People tend to box together nail biters as a certain category of person. Nibbling away at your fingertips surely indicates anxiety, a shy and feverish complex, and a fear of the world eased a little by tearing at already raggedy hands. Even as a self confessed nail biter, I consider the habit horrendous. Gnawing away at your nails at a public bus stop, or sliding your tongue over a torn hangnail at work is so unsightly. Not to mention the number of germs and bacteria lurking under your nails, as I recall the DailyMail (fantastically credible source) blaspheming the number of germs upon gym equipment, far more than inhabit your toilet bowl.
Despite the pressing knowledge of how unattractive a habit nail biting truly is, coupled with a standard attempt at hygiene, I haven’t been able to break my own bad habits. Starting young, my parents tried desperately to pull my fingers out of my mouth as a child, coating my hands in vinegar (for which I developed keen taste, licking off my hands like a placid kitten) and tabasco (which resulted in yowls and screaming, after which nail biting was accepted as less of an ordeal). Even today, it offers a pleasant distraction when sitting idly, waiting for a delayed appointment. Immersed in thought, in exams for instance, absent minded chewing away at a nail seems to beckon on answers.
False nails have offered a short and bittersweet solution to this issue. If, like myself, you’ve never had particularly long or attractive nails, you’ll understand the delicacy added by a set of acrylics. Your hands seem more defined and dainty, even if coated in calluses from the gym. Not overly expensive either, £25 will buy you a set lasting several weeks, plus you’re able to release your inner fashion atrocities in glitter varnish or questionable designs.
Sadly my long running streak of fake nails and fewer hours spent examining hangnails came to a tragic end yesterday, as whilst trying to balance chatting and a barbell (two things which don’t go hand in hand), I managed to clip one of my nails backwards, splitting my fake, and real nail in the process. I soldiered on through my workout with a grimace and a taped finger (because apparently stuffing dirty hands in my mouth is acceptable, but a small cut is considered desperately unsanitary). It seems that this would be the end to my short spell of fake nails which don’t couple particularly well with regular exercise, nor typing, hence the lack of posts. As a miniature mid year resolution, I’ll be commencing yet another attempt at giving up nail biting in a desperate attempt for princess hands.