Alright, so I finally did it. I jumped on the bandwagon and got myself some short pointy nails. You know how it is, you see something enough times and a little part of your brain just goes, “Hmm, maybe?” I’ve always been more of a squoval or almond kinda person, something a bit more… practical, I guess. Pointy always seemed a bit try-hard on me, or like I was about to audition for a role as a cat.
So, I toddled off to my nail lady, feeling a bit like I was betraying my comfortable, rounded past. She looked at me, raised an eyebrow when I said “pointy, but short,” but got to work. The filing part, man. It’s a specific sensation, isn’t it? Like your nails are being whittled down into tiny, albeit stylish, daggers. Not painful, just… a lot of focus on the very tip. I picked a nice neutral color, figured if I was going for a dramatic shape, the color should chill out a bit.
First impressions? Okay, they looked pretty cool. I have to admit. Made my fingers look a bit longer, a bit more elegant, which is always a win for someone with hands that are, let’s be honest, functional rather than graceful. I found myself just looking at them, turning my hands this way and that. Vanity, thy name is new nails.
But then came the living with them part. Oh boy. The first challenge? Typing. My keyboard, usually my friend, suddenly felt like an obstacle course. I kept hitting the wrong keys, or my nails would skid. It was like learning to type all over again, but with tiny little pickaxes on the ends of my fingers. I actually had to slow way down for work emails, which, let me tell you, was not ideal. I remembered my brief, disastrous attempt to learn shorthand back in the day. Everyone else in the class was flying, their pens dancing, and I was still trying to figure out the symbol for “the.” This felt a bit like that – me struggling, while I imagine everyone else with pointy nails is just effortlessly gliding through life.
And then there are the little things. Trying to pick up a dropped coin? Forget it. It’s like those arcade claw machines, only you are the claw, and you’re equally useless. Opening cans of soda? Suddenly a perilous adventure. I nearly took a chunk out of my thumb trying to get a cat food lid off. My cat just looked at me with that “Really, human?” expression. Even he was judging my new nail choice. It reminded me of when I tried to get into pottery. Looked so easy, so graceful when others did it. Me? I ended up looking like I’d wrestled a mud monster, and the ‘pot’ I made was… abstract. Let’s call it abstract art.
I also discovered that pointy nails, even short ones, are surprisingly good at unintentional scratching. Myself, mostly. An innocent itch on my arm, and suddenly I’ve left a red mark. I felt like I needed to put little safety caps on them when I wasn’t actively using them for… well, for looking pointy, I guess.
So, the verdict on short pointy nails? They definitely have a look. A strong look. And for a night out, or an event? Sure, I can see myself doing it again. They do make you feel a bit more put-together, a bit edgier. But for everyday life, for the nitty-gritty of opening packages, typing at speed, and not accidentally exfoliating yourself every time you scratch your nose? I think I’m going to retreat to my old faithful, slightly less hazardous shapes. It was a fun experiment, a good story to tell, but practicality, for me at least, usually wins out in the end. Maybe I’m just not cut out for the pointy life, just like I wasn’t cut out for shorthand or pottery. Some things are best left to those who are naturally gifted, or just more patient, I suppose!
