I paint my nails a couple times a week, a relatively new routine. Most of my life nail paining was saved for special occasions or sleepovers with my friends who had steadier hands than I did. Polish never lasted very long against my nail-biting tendencies so there didn’t seem to be much of a point.
I would still choose a pedicure over a manicure – I haven’t had one manicurist refrain from commenting on my broken nails. Not one. It breaks the pampering spell to get a lecture on proper nail maintenance. I know, okay?
In London two years ago my friend Zia painted my nails while we were staying in our rented apartment for the week. She’d done so a hundred times for me before but something about this time stuck. Most of the time I polish my own nails now – it keeps my fidgeting hands busy while watching TV and metaphorically is a small way to get a fresh start whenever I need it.
I don’t discriminate on color, favoring red or black or purple but right now my nails are painted a cornflower blue and I’ve done orange and green and white and one nail a different color each like a ten-year-old playing dress up. It doesn’t read as sophisticated, but I like a lot of color in my life.
The flipside to these mini fresh starts for me is that they don’t last long. A few days in and I have chipped the paint. Because I paint my nails so frequently sometimes I skip the patience needed for them to dry and dent or smear the color. No polish at all would probably look better.
Yet even though I’m still a nail-biter, painting my nails has curbed the habit a little. My mom used to tell me to paint my nails to get me to break it all together but polish doesn’t completely deter me. I rarely mutilate my nails consciously so knowing that there’s
I like how painted nails look curled around a Diet Coke can. Or how they match the colors in my rainbow ring. I like wearing black polish with my boots and leather jacket and feeling much cooler than I am. I like having something to do with my hands while watching a show and keeping my nail kit constantly in reach in the living room. I like that when I do get a manicure or pedicure I always pick out my grandma’s color “I’m Not Really a Waitress” and think of her. I like that a little thing like this can make me feel put together, can bring me joy, can wake me up.
With Love,
Natalie