It wasn't until college, however, that I embraced the truly healing powers of nail polish. By this time, I'd realized that in addition to painting your nails, there are a number of other semipermanent modifications you can make to your appearance that sort of do the same job as makeup without making you deal with makeup. You can get your nose pierced, cut bangs, dye your hair red, bleach a chunk of your hair, dye the chunk purple using Manic Panic that will, sure as the sun rises, fade to blue and then to green every three weeks. I did all these things! But the main thing I did was invest in a number of pastel Essie shades, my favorite being a light lavender color that just made me happy when I looked at it. This was important since, well, let's just say college wasn't the greatest time of my life, despite what Van Wilder promised.
Some things I could not bring myself to do on a regular basis during my first two years of college: my reading, my assignments, attend class, exercise. Some things I did as often as possible during my first two years of college: my laundry, shower, watch Veronica Mars, my nails.
Any small, easily accomplishable task with immediate results was worth my time. Things like education were not. So every other night I'd queue up an episode of some sitcom and carefully paint my nails, making it last as long as possible, which meant three thick layers on every finger. I didn't get into nail art, because I didn't want to be frustrated or have to concentrate. I just wanted to Zen out. The next day, every time I looked at my usually lavender fingertips, I'd feel momentarily calm and happy, and, well, it looked nice, and I'm not above wanting to look nice.
It seemed mature and responsible. Some of my classmates were biting their fingers down to the cuticle in pre-exam stress; mine were long and shapely. (It did help that I had very little pre-exam stress because I was skipping most of my exams.) When even the tiniest crack would appear in my mani, I'd pick and peel and chip away at the polish to give myself an excuse to ritualistically paint them again, because if I could start over, if I could do it again, maybe it would turn out different. I left a trail of Essie chips across campus, and to the maintenance staff who had to vacuum it out of the industrial carpet, I am truly sorry.
Turns out, I'm not alone in using polish as a coping skill of sorts, and there's a sound psychological basis for doing your nails.
"I often recommend that clients include painting their nails as one of many helpful coping skills," said Greta Angert, a Los Angeles–based licensed psychotherapist specializing in anxiety. "Sitting down to paint your nails is a simple gesture that tells you 'I'm worth it,' 'I deserve this.'" Angert added: "People also talk with their hands, and seeing a pretty color can brighten their mood. Women also compliment each other's manicures quite frequently, and there's nothing wrong with a little ego boost during your day."
