Currently viewing the tag: "pedicure"

When I was growing up, my mom had this rule that I couldn’t paint my nails until I was 16. So naturally when the time came, I went crazy. I bought bottles of nail polish left and right, of all colors. Red. Blue. Yellow. Glitter. I was the queen of nail painting.

Since I had no experience painting my nails, I was also terrible at it. Absolutely horrible. The coats weren’t even, the colors were off and in the end, my fingers had their own coats of polish. It just didn’t look good. So it was settled: I couldn’t paint my nails. But I was 16 and it was finally time! I refused to give up so easily. Thus began my longest relationship ever, the only one that never brings heartache and disappointment, between my manicurist and me.

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It’s a sad, sad day when reports on the workplace going casual make the five o’clock news. First, because there’s no breaking news of Kim Kardashian wedding drama. And second, because the report is true.

Honestly, I am sick of hearing the workplace has gone casual. I don’t disagree with the headline. Rather, I am upset with its validity.

For any doubters, I dare you to venture to Boylston Street on your next lunch break any day of the workweek. The evidence is easy to spot; it’s only noon and I’ve already spotted 4 pairs of flip-flops, 3 t-shirts, and 1 pair of cargo shorts.

Where, oh where, have all the strapping men in well-cut suits and women in classic dresses gone?

As the largest culprit of this shameful trend is early twenty-somethings, I believe it falls to me, a recent college graduate, to speak to my people. Finals are over, as are the days of Thursday night binge drinking till 2 a.m. at Tia’s on the Waterfront (well, at least no longer every Thursday).

Please, please, please, dress for your future- even if you’re sitting on your bed in your parent’s house searching Craigslist for a job. Look good, feel good, and you will land a job. (Or, at least that’s my current pep talk to my roommate.)

And for those rebels out there that must defy my preaching and will continue wearing your grossly worn out, leather Rainbow flip-flops, at least get a pedicure. Consider it your first post-college investment.

Unable to fall asleep in the sweltering heat (never mind my being a night owl), I distracted myself as best I know how: had my late-night TV on, channel dialed to E! for much-needed background noise as I typed away for some SB-lovin’-n-bloggin’.

Then it hit me: a mixture of awe and fascination at the new trend the all-tanned-and-dolled-up Giuliana Rancic was peddling. Genuine snakeskin manicures and pedicures. No, not a manicure to emulate this exotic skin. A manicure OF the exotic skin. According to the pointless pundit, they’re all the rage. 

The ‘creator’ of this phenomenon, Terri Silacci, stressed that the skins are sourced ethically, all having been naturally shed. But frankly, that wasn’t the first question that came to mind, so much as: WHO THE HELL IS ACTUALLY DOING THIS?

For editorial (like the image above), it’s an incredible concept, bringing interest to one of the single-most neglected finishing touches. But what not-6’1″-and-five-lb-woman, here or anywhere, can you imagine strolling down the street with snakeskin on her nails?

Thanks, Giuliana, for another perfectly useless tip. Pun intended.