From an early age I was always fascinated by tattoos. I came from a family where no one was tattooed, and to see a heavily tattooed person at the beach or swimming pool was to have an encounter with something exotic. At that time there was no internet, no tattoo TV shows and very little literature on the subject. I remember sending off for a magazine called Body Art. It was impressive stuff, and my tattoo education began there.  Related: London tattoo convention - a visual tour  Tattooing was exciting then, back in the late 80s. Stepping through the door of a tattoo studio was a rite of passage in itself. My first tattoo was a small Celtic motif I designed myself, which was applied to my left upper arm in a very macho biker studio.  As I got more involved in the scene, and more heavily tattooed, windows into this secret world would open – and eventually doors. I became good friends with a few tattoo artists and having seen the work I had designed for myself, my friends encouraged me to start tattooing; I followed their advice and it became my job.  For many people, now more than ever, tattooing is a dream job, and I understand why. Tattooists can dress any way they want. Once they have the contacts and skills they can work almost anywhere in the world. The job is creative. Tattooists enjoy high social status in their area, whether they are a small town high-street tattooist in provincial Britain, or a hip Insta-famous artist working in Hackney or Kreuzberg. It pays well.  All of the above is true. But so is the fact that tattooing full time will give you a bad back, neck and shoulder problems and damaged wrists. Tattooists also spend hours in intimate contact with people who have questionable hygiene. I once had a memorable few hours tattooing the lower back of a person with a very pungent intergluteal cleft, not to mention the cases of halitosis and athlete’s foot I’ve got up close and personal with over the years.  Like that other stalwart of rebellion, rock and roll, body art has been commodified to the point of irrelevance.  Customers can be rude to the point of violence. I have been threatened physically after refusing to tattoo someone’s face, twice, by the intoxicated. If clients aren’t rude, they can be stupid beyond belief. I once had to explain to a young woman in her 20s that getting her boyfriend of two weeks’ name tattooed on her crotch was not a good idea. A colleague of mine did the tattoo for her after she pointed out, correctly, that if we didn’t do it someone else would. The relationship didn’t last – she came back to have it covered a few months later.  While it’s true that a hardworking tattooist can earn a decent living, I imagine most clients and potential tattooists have little understanding of how the money side of things works. Ordinarily, a tattooist takes a fee for his work and a percentage (usually 40%-50%) goes to the studio. Tax, holiday and sick pay will come out of the remaining 60%. Taking into account the time spent preparing the design, and the (often unpaid) time spent as an apprentice gives a more realistic view of tattooists’ earnings. As we are paid on a commission basis, a good day can bring in £500, a bad day nothing. Of course, most days fall somewhere in between.  The creative side of tattooing is often overstated as well. Many artists will find themselves doing the same trite cliches and sentimental claptrap day in and day out. Personally, I hate anything without imagination or mystery, such as tattoos related to football, patriotism, song lyrics and names. I will turn them down and lose money rather than do them.  There are many talented artists pushing boundaries and taking the art form in new and exciting directions, but this is generally limited to a few studios operating out of more culturally dynamic places, and does not represent the reality of working in one of the hundreds of studios across the UK. Tattooing in Britain has taken its place on the high street, alongside hair dye and acrylic nails, to become just another part of the narcissistic, selfie-obsessed culture of the 21st century.  The biggest change, and for me the worst, that I have seen in tattooing has been its acceptance by mainstream society. Tattooing has lost its outsider status. Tattooed people are no longer seen as mad, bad and dangerous to know. A new tattoo means little more than a few likes on Instagram. It has all the danger of a Sex Pistols T-shirt hanging in a Topshop window. Like that other stalwart of rebellion, rock and roll, body art has been commodified to the point of irrelevance.  The job is something I’m grateful to do, but feel increasingly trapped in. I am currently working on a novel, not the most reliable choice of career to try and break in to, but one that allows similar levels of personal freedom.  Tattooing is like an ugly, misunderstood and unnerving creature living on the ocean floor, for years the stuff of legend and rumour. Drag this brittle and malformed freak of nature to the surface and it crumbles and dies; better it had been left in the depths.  • Are you a photographer, an inventor, a nurse? We want to hear your candid accounts of what work is really like. Find full details on submitting your story anonymously here
I fell in love with tattoos when they were exciting. Now studios have sprung up on every high street, they have lost their outsider status