Was Fatphobia the Only Reason I Ever Wanted to Have Long Nails?
Illustration by Ana Jarén
Welcome back to Learning Curve, a monthly column where we unpack the complicated experience of accepting your own body in a world that doesn't seem to want you to. This month, Nicola realizes that her love-hate relationship with extra-long nail extensions was sneakily caused by internalized fat shame all along.
Every time I sit across from a nail technician, I blurt out explanations for my stubborn, chewed-up cuticles, my short and brittle nails, and my dried-out skin that’s usually speckled with bruises, burns, or cuts I don’t remember acquiring. The shame I feel in those moments is exactly what draws me back every time; I’ll swallow the embarrassment for a fresh set of long, ovular nail extensions I’m actually proud to show off for a bit until I’m back to short, damaged nails.
In my profession, there’s an unspoken expectation to be perpetually manicured in the most literal sense. After 15ish years of getting manicures, I’ve started to realize that under all those fixable nail care problems lies a much bigger insecurity causing said embarrassment at the salon and beyond: my hands themselves.
Unlike other parts of my body about which I’ve been insecure, people have never insulted my hands to my face, but “man hands” has always been the first descriptor that’s come to my mind. My hands dwarf those of most women’s and sometimes even those of men my size. My palms, broad and rectangular, are proportionally bigger and my fingers are proportionally shorter than I always thought they should be. And speaking of my fingers, they’re meaty, and they have the knuckle joints to match. I’ve always loved rings but shopping for them was a sore subject until my mid-20s when I started buying custom-sized unisex rings that actually fit. I’m proud of the collection I’ve amassed, but I don’t dare wear them if my nails aren’t long, lest I draw unwanted attention to my hands in a less-than-perfect state.
What is a perfect state? Well, I love the look of oval- or almond-shaped tips that extend at least a few millimeters past my fingertips. And I will put my nails, wallet, and schedule through absolute hell in order to have nails like that because, as a lifelong stress biter and picker, I’ve never been able to grow my natural nails that long. Because professionally-applied nail extensions are expensive, I learned how to apply soft-gel nail extensions at home, for which I’ve acquired a ton of supplies that take up ample precious storage space in my tiny New York City apartment (hell, I even wrote our Aprés Gel X review).
But here’s the thing: I kind of loathe having long nails? They make it hard to complete basic tasks like typing and buttoning pants, I can feel the dirt collecting underneath them where I can’t reach, and as soon as there’s a little visible nail growth at the cuticle, I think they’re ugly all over again. Nine times out of 10 I’ll be gnawing at them after the first week, desperate to pop them off so I can be free again. And they will pop off, leaving my natural nails underneath torn and even weaker than they had been. Then I’ll feel even more insecure about my hands, and I’ll put on another set of nail extensions to hide my shame, then I’ll remove them improperly out of impatience again, and the vicious cycle will start over.
I can project my fear of being perceived as fat onto every last detail of my being without even realizing it… I had been applying that to my nails, too.
I took it too far this January when I got nail extensions at the salon to prepare for a week-long vacation. I knew it was a bad idea, considering I had a thumb nail that was recovering from having peeled up and torn away at the cuticle (it was gnarly, don’t ask). These particular extensions weren’t well applied, so they started peeling off two days later without any help from me whatsoever. When that thumb’s extension inevitably tore off, it took more than half the barely-healed natural nail with it.
I’d finally been forced to ask myself: Why the hell am I sacrificing all this time, energy, money, and nail health to have long nails when I don’t even enjoy the experience of wearing them? Besides, I know deep down that these elaborate manicures don't totally erase my hand shame (as you'll see in this story, I've taken numerous nailfies that I have not once posted online or even sent to friends). And I’ve seen enough nail art on other people with short nails to know I like how that looks, too…. at least on them.
The answer came to me in a random TikTok on my For You Page via a nail care influencer answering a follower’s question as to how she got her fingers so “dainty” and slender. “I don’t think they actually got more slim,” she responded. “It’s just an illusion of having long nails.”
Oh. Fuck...
I then went to the search bar and typed in “long nails slender fingers.” There was a tutorial on how to make fingers look “skinnyyy” with different manicures. There were ranked lists of the best nail shapes for more slender-looking fingers. There were multiple videos of women openly fantasizing about having daintier hands and slimmer fingers.
Fuck.
I thought of every nail polish advertisement I’ve ever seen and how the models’ hands usually look in them. They’re always small-palmed with slender fingers and usually long, rounded nails. The models’ faces and bodies aren’t usually visible, but that doesn’t matter; my brain always fills in the gaps with images of white ladies with flat stomachs and thighs that don’t touch and virtually zero buccal fat. I automatically, subconsciously desire a body like theirs.
Fuck. It was the internalized fatphobia again, wasn’t it?
Sure, rounded shapes and long, slender lines are naturally appealing to the eye. Wanting to have long nails or simply hands that look nice does not automatically mean you’re internally fatphobic (though you might want to think on it for a second to be sure). But for me, personally, that’s been the kicker all along. I can project my fear of being perceived as fat onto every last detail of my being without even realizing it. I knew this to be true about the loose skin under my chin that the internet wants me to Gua Sha away, or my lifelong fear of short haircuts that might highlight the roundness of my face—but I was surprised to realize I had been applying that to my hands and nails, too.
Though it’s a relief to have nails that aren’t in danger of falling off at any moment, it’s an even bigger relief to walk out of the house with short nails and feel more at peace with my own body.
But it all makes sense. My high school prom was the first and last time I experimented with a square nail shape because I decided long, rounded nails make my hands look thinner. And I don’t want to draw attention to my hands with rings if I don’t think they look thin. Because despite all the self-acceptance I’ve accomplished, there’s still an inkling of longing deep within me to be thin. Because I’ve been trained to fear fatness in ways I wish I didn’t. And fear of any kind, especially the fear of being judged for who you are and what you look like, is the world’s most effective motivator.
Since coming to this realization a few weeks before writing this story, that motivation to do metaphoric back bends for the upkeep of long nails has already started waning. I haven’t sworn off long nails entirely (I could never fully give up the delightful clacking sound they make) but I haven’t had the desire to cure on a set of soft gel nail extensions at all—for events, date nights, etc., I’ve been using more temporary alternatives like short press-ons. My ability to assuage the anxieties that cause me to fuss over my nails in the first place has been growing.
It actually comes in handy (ha) to have big, sturdy palms and fingers. There’s a reason I was really good at basically every sport I ever tried in my teens. I can carry my phone, keys, wallet, sunglasses, and water bottle in one hand, no problem. I have a really fun party trick that instantly emasculates over-confident bros at bars (making bets to see whose hand span is wider). And when my boyfriend and I hold hands, it feels balanced and seamless because they’re the same size. I don’t need my hands to be small, skinny, or dainty at all. When I think about all those things I just said, I realize I don't want them to be.
I might not be shouting my big-hand pride from the mountaintops just yet, but I do feel a growing confidence in my hands for the first time now that I have come to this new understanding of myself. What’s more: My nails are starting to reap the benefits, health-wise, now that I’m not ripping off extensions or over-filing the edges in an attempt to make them as rounded and therefore as “flattering” as possible. Though it’s a relief to have nails that aren’t in danger of falling off at any moment, it’s an even bigger relief to be able to walk out of the house with short, unpolished nails—and rings on every finger—and feel that much more at peace with my own body.
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Originally Appeared on Allure
