Thumb Wars

In a Quest to Save Her Cuticles, Gl’s Beauty Editor Puts Away the Polish—and Battles the Habits of a Lifelong Nail-biter.
 

- Kelsey Haywood

When I sat down at my laptop to start writing this piece, my right thumb was actively bleeding (don’t worry, just a tiny bit) and my left thumb was healing. Both injuries were self-inflicted: It was harmless, at first, when I mindlessly began to nibble on a sliver of dry skin—but I didn’t stop until I had ripped off a thin strip that grew deeper as it grew longer.

My left middle finger is touch-and-go: It’s hanging in there for the moment, but you can see raw, inflamed tissue curving along the cuticle. I bit that finger, too.

And despite the immediate, sharp pain or the dull, aching agony afterward or the potential embarrassment of bleeding all over myself in public, I’ll probably bite it again. And again. And, yes, again…

Unless I paint my nails.

Give this girl a fresh manicure and I immediately morph from a nervous nail-biter into my much more typical, pulled-together persona. With gel on my fingertips, I am unstoppable: wearing some cool, unexpected color (a lot of violet greige, lately), I’ll gesture emphatically with my hands while telling a story.

I’ll clack-clack-clack on my keyboard with reckless abandon, every so often glancing down and finding comfort and confidence from that pretty pop of color.

I’ll shell out my hard-earned cash like clockwork, every two weeks, for a fresh coat of paint that’ll keep my finger chomping in check.