Nail Culture

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While other moms may have had their hair washed and set weekly, my 1970s mother was more of a haircut and "dye hair at home" kind of woman, until she finally went beautifully grey. She polished her nails periodically at home with Revlon nail color and I never went to nail salon with her, much less remember the first time I ever stepped into one myself.

But because of the technology: basic, shellac, gel, acrylic and dip powder there's not only lots more options in 2019, but an entire culture surrounding the nail polishing ritual and its highly balanced, very complex ecosystem for the generations.

These days, as a "treat yourself" experience, I have discovered that no amount of practice, tenacity or patience can replace the art of going to the salon and working with a nail technician.


From the onset, it's a highly choreographed dance for staff and patron: walk in to a greeting from the owner/manager who recognizes all the regulars and likely dreads my periodic arrival (more on that later). We a demographer's dream — females of all ages from five to eighty-five. We are politely directed to go right to the polish wall to find the perfect color from hundreds of shades, settle into a soft chair with optional neck/shoulder massage and proceed to discuss all things nail: shape, cut or file, cuticle existence, skin softness.

For a do-it-yourselfer like me that doesn't use cosmetics freely, a busy week that stops in its tracks for a focus on something frivolous is something I'm not easily used to. Maybe those young mothers have the right idea, understanding the concept of early training so their elementary school daughters will have the hang of the process at an early age. I follow the protocol and pay and tip before the polish, sit among a group of women whose fingers are aerated by table fans to hasten the drying process and try to keep very still.

Then it happens.

I am inevitably the one woman whose basic manicure can't even make it out the door without being smudged. I am that walking calamity — a one-person profit killer for this small business. The owner takes me aside, fixes what is needed and sends me out the door not with "goodbye" but "be careful.” I make it to my car, carefully open the door then proceed to ruin another two nails before the engine is even turned on. Just my karma, I guess.

A contributing writer to the Herald since 2012, Lauren Lev is an East Meadow resident and a direct marketing/advertising executive who teaches advertising and marketing communications courses at the Fashion Institute of Technology/SUNY, LIU Post and SUNY Old Westbury.