. Come meet him.
From the 2024 Honolulu Star-Advertiser feature ahead of his Cycle to the Sun ride.
"It's not about me anymore."
"Two wheels have been that thing for me. I could literally tell you it saved my life."