Fake nails and internalised prejudice - from the therapy waiting room

Sitting in my therapist’s waiting room, feeling like a jacked up horse on an empty stomach of prescription amphetamine. I usually take a benzo before therapy so that the naked truth slips from my lips easily. But today I took a dex because my chronic fatigue is flailing up and I need to be productive.

So far that’s been working great for me, I even found out that Poundland (somewhere I don’t often frequent, I must say) sells 50p water! Imagine that! Water for fifty pence! Feels like we’re back in 2005! When bottled water in London didn’t cost £2.50 - which is genuinely the average price for water here. Crazy.

This is my third session seeing this particular therapist, who I have taken a fast and warm liking too. She is the perfect mix of professional and kind. Sensible, but has a sense of humour. If you’ve seen as many therapists as I have you come to realise most of them either have a god complex, saviour complex or are spiritual weirdos. Not that I have anything particularly against spirituality, there a place for it. But my sanity needs more than crystals and meditation.

Looking down at my phone I can’t help but notice how fantastic my French tip press on nails are still looking. You know, I used to have some sort of prejudice against press on nails. I’ve always had naturally very strong and long nails, but keeping them looking good requires maintenance, time and money. Press on’s just require a quick cuticle oil, push and glue! Plus they protect my healthy natural nails beneath. I was silly for thinking I was above press on nails.

I think a lot of women have internalised prejudices when it comes to ‘false beauty’. It’s common place in society to belittle women who are ‘fake’. Who wear fake nails, fake tan, get fake tits etc. Society questions their morality, doesn’t take them seriously. This also breeds a hierarchy in women. Some may see themselves as better for not partaking in ‘false beauty’ while others feel like they’re hot shit because they do partake and maybe even go as far as achieving unrealistic beauty standards.

But what’s worse is while ‘fake’ women are ridiculed, it’s even worse be a woman who doesn’t at all conform to beauty standards. If a woman puts too much time, money and attention into her appearance she comes across as self obsessed, maybe a bit of a bimbo who doesn’t have her priorities in order. But god forbid you’re a woman who rejects traditional female beauty standards, as society will say you’ve let yourself go. That you’re not looking after yourself. You’re overshadowed and ignored. Not man enough for male privilege, not woman enough to... Compete?

Being a woman certainly feels like a competition, social media has only exacerbated this tenfold. As soon as your happiness and self worth is caught up in how you look, you’re done for. Because nothing is ever good enough. There will always be someone who looks better than you… And if there isn’t, it will likely exist in the grey area of photoshop and AI.

I had plastic surgery on my ears (story to come later…) Not because I was trying to adhere to a beauty standard. Not because I was trying to copy a celebrity or influencer. But simply because I had been told as a child that my ears looked like ‘elf ears’ and that made me feel insecure and upset. I wasn’t trying to be anything, I just wanted to be able to put my hair up in a ponytail, something I couldn’t do for years because I spent so long desperately keeping my ears hidden by hair. Although even this remained futile as the tips would still poke out. I developed ticks, constantly checking if my ears were poking out of my hair. I’d tweak out every minute of the day touching them and moving my hair. When I had an otoplasty to correct my ears, the relief I felt was almost orgasmic. Honestly, it felt like a huge weight of anxiety had been removed. Like taking a benzo and feeling yourself lighten. The point I’m rehung to put across is that I had this cosmetic surgery done for the right reasons. It was no different to me than having braces to correct my teeth.

However, the desire to get a nose job has started creeping up on me these past years and I’m certain that social media is to blame. I’ve always loved my nose, it has never been the source of teasing, if anything it’s been complemented. I even love how I look from the front! It’s just… My side profile. You know, when you see yourself in a photo from the side and all you can see is the bump on your nose. Recently I’ve noticed whenever I feel sad I soothe myself with the thought of getting a nose job. I watch all the nose job videos on YouTube and I know I’ve ranted about this before on my blog! I know the reason I wanted my ears done and the reason I want my nose done are not cut from the same cloth. They’re not the same. It’s hard to know how to navigate this.

When you spend enough time alone with yourself in front of a mirror you stop recognising yourself truthfully. Instead you begin to see an amalgamation of everything you ‘could’ dislike about yourself overtaking everything that’s good.

It’s cruel how much of our self confidence is tied to our appearance. As a woman this is a subject I toy with so much. Trying to understand why we’re all in pursuit for perfection - and who sets the bar on perfection anyways? Beauty standards change every decade. Isn’t it all a bit silly?

But social media water boards us with beauty standards like never before. And everyone can have a nose job with an instagram filter!

This post has certainly turned into a little rant about my frustration with beauty standards. As a woman this is something we’re met with daily. Men, I know you suffer too but I am only a woman and can only speak from my own experiences. It’s not to say I ignore men, it’s just historically there is already so much docomentation on men, by men. That I just don’t feel I need to add to that. Nor should I masquerade as a man and pretend I know their problems.

These are all just observations I’ve made. I think about ‘the female role’ a lot. As one who panders to it greatly at times while also resenting it, it’s a paradox.