I’m looking at my nails as I type this blog—overgrown cuticles, a few jagged edges, little chips of polish on a few nails. Un-filed, overgrown, unkempt. I really should go get a manicure but the last experience I had at the place that I go to get my nails done has me a bit skittish to go back.
The last time I went to get my nails done was to get a pedicure about 2 1/2 months ago. It was the middle of winter and given how cold natured I am, my feet don’t see the light of day unless I am showering or switching out my pair of socks before I put my slippers back on. No one sees my feet—not even me. But on that day I just wanted to get a pedicure—well truth be told, I really wanted the leg and foot massage and a chance to sit in one of those massage chairs for an hour—the polish was just the way to get there.
So I went to the place about a mile from my house; and let me remind you, I went in fully knowing that the benefits of my pedicure three months prior had definitely worn off! The woman doing my pedicure asked me which type of pedicure I would like that day and I chose the basic package. She tried for a minute to upsell me but I stuck to my guns, even though I did promise her that the next time I came in I would go for the next level up. As she began her work on my feet she kept looking at me to tell me what terrible feet I had, how she couldn’t believe I had let them get so bad and how I really needed to take care of them and of course how buying the most expensive pedicure package would take care of it! Just 15 minutes prior I had been confident that my pasty white feet were simply a result of the previous 3 months of winter and all of the sudden I started to feel self conscious.
As she continued on with each step of the pedicure process she seemed to make it painfully obvious to me that my feet needed a lot of work done. About half way through the pedicure she asked if I wanted a manicure. I mumbled something about not having time that day as she began telling me the same things about my hands as she did my feet. I think I literally started sweating in the chair! My hour of relaxation was quickly turning into an hour of being shamed. I calmly repeated that the basic pedicure was all I wanted for that day and after a few more attempts, she relinquished and continued working on my feet. Peace, at last.
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| I mean, ya would have thought I was sporting something like this! |
After getting the hot towels—my favorite part of the pedicure—she sat back down in her chair and told me that I really needed to wax my upper lip. I’ll admit, I was fully aware of that. I wasn’t growing a mustache or anything but I knew I was about due, but I also have a wax pot at home so I was going to do it myself. Fearing the further shame that I might incur if I declined this offer as well, I agreed to let her wax my upper lip. As she started the lip waxing process she told me I could also benefit from having my eyebrows done. By this point I was over the whole process and told her, firmly, “NO”. I mean seriously people, I have super thin and super light eye brows…I even color them once a month so that they match my dark hair and even when they are ‘overgrown’ I’m no Freida!
I quickly paid for my services (and likely gave way too large of a tip for the badgering I received!) and got out of there. As I trudged back to my car in those little styrofoam flip flops I caught myself crunching numbers to see how I might be able to swing a monthly mani/pedi in my budget—apparently I was in dire need. I pulled on the calculator in my phone and began to do the math when I realized how deeply this experience was effecting me. I do fully realize that this woman was simply doing her job—the more services she offered the more she got paid; this was a business transaction for her. But in ‘doing her job’ I left left the nail salon feeling terrible about myself and thinking about all of the things that I needed to prioritize in my physical appearance to be more appealing to the public. I admit, I even thought that perhaps paying more attention to the details might earn me a few dates with respectable guys!
The beauty industry is a multi-billion dollar industry. Every day we are bombarded by messages, commercials and even our friends, family and co-workers that all seem to have something that we don’t—their hair, their outfit, those arms, that pair of boots, that jewelry, that color of nail polish. Advertisers do their jobs by getting us to believe that if we have whatever product it is that they are selling we will be the pinnacle of whatever lifestyle goal we are trying to achieve.
I would even venture to say that we know this to an extent. We know that washing our hair with Herbal Essence’s shampoo and conditioner will not draw men to us like a Siren and yet we see those commercials and there is a little voice in our head that wonders “well…maybe…” And so we continue our trek to add value to ourselves through the mediums sold to us by commercials, in magazines and quirky women at the nail salon.
I mean really, is having a monthly mani/pedi really going to make me a better therapist? Is it going to improve my writing skills? Is it going to make me a more compassionate friend or help me seek after social justice in a more innovative way? Is this going to make me a better lover, more honest or more authentic? Likely not. And yet I get caught up believing that these external markers of beauty (which are culturally induced and defined—and subjective) are the things that are going to push me to the top and really give me the edge on my competitors.
I’m not suggesting that we let ourselves go or even that looking nice, taking pride in how one looks or having nice, expensive or unique things is a bad thing. Getting our nails done, our hair colored or getting our legs waxed is perfectly fine. But these are not the things that are going to add to our value as an individual.
I would imagine that when we let these external, subjective markers of beauty be the definers of who we are as a person, we will have many more sweaty moments on the massage chair. Truth be told, I’m probably going to get a pedicure this weekend—spring is right around the corner and with sandal season upon us, my gnarly feet need a little bit of attention. I think this time though I might bring some music and ear buds with me so that I don’t get caught up in pondering the manicurists words and find myself seriously considering that the answer to all life’s problems would be solved through the color of my toenails.
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