If You Make One Resolution This Year, Take Care of Your Hands

How a manicure—and simple dishwashing gloves—changed my perspective on "feeling together".

To never let them see a hangnail is to never let them see you slip!

Madonna’s manicure in “Take a Bow” (1994)

A few months ago, I never cared enough to get dishwashing gloves because I believed I never had great hands. My skin was perpetually dehydrated, like a piece of sad, dried-out fruit left out and forgotten. The cuticles were overgrown and dry as a bone; a stumpy, shallow bed of drought-ridden cells. The nails were different lengths, punctuated with breakaways, and framed by thorny, painful hangnails. Sure, I’d sometimes get my nails buffed for an event or even get the very rare polish manicure, but it’s not like I made the upkeep a habit.

John Galliano fall 1995

Times have changed. This past year, when I was at Key Food, I stopped at the kitchen accessories aisle, where I eyed a fuchsia pair of dishwashing gloves. The hot pink sheathed hand on the packaging is half ivory tower fashion, cocked in a dramatic yesteryear pose a la Dovima. The hand is also half divine, like a prophet about to bless his subject, each finger slightly fanned out and aimed toward the sky. Holier than thou. Clean. Protected. Epically elevated. You can imagine what’s underneath that cheap Playtex glove: a wet-looking glacé, the sheered cuticles, and those soft consecrated hands that look like they’ve never experienced a day of work. At this moment, I knew I needed a manicure.

During my years of no manicures, nothing was ever quite perfect in my life—although it still isn’t, and life isn’t perfect for anyone. But I wished I could trick people into thinking things were peachy keen. These women exist—and they understand the art