When I climbed the narrow stairs into the back room of a modest tattoo studio in downtown Los Angeles, I smelled cleaner—and felt a seriousness—that I didn’t expect. The hum of sterilizers, the faint taste of disinfectant, a knot of anticipation in the air. I was there to talk with a working tattoo artist about what it really means to do this job, to build a career from needles, skin and patience.

The scene has changed — and so have the stakes

Once, tattoos carried a bit of rebel energy. But now they’re mainstream: around 32% of American adults have at least one tattoo, and a growing number of studios have sprouted across the country. 

Still, what strikes many vets of the trade is how much more crowded—and competitive—the landscape has become. According to recent industry data, there are more than 26,000 businesses categorized under “tattoo artists” in the United States.  Some independent artists work from home or informal “backyard” setups that rarely show up in official counts.

“Back in the 90s you couldn’t walk into just any neighborhood studio,” my contact said. “Today, there are shops popping up all over — and some of them operate off-grid. That means quality becomes all over the map.”

That shift has changed what it takes to stand out — and to stick around.

What it costs to get started

Becoming a tattoo artist rarely means a quick apprenticeship or cheap experimentation. Many studios expect new artists to pay for their training, not the other way around. Some charge anywhere from $2,000 to $10,000 just for mentorship or studio access — and in rare cases, even more. 

“If you get decent guidance, it can be worth it,” I was told. “But you'd better go in ready to work — long hours, scrubbing stations, watching senior artists, prepping gear.”

Tattooing is precision work on a body that moves, sweats, twitches, and occasionally gets lightheaded. Add hours of concentration, and it becomes physical labor mixed with artistry.

“People think it’s just drawing on skin,” the artist said, pulling on a pair of TitanFlex nitrile gloves. “It’s lifting your own body weight in weird angles for hours. It’s protecting clients and protecting yourself. These gloves? I go through piles of them every day.”

Nitrile gloves came up more than once. Artists lean on thicker nitrile gloves because they’re durable, chemical-resistant, and withstand long sessions. They also offer better grip on tattoo machines, especially when things get sweaty.

Then there’s the time. Most apprentices spend one to three years learning the ropes — sometimes more. During those early months you’re often unpaid; you’re essentially paying for the right to learn and to get your hands on real equipment. 

So if someone expects to just breeze in, draw a flash, and call themselves an artist — good luck.

The daily grind: more than ink and machines

Once you’re up and running, tattooing isn’t just art. It’s a discipline. That means sterilizing gear, changing needles, wiping down surfaces — over and over. Wearing nitrile gloves is part of the ritual. “You wear gloves for everything,” the artist told me, “not just when tattooing — when cleaning, prepping ink, touching surfaces. It’s about safety. For you, for the client.”

Extended sessions, sweaty concentration, hours hunched over curved skin. Between clients there’s cleaning, touch-ups, booking, social media, consultations. Build a reputation, stay consistent, keep standards high — or you fade.

That discipline, the repetition, the attention to detail — it’s what separates someone with a tattoo kit from someone who can actually build clients, trust, art.

What a tattoo artist makes — and where they go from there

Okay — the money question. It’s widespread. For those just starting out, especially while paying apprenticeship fees and splitting shop revenue, income is modest. Many first-year artists pull in around $25,000–$40,000 a year.  Mid-level artists might bring home between $50,000 and $80,000.  Then there are the pros — seasoned, in-demand artists who can be booked out months in advance. They often earn $100,000 or more annually. 

Hourly rates reinforce that too. Many tattooers charge $80–$120/hour when they’re starting out, $120–$180 for mid-range work — and top artists often ask $200–$300 per hour. 

But those numbers come with caveats. There’s overhead — studio rent, equipment, inks, sterilization gear, supplies. There’s also business risk, slow patches, and — yes — pressure to live up to client expectations.

Looking ahead: what’s next for tattooing

More studios. More clients. More competition. The industry in the U.S. is expected to keep growing.  As Millennials and Gen Z embrace tattoos as mainstream expression, demand rises. That could make life easier for good artists — but also tougher.

Those who succeed may lean into specialization — hyperrealistic portrait tattoos, color realism, cover-up work, custom pieces. Others could build their own studios, carve out niche reputations, or use social media to draw clients far beyond their zip code.

But the baseline will remain: mastery requires patience. Tattooing demands skill, hygiene, discipline, human contact — and a dose of humility.

Why it matters — and what it takes

Walking out of that studio, I felt I understood something new. Tattooing isn’t just a craft or a gig. It’s messy, demanding work. It’s cleaning up, setting up, wiping down, sketching, re-sketching, trusting, and earning trust. Wearing nitrile gloves isn’t a trend. It’s part of being responsible.

For someone thinking of becoming a tattoo artist — or trusting one with skin — it’s worth knowing what lies behind the art. Long hours. Serious training. Risky investments. Real skill.

If you want, I can also pull up some stories from independent artists — especially those who started from scratch in backyard setups — to show how real people made it work.