“There are two things in this world you are always sure about,” lamented my mother once to an irrationally fickle, teenage Robin. “Austin Karber, and your fingernails.”
Now 25-years-old: I am Mrs. Karber, and I am still getting my nails done.
She’s a keen one, that Sandy.
Growing up, my mother also always told us: if someone notices your nails when they look good, that means they also notice when they look bad, and they just won’t say anything.
Mostly, she meant keep them clipped and clean. I don’t think she intended to spark my love affair with the nail salon, but let’s blame her for it.
A new nude pink came into my life this weekend, and I bought it for my own stash the very next day: OPI Dolce De Leche. (When I decide a polish is a favorite-favorite, I like to have it on hand to take into the salon myself + in case of emergency chipping, cue the distant echo of my mother’s ugly-hands forewarning ringing in my subconscious.)
It skews far more mauve in indoor/more dim lighting than in what these photos were shot, and it wasn’t the color I was intending to find on Saturday.
I don’t just walk into the salon all whimsy whim and just pick a color -that’s a level of living on the edge my life is not about. When I walk in, I’ve probably already spent an unreasonable amount of time determining what color I want to live with for the next 2-3 weeks. It’s a weighty decision.
Saturday, my mind was set on pink. Like, very pink. Hubba Bubba, practice law with Elle Woods kind of pink. Pink Pink. Someone handing me my coffee last week had something like this, and it stuck in my brain.
I picked a shade to fit the bill, and in a state of panic, questioned, “Will I feel this girly tomorrow? Will I feel this girly in an hour?” Then shade by shade -and likely to the great relief of my patient nail tech- I mosied down and settled on a more comfortably Robin shade of girly.
A not overly pink rose nude, completely opaque with two coats, and zero shimmer or sparkle: it’s a new nail staple color I anticipate wearing out this fall.