To Build, or not to build?

We all started getting our nails built at around the same time. My older sister, the self-care guru in our family, decided that it was something that we all must do. Naturally, we immediately ran after her into the stylish lure of acrylics and gels. After my first experience at the ‘salon’, my nails were quite sharp. I wondered how it is that nail-building is legal, although there is something to be said for having ten sharp weapons, ready on demand, at your fingertips. Literally.

At the beginning, I fell in love with the tap-tap-tap that my nails made on hard surfaces. It became an empowering part of who I was. Women who noticed my nails would comment enviously “oh, you got your nails done!” and I would reply, ever so nonchalantly, that my nails are always done. I would run home from an appointment, and show my husband the new design etched into my cuticles. He would nod his head in agreement (although slightly unconvincingly) that they are so very worth it. I must admit, that every once in a while I would look over at my hands, and not recognize my own nails -- but I truly came to appreciate them.

The salon experience was quite what I expected from the Israeli service industry. The nail lady claimed that I have very sensitive skin, as she filed away in every direction, completely missing the nail most of the time. Perhaps my skin would not have been so “sensitive” had you not been on the phone, I wanted to say. But I kept quiet. (It pays to be in your manicurist’s good books.)

What they don’t tell you is that once you’ve started doing it, you can never stop. Your nails grow (and you notice) like never before. Every chip, every scratch, can turn a bright happy day, into a depressing misery. You wait and long to get another chance, to make them perfect again. They are thick, and difficult to maneuver. Day-to-day activities, such as pulling small pieces of lettuce out of your teeth, or picking spare change off the ground after it’s fallen at the grocery store checkout (and everyone is waiting for you), become chores. And yet, you remain committed to an everlasting program of filing, gluing, brushing, and painting.

It was after half a year of this addictive routine that I decided “enough! I will no longer be a slave to my nails”. I knew that I was making the right decision, but I had so many worries. What would my nails look like when I came out of this on the other side?
Above all, I was scared that, by leaving it all behind, I would endure shame by telling my manicurist that I was leaving her.

And so it is with mixed feelings of sadness and great trepidation, that I bid adieu to my beautiful artificially-strengthened nails, and move on to other beauty care routines.