Clean Girl Nails

How the quest for the "perfect" manicure has sent me into a mild identity crisis. *Chapter 90*

I officially retired from waiting tables 7 months ago and promptly started getting regular manicures. No longer having to carry plates or tap orders into an Ipad, I envisioned my new identity as an elegant and put-together woman. I’d drive an SUV with leather interior, wear perfectly tailored pants on my immaculately sculpted Pilates body. I’d travel more, roll my expensive carry-on luggage through TSA Pre-check and never have to remove my subtle but certainly designer loafers. I would, of course, have long, gorgeous nails.

I’ve spent the past seven months attempting to achieve hands that look like this…

My Pinterest board called The Nails

and have instead spent that time wondering why they don’t. My nail beds are small, my fingers are rather chunky and I have thumbs that curve back really far. Manicures will never look exactly how I want them to because my hands are just…my hands.

My grandmother always had her nails done in an orangey brown polish that perfectly matched her lipstick and got them filled religiously every two weeks. She’d visit the salon for a weekly blow out and I’ll never forget how she’d pucker her lips in front of her trifold light up mirror to inspect her makeup every morning.

“Never leave the house without your makeup done, you always want to make a good impression,” her life philosophy. She was a St. John Knits fanatic with a lust for costume jewelry and I think about her all the time in my quest to be as chic and put together as she was.

It still tugs at my heart to recall the time she took me to get my prom manicure and switched her years long routine of orange/brown nails to get French tips like me. She spent the rest of her life getting French manicures every two weeks.

Sun Babe, by Bonnie Lynn Felton, lynnfelton.com

Right after college, I made a conscious decision to start shaving my legs regularly. I wanted to find a boyfriend and I had just read The Secret. Smooth legs seemed like the spell that would attract someone to me. At the very least, the practice of shaving promised to make me feel more like the woman I wanted to be. Someone in charge of her life and appearance who probably had matching lingerie and a beautifully decorated apartment.

Years later and the quest continues. Forty-one years old, spending $60 a month on manicures I don’t even really like with a boyfriend who could truly care less about the amount of hair on my body. When asked he’ll say he doesn’t even know I have legs, my personality is just that good y’all.

Carrie Bradshaw never had her nails done. They were always short and unpainted and somewhere deep in my subconscious lives the belief that real writers don’t have long nails. They make typing a bitch, annoyingly clacky and uncomfortable. And so again I spiral, what the hell am I trying to achieve?

I’ve watched countless influencers tell me the exact combination of pink and white nail polishes to create the perfect neutral. “Ask for two coats bubble bath and one coat funny bunny, in that order.” My manicurist literally rolled her eyes when I requested this recipe last week and I’m glad she did because I deserved it. I don’t even like how they look.

But when I think of discontinuing my regular routine and going back to ‘real writer’ nails, I feel sad. Like a weird emptiness. Something about having shellacked fingertips makes me feel like who I feel I’m supposed to be. The problem is, I don’t think I know exactly who that is.

Or maybe I do and I simply refuse to accept her.

I admire the women whose reels I lose hours scrolling on Instagram. Their Sunday resets, skincare routines and almond milk recipes, explained with those long, gorgeous nails flailing around as they overuse their hands. Their lives seem so organized and elegant.

I wonder constantly if they’re ever staring, mouth agape, at the hairs growing ruthlessly out of their chins. Ponder if they spend their off-camera time walking around their apartments completely nude, smelling their own armpits and realizing they’ve been sitting in their own filth. Do they ever eat meals so fast they feel like primal savages, giving themselves indigestion and bloating so severe they wonder, “wait shit… am I actually pregnant?”

Like, are these girls also sort of gross too? Because I’m pretty sure there’s no amount of manicures or regular leg shaving that could cure me of my feral tendencies. The nasty habits I take deep pleasure in and would only ever do alone.

This weird obsession with basing my identity on how I look feels pretty stale. While I’ve definitely come a long way in the self-love and acceptance department, using a manicure as a symbol of that journey feels counter productive. I love long nails but maybe not on me. I keep thinking if I can just get the right shape or color, I’ll finally be the woman I’m meant to be. In reality, let’s face it, I already am her.

I cut off all my hair last summer and have no idea if I should grow it back out. My nails are long but I trimmed them myself yesterday because typing was literally painful. I got a new suitcase on sale because I’ve been traveling for work and renewed my expired known traveler number so I can keep my shoes on at the airport. I still can’t decide if I should make my next manicure appointment and I don’t know if that even matters.

I’m very consciously in the middle of a mild identity crisis but one that feels hilarious and not paralyzing. I will continue digging hairs out of my chin and removing all my clothes the moment I arrive home. While I will always be a mouth breather, I still consider myself an elegant lady my grandmother would be proud of.

I may never achieve the hands of my dreams but when I look at them, I see my mother’s and I know one day that will mean more to me than any perfect manicure ever could. Clean girl or not, long nails or short, I’m still a retired server living out my real writer dreams.

DOING

Legs up the wall 20 minutes a day. I swear this has made a huge impact on my skin and sleep. So freaking relaxing. You must try.

DRINKING

This bagged wine that’s lasted two weeks in our fridge because there’s two bottles worth of wine in it and it is freaking delicious. Bagged wine is the way of the future y’all.

READING

Please pray to the reading Gods that I have time to read this week because I gotta tell you, ACOTAR is fun? Everyone told me the first book is garbage til the end but I’m having a great time. I think my expectations were so low there’s no way I wasn’t going to be a little impressed.

Publishing late today as I worked an event all weekend that left me exhausted in a good way. I accepted a job styling a cheese table for a wedding and had an absolute blast challenging myself to achieve something I had no prior experience with. I think it turned out pretty great.

I’m also writing to you from MY NEW COMPUTER that isn’t even plugged in because she has a battery life of a thousand years! I am so excited!

Thanks for being here and for reading. New My Favorite Jeans this Friday! Hope you have a stunning and exciting week. I’ll talk to you again soon!