I carry what I feel best serves my needs. The laws where I live (San Diego) are very permissive when it comes to knives so I have almost no limit on what I can carry. When choosing a knife, after considering what I need in a knife, and then what the law says, I choose what best suits my personal tastes. What others might think of my knives never figures into the process.
I openly carry a fixed-blade (Wilson Tactical model 25) hanging from my belt wherever I go here in urban San Diego, have done so for many years without issue. I also carry a folder in my pocket (Bradley Alias 1). And to give a more complete picture- I ride a big black motorcycle, wear a ragged black leather MC jacket and ragged black leather MC boots, and I haven't shaved since I was a teenager (I'm 43). If I worried about what others thought of appearances, and lived my life based on their opinions, I imagine I'd be a very different person. But I say to hell with that, because I like who I am.
And although I never consider others when choosing my knives, I do consider others when it comes to using my knives in public. A perfect example is this- I was at Costco (big warehouse type store), and I was sitting outside at a table at their food court. I had purchased an item inside that was sealed in a plastic clam-package. There were several women and children close by. So instead of pulling out a knife and cutting open the package, I waited until I was out in the parking lot and away from the crowd. I wouldn't even describe this as an inconvenience.
And now just for the hell of it, here's a little story of a knife-related experience I had a little ways back- I was out riding one of the more desert-type areas here in San Diego when I pulled into a gas station. Sitting on my bike having a cold drink I heard this loud scraping noise coming up the street. I looked and it was a woman in a mini-van, and there was something big hanging down from behind her front bumper. She pulled into the gas station lot, got out, looked under her van and started becoming upset. I walked up and asked what the problem was. At first she looked at me with a bit of alarm, but I smiled a friendly smile and asked if I could help (there was no one else around in the parking lot).
She proceeded to tell me how she had bottomed-out her van a while ago and the plastic panel that protects the front undercarriage had broken loose. She said a mechanic had rigged it back up, but that it had just come loose a few miles down the road. So I got down on the ground and examined the problem, and came to the conclusion that it was too damaged to reattach it (I always carry zip-ties and wire in my bike). I told her that it looked like the only option was to completely remove the panel (it was still being partially held on by several plastic fasteners). She was completely fine with the idea, she just needed to get back on the road.
I couldn't get enough leverage to break the fasteners loose with my hands (tight squeeze under there) and I didn't want to risk damaging anything under her van, or risk cutting myself, by trying to force it free. So I told her I would cut it free (I told her this in advance specifically so it wouldn't shock her when I pulled my fixed-blade out). She said that she was fine with me cutting it off, so I pulled my knife and used it to pry and cut the fasteners away. The panel came off, went into a garbage dumpster, the woman thanked me, offered me money, I accepted her gratitude but refused the money, we said our goodbyes and she was on her way down the road.
Now I can't help but wonder if she tells this story to people ("A biker with a big knife fixed my van"). And I can't help but wonder if she was thankful that I, and my knife, were both there in her moment of need. I like to think she was. She sure seemed thankful anyways.