Don’t let your virginity stop you from getting a tramp stamp!

A few months ago, Jalana, the 29-year old author of ”The Beauty Of” Substack, found herself growing bored. Between her corporate job, long-term relationship, and her 30s quickly closing in, the New York-based writer was looking for a risk to take. “That’s enough to make anyone feel super settled and I just hate that feeling and want to actively fight against it,” Jalana says. So, she started seriously considering getting a tramp stamp. “Getting a tramp stamp feels like a commitment to rebellion and a personal reminder to keep doing fun, unexpected things.”

But it wasn’t until she posted a TikTok about wanting the tattoo a week after a depressive episode that she realised just how many other women agreed – 116,000, if the likes are to be believed. “One day, you’re posting a silly little video being like ‘I want a tramp stamp’, and the next day you’re like ‘Oh, every girl in America feels this way,’” she said in a follow-up video with over 200k likes. “Explain this feeling to a man. You could never. And, honestly, they’re not worthy.” 

Lower back tattoos first became popular with women in the 1980s, since it was an easily concealable location during a time when tattoos still carried a taboo. Then, in the late 90s and early 2000s, the backlash started, as is usually the case with trends that are predominantly female-focused. Misogynistic tabloids and pop culture more broadly degradingly nicknamed the tattoo as a “tramp stamp”, alongside other terms like “slag tag”, “bullseye” and “back bait”, and it soon became associated with a heavily-sexualised and “trashy” aesthetic. In 2009, TMZ proclaimed the tattoos as “the new scarlett letter”, and when Nicole Richie got hers removed in 2013, she said it was because “it just means a certain thing, and I don’t want to be part of that group”.

But in 2025, the tramp stamp is making its return, and it’s dropping the sexual connotations in the process. It’s perhaps unsurprising: young people are famously having less sex than previous generations, including drastically less casual sex (in 2025, 23 per cent of young people said they had regular one-night-stands, down from 78 per cent in 2004). As a self-proclaimed “serial monogamist”, for example, Jalana says she’s only been in two relationships in her entire life, one of which is her current boyfriend for the past five years. In a collective call to reclaim their lower backs, women are turning the tattoo from a symbol of promiscuity and loose morals into something much less horny. 

“I think tramp stamps today are more about empowerment than being tied to sexuality. It’s like taking ownership over something that was once seen as ‘too sexual’ or judged harshly,” says Bayla, a 25-year-old tattoo artist in New York who’s seen the stamps growing in popularity, especially with women in their 20s and 30s. “With everything going on politically, a lot of women are using tattoos like this as an act of autonomy and self-expression. It’s kind of a visual way of saying ‘I control my body, my choices and image.’”

The choice to be sexual is a woman’s right, one that should be fought for during a time of regressive conservative policies and culture, and a political attack on reproductive rights. But tramp stamps are no longer bound to how active your sex life is. In one TikTok video, Blessing, 21, said she’s a virgin who just booked her tramp stamp appointment. “Don’t let your virginity stop you from accomplishing your dreams,” she wrote on the video. “Me wanting a succubus tattoo [lower belly tattoo] but being basically asexual,” one commenter responded. Meanwhile, others commented that they’ve marked their lower backs, as well as spines and tongues, with “sexually suggestive” piercings and tattoos all while remaining abstinent.

Given the tramp stamp revival is much less promiscuous this time around, the meaning behind the new generation of lower back tattoos ranges from silly and irresponsible to a celebration of heritage. Taking inspiration from over 8,000 comments on her TikTok videos, Jalana says she’s leaning towards something feminine and dainty, her childhood nickname, or even daring to go against the forbidden rule: never tattoo your partner’s name. “I’ve had an urge to really lean into what you’re ‘not supposed to do’ and get my boyfriend’s name tattooed in cursive, or the pet name we have for each other,” she says. 

Aviance, a 27-year-old DJ who describes her sex life as “intentional”, has a tramp stamp with a deeper meaning, albeit in a popular 90s style. “The style of my tramp stamp represents my indigenous roots. It's a tribal print,” she says. “I really appreciate patterns and the act of style with no words.” Similarly, Marisa, 26, says her tramp stamp – a skull with fangs and wings going halfway up her back – is a continuation of a style she already has all over her body, not an invitation for sex. “Sex appeal does not equate to constantly being sexual with people,” she says, noting that tramp stamps don’t mean you’re “easy” to hook up with.

While tramp stamps are often regarded as a sexy little tattoo women will “regret” as they age – joining logo tattoos and the infamous Chinese word soups – the revival is all about women doing whatever they want with their bodies without being demeaned. “There’s always a question of regret when you approach life that way. But if I come to not like it, I will literally just face forward,” Jalana says. In the end, what’s a tramp stamp to the collective exhaustion women face in today’s world? As Jalana says, “I’m embracing silliness to cope with it all and to avoid taking things too seriously, especially the things that don’t need to be.”