Would-be prime ministers' wives have them. Lawyers have them. Doctors have them. So how did tattoos become so acceptable? Sailors. Prisoners. Bikers. Tattoos in the Western world were once the mark of the outcast, of the rocker and the rebel - of a certain kind of macho culture.
And yet now when the latest celebrity tattoo is revealed the gist of the discussion is usually an evaluation of the merits of the design, of the choice of Sanskrit or Latin script rather than the fact a public figure is displaying a prominent tattoo.
It's now just an everyday thing. An event like the International London Tattoo Convention can attract thousands of punters, queuing round the block to get tattoos and to witness the human canvasses covered in eye-wateringly intricate designs.
Here one can find flaming dragons, vivid carp, stylized 50s pin-up girls and a cornucopia of other alternative imagery. And the whole thing is underpinned by a dramatic shift in the status of the once-humble tat.
David Cameron's wife Samantha has attracted a soupcon of aggressive press coverage, over her plugging of her stationery firm's products rather than her discreet tattoo of a dolphin on her ankle.
But how did tattoos become all right for "normal" people and, most of all, for women?
Among the scores of artists at the convention is Alan Dean, 61, from Luton, who has been a tattooist since the age of 16. In those days the equipment was all home-made and the ink was obtained from art shops in a process of trial and error. He has seen a dramatic change since then.
"Tattooing used to be the preserve of people who were too lazy to work and too scared to steal. Nowadays you have got proper artists," he suggests.
"A lot of people wanted tattoos years ago but they were associated with freaks and prostitutes. I get a lot of women coming saying they should have had them 20 years ago."
As with so many social phenomena, the change in the status of the tattoo has happened simultaneously in the UK and US.
American-born Lynette Blinne took her daughter Kristen to get her first tattoo on her 16th birthday. The then 44-year-old English teacher liked the idea so much that she got one on her own birthday, a black cat.
Heck, I took, my (now 19 year old) daughter, Sydney for her first tattoo and even designed it. I got my first tattoo at the age of 33 and now have 3, with the most recent being "inked" a month ago.
"It is not considered lowlife as it perhaps was once. Many people are now going for their first tattoo in their 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s," she insists.
"Do English teachers do things like this? You'll find they do. You'll find tattoos in accounting and lawyers and every straight-up job. It isn't just alternative people."
A million miles away from the tattoo "addicts" who throng the convention is Grace Sproat, a 31-year-old GP who is perhaps representative of the new tattoo customer base. She has an easily-hidden gecko lizard on her lower back.
"I still haven't officially told my parents and I got it in 1996, 11 years ago. It was sort of rebellious but not really because I could cover it up and no-one would have seen.
"I just wanted to mark myself out, put something on myself that made me unique."
Katherine Irwin, associate professor of sociology at the University of Hawaii, has studied the cultural significance of the rise of tattooing among mainstream people in the West.
But she points out that in 19th Century Europe it was fashionable among some sections of the upper class to have discreet tattoos, of family crests and other aristocratic emblems. Tattoos have gone in and out of the mainstream, she insists.
"They became a symbol of working class masculinity. Now they are being recrafted into a middle class symbol.
"They like to play with fringe identities without sacrificing their middle class status. They get a tattoo that is thumbing their nose at middle class society in a way that is so mainstream that it would be hard to push them out.
"They don't get anything super-fringe, they weren't doing bloody skull and crossbones."
At the convention, among the adverts for tools like the "chrome buzzard" and the "cutback liner", there is an advertising banner bearing the legend "We Can Make Anyone Look Cool".
And that is the promise of the tattoo - that the ordinary unadorned stretch of arm or leg or stomach will be transformed into a canvas for a statement, either artistic or counter-cultural, of cool.
For the women milling around the convention the most popular explanation of the motive for getting a tattoo is about "reasserting control over your own body". In a Western world where body image, plastic surgery, anorexia and the depiction of women is a topic of daily debate, tattoos represent a different current of thought.
It is a sentiment that Margot Mifflin, author of Bodies of Subversion: A Secret History of Women and Tattoo, believes dates back to the 1980s.
"In the 1980s it was a real body decade," she says. "There was a lot of body anxiety. Women wanted to reassert control over their own bodies."
Christine Whittington, co-author of Body Marks: Tattooing, Piercing, and Scarification, got her first tattoo in her 40s and traces the change in tattoos to the rise of proper artists in the 1970s. "It was moved out of the danger zone," she says.
But the political thread is still clear at London's convention. Leah Schein, 23, who has a tattoo of a Wiccan moon goddess, says: "It's a lot to do with having control over your own image and control over your own body."
Laura, a student nurse, says it is all about the art for tattooed women. "They don't see it as a sailor tattoo or slaggish. Our culture has changed." 
But it certainly seems the case that rather than emblems of feminist struggle many of the women who get tattoos seem to opt for what might be seen as traditionally feminine themes.
Mike Phillips, who runs Reading Ink, says more women than men attend his parlour, but that the choices of image are different.
"Men get bigger stuff though. With women it's stars, flowers, cherubs."
But for those, both male and female, who are persuaded by the images of tattooed celebrities in the media, 60-year-old tattoo-festooned veteran Colin Snow has a warning.
"Fashions change but tattoos are forever."
