GEEKISTA | STYLE

What the Gel? An Honest Review of Gel Manicures

Confession: I am horrible at doing my own nails. While I’ve always blamed “not being ambidextrous” as the reason that, when I DO attempt at-home manicures, my right hand’s nails always look like a toddler in a moving car painted them, the truth is I simply lack the patience for clipping my own cuticles and then gingerly going over each nail to so that the polish is perfectly even, smooth and salon-like. So, budget allowing, I get all Real Housewives-ey with that stuff and hit up the salon. I’m also a huge sucker for a good forearm/hand massage.

Another confession: while I like the IDEA of nail art and keeping up with the digital trends, I don’t do it so much in practice. There are a plethora of reasons why: bejeweled nails can be super-distracting when you’re holding a mic; they become inadvertent weapons (I’ve seen some that could actually be classified as “talons”); it can cost major $$. The list goes on. With that said, do not be surprised to one day see a close-up of an all Hello Kitty-inspired manicure on this blog. I’d still try it.

In the name of trying out nail trends and also out of professional obligation, I opted for a gel manicure a few months ago since the producers for a shoot I was doing requested my nails be done in a neutral color in case they had to go close-up on my hands. A few friends had raved about going chip-free for weeks with gels, and for the price, it was - in theory - like getting two regular manicures for the price of one that lasts twice as long. Not one to risk chipping a nail right before my close-up (“…Mr. DeMille”), I got one in a soft off-white hue.

Here’s what I loved: as promised, the gels lasted for weeks, even beyond the two weeks the nail tech had promised. It really lasted until my nails started growing to a length that just looked weird with half of them hanging onto this indestructible manicure and the other half looking like normal grown-out nails. Perhaps it’s because I grew up playing the piano, but I also hate long nails. It’s still beyond me why any woman would get acrylics in this day and age if she is NOT working in the adult entertainment industry.

I really liked that I could dig around the depths of my black-hole-of-a-purse and not have half my hand resurface, chipped up and busted. It was a perfectly lovely experience overall and I was in and out of the salon in what seemed like half the time of a regular manicure (complete with hand massage!).

And I haven’t gotten a gel manicure since. Why? Because when I finally decided that the half-mani look just wasn’t cutting it anymore and headed back into the salon to have it removed, which requires bathing your nails in acetone and getting the polish scraped off, some not-so-awesome things happened. The combined acetone-and-scraping process left my nails covered in lovely (not lovely) hash marks and for weeks after, I noticed my nails had weakened and would break and split. A busted, chipping manicure is one thing but broken, split nails are not just unsightly - they’re painful! Recent studies also indicate that the UV light used to set gel manis increase one’s risk of developing skin cancer, similar to the consequences of prolonged use of tanning beds. Dislike.

Would I ever try a gel mani again? I’m not sure. Going chip-free was great but I’ve also found that it’s pretty easy to maintain a regular manicure, especially if you own the polish (I usually bring my own polish anyway). If ever I do decide to gel again, I think I’ll keep the sunscreen handy. And the nailclippers.

“More Ombre!” She Said.

Anybody who has a shred of vanity knows that finding a good “hair person” is a difficult task no matter where you live. When I lived in San Francisco, I lucked out and - on my second haircut and after a college career of $15 trims - found My Guy, a fauxhawked hair genius from Tokyo who gave the best scalp massages and long layers a well-tressed gal could ask for. On the latter, when I say they were the best long layers, I mean it: I had to do little more than spritz some sea spray and shake and I had this amazing, textured, bed-heady style that made me look Nylon Magazine-worthy from the neck up.

My Guy eventually left the salon and I left San Francisco to return to my hometown of Los Angeles, the formidable Wild West of hair guru hubs for me. At the recommendation of a friend, I visited her stylist who proceeded to commit the cardinal sin of long hair-wearers: Cutting without asking. I left the chair with 5 inches less of hair, a deep frown and a desire to not sit in a salon chair for what would amount to another 5 months. By that time, my hair had grown out to a reasonable enough length to be considered “long” (as opposed to “growing out and awkward” which is what it was when there was 5 inches less of it) and, then, I found Caitlin whom I’ve been seeing since.

Ever since I started rocking the ombre look last year, Caitlin has been carefully tending to my strands, gingerly painting them and achieving what she calls a “color flow.” I don’t quite know what that means but I DO know that she edits me when I can’t edit myself: While I consistently ask her to go lighter to achieve a more extreme ombre look for a deeper contrast between my roots and ends, she’s always good about telling me what I don’t know I don’t want (“I want to go lighter!” “No, you don’t. Your roots are so dark, it will look weird.” “Okay.”) She’s the one who can make me go sunkissed-blonde enough without letting it get so blonde that it would make me worthy of a PETA/spraycan-style hair attack.

Below: Caitlin hard at work and rocking her own ombre hair.

End result: Just light enough.