Let your fingernails do the talking

I am often mesmerised by the garishly coloured, two-inch-long nail extensions worn by women who have to use keyboards and generally handle things.

How and why do they do it? The fashion was largely inspired by the TV show Keeping Up with the Kardashians, but of course the flawlessly groomed members of that family have ‘people’ to do their chores for them.

Kardashian influencees do, however, have to get on with the normal jobs that hands perform – so they have trained themselves to use the pads, rather than the tips, of their fingers. ‘It’s just like learning how to walk in a pair of new shoes,’ an airline check-in girl told me. ‘You soon adapt.’

When nail extensions break, you have to go back to the nail bar to have them cut down with a special tool – ordinary scissors will not work.

Extensions are a source of pride and viewed as ‘wearable art’, although to some eyes – eg mine – they resemble the claws of reptilian predators.

These days, nail bars are popping up on every high street. The main thing they have in common is that you have to pay in cash and you can’t tell them what you want, as no one speaks English. So you have to point to a menu card.

I was delighted when over-thecounter glue-on false nails appeared in the chemist. I had never had naturally long fingernails, because they always got snagged on something before they had grown beyond stubbiness.

But false ones made my hands look elegant for the first time ever and I could not stop admiring them. I was a student at the time; they were useful for turning the pages of books and doubling as a satisfying comb when I ran them through my hair.

But their main advantage was that my flatmates – it was summer and we had a small garden to sunbathe in – queued up to have me lightly claw their backs while they writhed in ecstasy.

However, my chief flatmate and landlady told me they looked plasticky and hideous. The day I brought home a packet of false toenails (I had never had long toenails either), she told me I had crossed a line and, if I insisted on wearing false toenails as well, I would have to vacate my room.

To investigate modern extensions, I decided to visit a Kensington salon – Marcela’s in Holland Street – just to see what incentivises other women of my age group.

They don’t want Kardashian nails, but they do want to have manicures. Why can’t they just do it themselves?

Marcela, originally from Colombia, started life as a beauty therapist at Claridge’s ‘with VIP people – very good experience’ and then at Harrods. She offers manicures, too – a different experience from that available at the pop-up nail bar.

She has been in Kensington for 30 years: ‘We know all our clientele and they know us. Olinda has been here 26 years, Josefa 18 years, Teresa another 15 years. This is like a little community.’

‘The ordinary simple manicure,’ says Marcela, ‘will clean your cuticles and make your nail beautiful and the manicurist will polish it for you. But to be a nail technician, you need to train. Anyone can learn the techniques, but to be a good nail technician will take three to five years and the best way to learn is to be in a salon with demanding customers. It is the experience which makes you very good.’

She also does shellac. This is a gel coating of the nail which masks unsightly ridges and makes your nails feel very secure for the three weeks it lasts. It really is a beautifying treatment and will cost you between £34 and £60. Marcela also gives a paraffin wax to the hands, which ‘gives beautiful looks to your hands and gives the feeling of moist that will last for one week’.

As we talked in the cosy salon, it was dawning on me why I might want to make this a repeat experience.

‘This kind of job, Mary,’ crooned Marcela, ‘is therapeutic. Yes, I want to do your manicure. I want you to feel better. While you are here, you are my princess.’

I can see why the women of Kensington beat a path to Marcela’s door. Being in her salon in her company and having her fuss over you was, indeed, therapeutic in its own right.

And it’s cheaper than therapy.