When Did Everyone Start Getting Their Nails Done?

In my early twenties I had a very beautiful friend. She was so gorgeous that one evening while we were hanging out at a bar, a man sent over a hot chocolate to our table because he thought she looked sad. She had not one good feature but plenty—among them, her nails. “She has hands like a Disney princess,” a mutual friend of ours once noted.

I, on the other hand, did not get the Disney-princess hand gene. My nails have never grown long, and my fidgeting and occasional stress-induced biting certainly didn’t help. In school, I studied fashion design and spent most of my time in a dusty, harshly lit sewing room where long nails would get in the way of my already clumsy stitching.

I never got into manicures, I didn’t come from a family of women who did their nails, and the well-stocked rows of colourful little polish bottles at Shoppers Drug Mart never tempted me.

Until I found myself getting ready for my first in-person job interview in over five years. Along with the heels, sharp-shouldered blazer and my most capable-looking handbag, I decided to get a manicure. It wasn’t for my interviewer, really. It was for me. I justified it as a confidence boost, picturing myself tapping my newly chiselled tips on the boardroom table to emphasise my words.

I got the job. And although I doubt the nails had much to do with it, I didn’t want to give up the way that the subtle Biogel extensions slicked in high-shine ballet pink made me feel. At least not for my first week on the job. Or the second. Or, as it turns out, the thirty-fifth.

At the time of writing this, my nails have been “done” for about five straight months. Usually a pale pink, sometimes beige, other times semi-clear. Getting my nails done regularly has also made me pay attention to the manicured hands of those around me—at work lunches, at the office, on the subway. Seriously, when did everyone start getting their nails done?

I keep thinking of the covers of all three of Alison Roman’s cookbooks, where the hands sporting candy-apple red polish are as casually aspirational as the plate of roast chicken they’re holding. On the press tour for Wicked, Cynthia Erivo’s maximalist manicures were as much a style story as her Elphaba-green couture. Meghan Markle’s short, glossy nude nails were on frequent display as she fussed over frittata in her Netflix show, as much a symbol of moneyed ease as her matching Le Creuset cookware.

Manicures, like blowouts, lash lifts and botox have become standard beauty maintenance for many. But unlike those other rituals and services, a fresh manicure can feel more tangible—you don’t need to look in the mirror to see the results. “I love getting my hair done, but I can’t see it for myself,” says Thea Green, founder of beauty brand Nails.Inc. “With nails, it’s like a little instant gratification, a little pocket of joy that you can see when you’re typing, on your phone or driving.”

Prior to starting Nails.Inc twenty years ago, Green was an editor at Tatler in London, working alongside Natalie Massenet, another magazine-pro-turned founder who launched a little site called Net-a-Porter. “When you work in the magazine industry, part of your job is to know what’s coming next and what the consumer wants,” says Green, who noticed that, unlike North America at the time, London lacked a culture of drop-in nail bars.

More broadly, doing your nails “on the go” in the same way you’d touch up your lipstick at your desk or your concealer in the back of an Uber still isn’t common. “We did a shakedown of everyone’s makeup bags in the office, and even in the Nails.Inc office, people didn’t have a nail polish in their makeup bag because you need a base coat, polish and top coat,” she explains, adding that most preferred to do their nails at home or in a salon. “We wanted to change that. Why couldn’t swiping nail polish be as easy as putting on lip gloss?”

Nails.Inc has always been innovative, Green says. “We were the first brand to launch magnetic polish, we had mani pens, which are like Sharpies to create nail art,” she explains. Their latest launch is a range of polish called It’s Topless, which brings a four-in-one concept (that’s base, treatment, colour and topcoat) into one bottle. It’s the brand’s play at getting nail polish into your makeup bag.

“We’re very passionate about the expectation placed on women—and people in general—to look amazing,” says Green, “and so the point of It’s Topless is to make just one small thing a little easier.”

The innovation isn’t just in the formula, but the bottle. The cap features an indent where you can place your finger to steady it as you paint it with the cuticle-shaped brush. And when you hover your nail underneath the glass bottle, the curvature of the packaging allows you to “try on” the colour before you swipe. It’s the kind of fun, practical thing that just might get me to postpone my next salon appointment.

Green credits TikTok and Pinterest (where nail trends rule, with searches for cherry nails up a whopping 10,000 percent) with fuelling our collective manicure craze. “During Covid, people up-skilled in their nails,” she says. Plus, there’s the rise of press-ons.

Manicures are also deeply individual—your choice in length, shape, colour and art can instantly signal something about your style or level of discernment. For Green, it’s also a really affordable way to dip into fashion trends. “Maybe you won’t wear an all-matcha-green outfit, but you’ll get a matcha-green manicure,” she offers. Unlike, say, a hair colour or wardrobe overhaul, nail colour offers instant reinvention in exchange for minimal commitment.

There’s a decal printed on the wall of my nail place that reads “Life isn’t perfect, but your nails can be.” Sure, it’s a little Live-Laugh-Love adjacent, but I get it. For one hour every three weeks, I sit in a leather swivel chair and give my hands over to the pro, physically unable to look at my phone every five minutes.

When my nails are transformed to look like pearly almond slices, I feel the same jolt of confidence as I did after that first manicure. I’m no longer the under-slept fashion student with broken cuticles, but someone with hands to shake and stories to type. Maybe that’s why they call it polish.