What I Learned When I Grew My Nails Out
Sure, it’s pretty, but it’s pretty inconvenient, too.
I have always kept my nails as short as physically possible, trimming them every couple of days. If I don’t, I’ll pick at them, and they’ll become weak, broken, and layered, and then I’ll rip the fragile growth out, like a bumper sticker on a car.
Sure, the habit stems from my lifelong anxiety, but it’s oddly satisfying to peel a layer of myself, and since I avoid sunburns, nails are where I get my kick.
That has been true my whole life. At age 27, when it seemed that long, acrylic nails were bigger than ever, both in popularity and size, I realized I had never successfully grown my nails long. I had tried a few times over the years, but the urge to pick at them always led to defeat, and the little nubs never became claws.
When I was younger, I, like many young girls, saw long nails as a sign of womanhood, a mark of a grown-up. When I became a teenager, it was tempting to grow them. I recall using press-on nails once, from the drugstore — I also recall removing them all during an English class the next day.
There is a stereotype that queer women — especially lesbians — keep their nails short and trimmed. My sexuality isn’t why my nails are short, but once, around the time I came out, I remember a friend saying something along the lines of “Of course you’re queer, I could tell from your nails!”
As an actor, sometimes I am expected to send close-up shots of my hands when submitting an audition tape. This happens more likely with ads since they often feature shots where the talent is holding their product in commercials. It goes unsaid, but I imagine that when casting for female roles, casting directors expect a certain nail look. I don’t think my broken baby nails are what they seek.
So what started my nail growth journey, then?
I had been painting my nails often, and picking at the polish instead of at the raw nails. I would paint over them again every couple of days, without giving the nails a chance to be naked before being coated in polish again. When I paused my constant painting and removed the polish, the nails underneath were… long-ish!
By most standards, they were not particularly long, but they were the longest they had ever been. I covered them in polish immediately, before my urge to destroy them took over.
The nails got long enough over the next days so that, when looking at my fingerpads, I could see quite a bit of growth beyond my fingertips.
I tried playing my ukulele and the long nails got in the way. I couldn’t place my left fingertips on the strings naturally. I had to angle my fingers to get my skin to touch the frets.
Texting and typing got harder, too. My messages became riddled with typos. Picking up small items, like coins, earrings, or closing a button, was almost not worth the hassle. I also had to clean my nails constantly — recipes with SPAM could mean I’d have a filthy snack for later if I wasn’t thorough!
I found myself needing a little more help with basic tasks. The long nails cost me my dexterity. They also cost me time — I had to keep painting them, keep them clean, and be mindful of how I used my fingertips so the nails didn’t break.
They were pretty! I felt like a diva, and I was proud of myself for going weeks without trimming my nails. Still, they weren’t worth it.
It wasn’t for me, and honestly, I’m surprised so many people do it. Do they not care that long nails, even as mildly long as mine were, get in the way of everyday activities?
Typing on a keyboard feels SO satisfying when your fingertips can touch the keys! And the moment I clipped the little claws away was beyond cathartic. Sorry, casting directors, but these fingernails are staying tiny for now.
That was my little social/physical experiment! I’m curious — what have been your experiences with different nail lengths? Why do you keep them the way you do?