Nails, and their decoration, are at once on the periphery of our bodies, and central to our expression of self and beauty. They adorn our physical means of production, our physical means of care. The manicure industry has arisen from this fascination we hold with our keratin periphery. Our 21st century fixation with wellbeing and self-care raises the question: to what extent is manicure ‘self’ care, if enacted by another person? Especially when monetised, as in the salons that decorate our highstreets, this transaction is charged by inequalities of race, gender and class. The pandemic saw brutal consequences for the beauty industry, specifically nail techs, as hairdressers, revealingly the form of grooming that men utilise most, were prioritised in reopening over other forms of grooming. As a result, prices have gone up across the board, prompting conversation around what recompense is appropriate for such types of work. Hence, the contemporary manicure provides an intriguing microcosm for labour relations, their associated politics and the types of work our society values.

The rich and ancient history of nail art is little documented. Ancient Babylonian military leaders commanded the services of up to ten servants to paint their nails, with the aim of instilling fear in their enemy; in Egypt, during a similar period, the colouring of nails was reserved for the Queen, whose attendants used henna to dye nails a desirable, rust coloured hue. Embraced by the elites, this decoration was provisioned by their servants (or manicurists). The 1980s saw both a broad feminisation of the workforce, and an influx of immigration of Korean and Vietnamese manicurists to the US and UK. These compounded to create a proliferation of more affordable female, immigrant run, walk-in salons. As was true of ancient times, it broadly remains a working class, immigrant, woman who files and polishes their clients nails into what are often seen as superficially frivolous status symbols. While the invention of DIY polish in the latter half of the 20st century allowed women to adorn their own nails at home, this act of self-care largely remains a two-person job. 

From 2014 to 2019 we saw a definitive 56% increase in the number of nail salons in the UK. More accessible than ever for the consumer it was, and is, importantly also easy for one to become a nail tech. You can walk away from a day long course in manicure, helpfully free in Scotland with the intention of qualifying people struggling to find a job into stable employment, with an entry level qualification allowing you to ultimately start your own business or seek employment that very same day. 

Yet this level of qualification is just the necessary base coat (indulge me) for a career in nail art. Narratives that perpetuate the perception of nail art and manicure as an unskilled job are unproductive and, ultimately, dangerous. Women’s work has long been undervalued and therefore underpaid, under the guise that the skills involved are innate. If women have always cleaned, groomed and provided care, both physical and emotional, in their domestic environment with no recompense, then it is only too easy to pay very little for these same services when performed in the field of employment. For many immigrant women these attitudes are compounded by racist perceptions that they are only qualified for unskilled work. Vietnamese women workers in the nail industry have suffered at the hands of these violent associations. Where a strong association is made between race and types of employment, attitudes that the skills involved are in some way natural or easily learnt are exploited to excuse systematic underpaying.

The breadth of skill necessary in the provision of a manicure wasn’t clear to me until I started performing it myself. The provisional nail art of ancient Egypt (some well-placed beetle juice or ground up leaves) is long gone. Expensive, and sometimes high-risk, equipment and products are involved. The worker’s hand today, is replaced by a whirring hand file, and the simple application of shellac polish has been replaced by demand for long acrylic nails, that necessitate the forming of plastic polymers to extend the natural nail. All the while perfectly toned conversation must be upkept, complete with recollection of the details of the client’s lives- often achieved, I found out during my training, by making physical notes to self- ‘Janice- Mallorca holiday, sister’s divorce’. Perhaps not as organic as we’d like to think. Often unacknowledged, this is emotional labour: resembling a transaction reminiscent of a therapist and their patient, a job that’s exponentially better paid. This is not to say your, frankly intimate, hour spent holding hands with your nail lady is without any authenticity or genuine warmth, but many of us know, from experience, that customer service requiring a smile can be exhausting, and therefore should be acknowledged as such. This is another example of a skill women, especially women of colour, are required to learn earlier than men, and with more severe consequences. 

In 2020 the Tiktok algorithm gifted me a video of the first iteration of the fully automated manicure. Sceptical of my source, I investigated ‘the robot manicure’, a distinctive alternative to the emotionally supportive, artistic, nail tech. Company ‘Clockwork’, currently based in San Francisco, have in fact created a manicuring machine that scans one’s nails and then paints them accurately with your colour of choice. Seemingly, only a stone’s throw from scanning your mood and deciding a fitting colour for you. In equal measures alarming and appealing, this demonstrates a potential future of automated beauty services, as we’re seeing across manufacturing and services. 

My mind goes to Aaron Bastani’s luxury communist utopia, aided by ‘full automation’. If we had a shortened working week, alleviated from undesirable, low paid jobs by machines, a manicure provided by a robot seems like just the sort of luxury we’d embrace. It leads us to question that if the reality of the budget people can allocate to a manicure does not match what manicurists deserve to be paid, is this a welcome, more ethical alternative? Or does it suggest an unwelcome dehumanisation of services that are important because of their, very human, root in self-care and expression? Then there are practical flaws with this automated utopia: the robot manicure can only paint the nail, not file shape or form it. Technology, health and safety hold back this robot dream from filling the boots of the human nail tech.  

In the cost of living crisis we are surviving today, where we choose to spend our income is especially pertinent. Perhaps a manifestation of ‘the lipstick effect,’ where cosmetic sales rise in times of financial crisis, whilst elsewhere spending declines- people continue to get their nails done, despite everything. This suggests that manicures matter, and in turn, the work and value of those who provide them. I would argue there is no need to inherently problematise the purchase of a manicure; there is, however, a need to better appreciate all that is involved in the service, paid or unpaid. If we keep this in mind, a work culture that has been historically and systematically and ignored might just have its moment.