Photo: Edward Berthelot/Getty Images
So, I grew out my nails. The experience –or rather, ordeal– lasted a little more than a month. The first week or two, I loved the look of my long, pointy nails. I first opted for classic french tips with thick white paint, and then tried out the trending ombre look.
Appearance-wise, I was pleased; but in terms of practicality, I was not.
My long nails hindered my daily tasks – typing, for one. The extra length made it difficult to type my password into my phone and get it right on the first attempt. And when it came to actual work, I fell into the habit of bending my fingers inwardly when typing on my laptop all day, leaving them unnaturally flexed and achey afterwards. When working out, holding weights caused the points of my nails to stab into the sensitive palms of my hands. While drying my daughter’s hair after bath time, she complained I was poking her scalp. When her ears were itchy, I was unable to take off her earrings. Tickle time with my kids turned from enjoyable to painful.
The final straw was when one morning, I was physically unable to clasp my necklace around my neck. Running late for work and growing increasingly frustrated, eventually having to ask for help in putting on my jewellery, I decided that I had reached my limit. For me, long nails were not empowering – they had become the opposite.
Manicured hands remain a hallmark of feminine beauty, and also, of our contemporary tendencies to connote nails with a particular picture of womanly success. “Life is short, but your nails shouldn’t be,” is a quote I’ve often come across, as well as another: “when your nails are on point, your life is on point.” But “on-point” doesn’t have to mean unnecessarily pointy and protruding. As I type this (without any difficulty, might I add, as each fingertip touches its intended letter with ease and speed) my nails are short, pink-polished and perfectly sufficient.
I still think long nails look beautiful,…
