What's an incredibly manly guy like me doing in a nail salon?
Posted: Sun Jan 22, 2012 9:15 pm
Let's face it, when it comes to being a man, movie studios hire me to give George Clooney lessons on how to appear more masculine. I entered puberty and the Cub Scouts in the same year. And there's so much testosterone oozing out of my body, I have to keep a Swiffer with me at all times.
So what, you may ask, is a spectacularly masculine guy like me doing having his nails worked on by a Chinese lady whose entire English vocabulary consists of "We hurry ... I go Burger King now"? And what does any of this have to do with playing the guitar?
The sad truth is that I have horrible nails that chip, break, and experience compound fractures from activities no more strenuous than lifting a guitar pick. And fingerpicking? Forget it. The song "Blackbird" treats my poor nails the way a belt sander treats a block of balsa wood. So, at my wife's urging, I sucked it up and followed her into a nail salon in my Seattle neighborhood.
I sat down in the chair, smiled wanly at the manicurist, and said. "I'd like four acrylic nails for my right hand." She looked confused and immediately engaged another manicurist in an animated conversation that took place entirely in Chinese, the only intelligible word being "Whopper." The other manicurist looked at me and said, "You use fingers to type?" I said. "Yes, but that's not the reason I want acrylic nails. I play guitar." From the expression on her face, it was clear she had no idea what a guitar was, so I decided to clarify by playing some air guitar for her. This seemed to work, and the two women once again entered into conversation during which both of them played air guitar, exaggerating the use of their fingers for effect. Satisfied that we were all in agreement on what I needed done, the first manicurist set about the process of applying my new nails.
Beforehand, when I thought about what it might be like to have acrylic nails put on, I was picturing long plastic nails that would be glued on, trimmed to my preferred length, then filed smartly. But that's not at all how it worked. Acrylic nails begin life as a little pile of powder. The manicurist takes a small paint brush, dips it in a bowl of water, then dabs the wet bristles in the powder. The powder sticks to the bristles, interacts with the water, and turns into a gel that the manicurist brushes onto my existing nails. The gel instantly begins to harden after which the manicurist buffs and files them.
I was skeptical, but I paid my $24 and went home, wondering if this was as hair-brained an idea as the seven different bottles of miracle nail-strengthening polishes I had seen advertised on TV whose only effect, as it turns out, was to lighten my wallet substantially. So, expecting little, I picked up my guitar, launched into James Taylor's "You've got a friend," followed by a rousing version of "Blackbird," and finally Peter, Paul & Mary's "If I had my way," a raucous strummer that's typically a torture chamber to my nails. And I have to say, I was totally impressed by the results. My nails were rock hard and showed absolutely no wear from any of the songs I played. So, all in all, I'm very happy with my new nails, and I just may go back and visit the Chinese lady in a month or so.
If you've never done anything like this, just say to yourself, "Hey, if an outrageously masculine guy like Dennis can visit a nail salon and not be intimidated, then maybe a guy like me, although not nearly as manly, can feel okay about myself."
Oh, and one piece of advice: since acrylics are not false nails that are glued onto your existing nails, you need to grow your own nails to the length you want because the powder-based acrylic nails don't add any length. Not that a guy like me worries about stuff like that.
So what, you may ask, is a spectacularly masculine guy like me doing having his nails worked on by a Chinese lady whose entire English vocabulary consists of "We hurry ... I go Burger King now"? And what does any of this have to do with playing the guitar?
The sad truth is that I have horrible nails that chip, break, and experience compound fractures from activities no more strenuous than lifting a guitar pick. And fingerpicking? Forget it. The song "Blackbird" treats my poor nails the way a belt sander treats a block of balsa wood. So, at my wife's urging, I sucked it up and followed her into a nail salon in my Seattle neighborhood.
I sat down in the chair, smiled wanly at the manicurist, and said. "I'd like four acrylic nails for my right hand." She looked confused and immediately engaged another manicurist in an animated conversation that took place entirely in Chinese, the only intelligible word being "Whopper." The other manicurist looked at me and said, "You use fingers to type?" I said. "Yes, but that's not the reason I want acrylic nails. I play guitar." From the expression on her face, it was clear she had no idea what a guitar was, so I decided to clarify by playing some air guitar for her. This seemed to work, and the two women once again entered into conversation during which both of them played air guitar, exaggerating the use of their fingers for effect. Satisfied that we were all in agreement on what I needed done, the first manicurist set about the process of applying my new nails.
Beforehand, when I thought about what it might be like to have acrylic nails put on, I was picturing long plastic nails that would be glued on, trimmed to my preferred length, then filed smartly. But that's not at all how it worked. Acrylic nails begin life as a little pile of powder. The manicurist takes a small paint brush, dips it in a bowl of water, then dabs the wet bristles in the powder. The powder sticks to the bristles, interacts with the water, and turns into a gel that the manicurist brushes onto my existing nails. The gel instantly begins to harden after which the manicurist buffs and files them.
I was skeptical, but I paid my $24 and went home, wondering if this was as hair-brained an idea as the seven different bottles of miracle nail-strengthening polishes I had seen advertised on TV whose only effect, as it turns out, was to lighten my wallet substantially. So, expecting little, I picked up my guitar, launched into James Taylor's "You've got a friend," followed by a rousing version of "Blackbird," and finally Peter, Paul & Mary's "If I had my way," a raucous strummer that's typically a torture chamber to my nails. And I have to say, I was totally impressed by the results. My nails were rock hard and showed absolutely no wear from any of the songs I played. So, all in all, I'm very happy with my new nails, and I just may go back and visit the Chinese lady in a month or so.
If you've never done anything like this, just say to yourself, "Hey, if an outrageously masculine guy like Dennis can visit a nail salon and not be intimidated, then maybe a guy like me, although not nearly as manly, can feel okay about myself."
Oh, and one piece of advice: since acrylics are not false nails that are glued onto your existing nails, you need to grow your own nails to the length you want because the powder-based acrylic nails don't add any length. Not that a guy like me worries about stuff like that.
