This holiday season, a particularly sticky mood inspired me to get my nails done. I’m not much of a manicure person—I usually let my nails do their own thing:
Sometimes I play a little game with my uneven nails. I hold a little pageant to see which hand is working with a nicer set overall:
One by one, I have each nail face off against its counterpart and keep the nicest nail up as I move through all five pairs.
At the end, I admire the winners and single out the most gorgeous nail of the group.
For some reason, it’s always a pointer finger. I wonder why that is—I would think it’d be the pinkies that are the most likely to grow long under the radar.
A beauty contest just like this one inspired my December stint of manicures. I figured it would be really satisfying to grow out my nails so they all matched this left pointer finger and celebrate my dedication with a glamorous coat of polish.
A ‘being a lady’ tip that lives in a pile of ‘being a lady’ tips in the back corner of my brain. Others include:
celery is negative calories
not wearing a bra will make your boobs sag faster
panty lines are the enemy
Unfortunately, this grand grow-out plan was derailed by a shopping day (trying on jeans breaks nails). My left pointer finger didn’t make it out intact. I had lost my North Star. I bit my nails down to make them all even.
Still desperate for that sense of reinvention that a nail color can give, I figured I maybe had it backwards: rather than grow my nails out for the manicure, get a manicure to grow out the nails.
This logic was inspired by the spicy nail polish technique. I believe this was originally intended to help people stop biting their nails, but my parents had floated this idea to get me to stop sucking my thumb. I always thought this was as really flimsy method. It’s called nail polish remover! I should note though that I was sucking my thumb through the age of thirteen, and I imagine the target demographic that this solution was intended for didn’t have easy access to that loophole.
I booked a manicure for December 4th and on an impulse upgraded to gel day-of. UV lamps lined each table, everyone was getting one. I was giddy. I chose a dark teal color and felt very cool.
And for a moment, a little too cool. The next morning I began researching gel manicures and their impact on nail health. I had felt a slight burning sensation under the UV light and that worried me. I have a habit of doing this—acting spontaneously and then researching later. It’s similar flavor to trying on new clothes the moment I get home with them, but a bit more destructive/spiral-inducing. After buying a new appliance or mattress, I feel compelled to read the negative reviews. Help me! Gel isn’t phenomenal for the nails, but in my tunnel vision to grow mine out, the takeaway message I received from the articles I read was that it’s important to get a fresh manicure every two weeks. Leaving a gel manicure on for longer just isn’t healthy!
I had no choice. I had to get a second fancy manicure two weeks later and I’ve been a different person ever since. My nails are long and SOLID. I have an entirely new persona. And a gel manicure will do that to you. Gel. And it’s important to specify because a classic manicure doesn’t take my identity for as much of a disorienting and thrilling spin. When you get a classic manicure, the ever-present fear of chipping or smudging is a constant reminder of the polish’s temporary nature. Your hands—once your most reliable tools—become these precious objects rendered almost completely useless.
A regular manicure is very vulnerable to the elements—often in surprising/unexpected/frustrating ways. Once before a wedding I sprayed DEET on my feet and it (to my shock and horror) melted and smudged my fresh lilac pedicure (which I then projected all my feeling onto as I removed the polish, defeated, convinced this was a sign the weekend would be terrible).
After a classic manicure, your hands are not yours to use, they become “other.”
But when I get a gel manicure, the paint and I become one. The manicure is melded, cured, sealed onto my person. It’s indestructible. Rather than the constant reminder that the pretty nails are temporary, the durability of a gel manicure is an emotional (and also literal) double take of “oh, I AM this fancy lady.” Each click and clack of a keyboard or tap tap tap on a phone screen (scrolling with long nails is an ASMR breed of sensual) I’m brought out of my body in a cool way, admiring the new character I have become.
And in a fun both can be true moment, the grown-up feeling of these nails is also very much dress up and playing pretend.
When I was younger, one of my favorite things to do was go to CVS and buy press-on nails and then play pretend in worlds where the nails would get a lot of mileage. My favorite games to play:
Restaurant - Writing was completely new with long nails. Learning how to hold the ballpoint pen to take down orders was a THRILL.
Antique Store - Long nails are perfect for showing off furniture. Opening drawers, revealing shelves, unhooking latches! I went around the house and put price tag stickers on all my parents furniture to make the experience feel more authentic. Only my pretend patrons appreciated that.
Hotel Concierge - My favorite place to go with my mom was Staples. While my mom shopped for office supplies, I made myself at home in the keyboard aisle and clacked away. A hotel concierge does a lot of typing making reservations for their guests. One we had a storyline where a guest went into labor in the lobby. That was exciting.
Monopoly - I am not a game person, but when I had fake nails, games became exciting. My best friend and I would sit and play Monopoly or Uno and our long plastic fingers would slowly transform us into Brooklyn moms complaining about our children:
Me: “Oh, well Marnie didn’t come home last night.”
Friend: “No, you’re kidding!”
Me: “I’m gonna have to hide the blow dryer again.”
And with my long, gel-protected hands, I feel like I’m playing these games all day long. This sensation reminds me of this Goosebumps VHS I’d watch at my grandmother’s apartment in Tel Aviv. It’s the story of a girl who wears a mask on Halloween that over the course of the episode—unbeknownst to her—melds onto her face. She cannot take it off at the end of the night. She becomes the costume. That’s a gel manicure.
This last time, I chose a color called “Maple Syrup.”
This is honestly why I don't get manicures, I'm worried I will never stop