Nail Art: A Source Of Life Lessons

I was extremely proud of myself for what I thought was getting all my materials together in advance, so that I could really settle in with my wine, maybe put on some pajamas, and just fucking go to town with this project. But when I opened the press-on nails, tragedy: they didn’t come with glue.

Ladies, this meant a trip back to the store.

Do you know how shitty a trip back to the store is when you’ve already mentally gotten in your pajamas? So shitty.

Fortunately, though, before I made that trip, I also opened the rhinestone stickers. And it’s a good thing I did, because as soon as the air inside of that plastic contraption was released, I discovered that they smelled like death. Not just any death: MY death. Like, the death that would befall me if I kept inhaling whatever godless chemical was used to create these supposed works of art.

I won’t lie and say that for a minute there, I didn’t consider powering through with them anyway.

“But they’re so pretty!!” I whined to myself.

But logic prevailed, and so when I went back to the store, I returned home with both glue and new, hopefully nonlethal nail art, and was as such in possession of all of the following materials:

Glue, press-on nails, nail art, and nail art that wasn’t going to kill me. I AM A SUCCESS AS A GROWN-UP.

I began sticking the stickers onto the nails, and then glued the nails  onto my own fingertips, and ladies, here is how they turned out:

Awesome. I fucking love them. I totally understand why people wear these. It’s so fun! The only thing is that now, I feel like I have to get my hair done as nicely, wear more makeup, put on a pair of heels and generally pull the rest of my look up to speed in order to allow my nails to have even the slightest amount of respect for the rest of my body.

Also, it’s now been about two hours since I put them on, and I will admit something to you: 30 minutes ago, I took them off as fast as I could. Once they lost their initial thrill – and once I started trying to type – they became the worst thing ever. So my mind is now changed. These kinds of nails look lovely, but you can’t accomplish anything in them. Their insistence on style over substance, on form over function, their very superficial beauty denies them the possibility to grow and achieve.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

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    • SARAH

      the time i used press-on nails i was like 11, and i had to have my mom wipe my ass. i also ripped them off pretty soon after that and I have NEVER looked back.

      • Aileen

        Not to mention the issues they cause for contacts-wearing ladies like myself. And unfortunately, I lived in Miami where acrylic nails are a marker of your success and overall ladyhood, so it was pretty touch-and-go my sophomore-junior yrs of HS.

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