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• About Maggie
  

My toe is still numb. The big toe on my right foot. Actually just the upper left corner at the edge of the free edge of the nail. It's been numb since sometime around February or early March of 2007.

I blame a client. She was one of those on again/off again clients who had been coming to see me for years by that fateful evening in early '07. We'd been through a lot together throughout our relationship of something nearing 15 years. She was one of those people who come into your life and settle into your schedule as a regular client. The kind you want:  took good care of her nails and would absolutely DIE if she missed an appointment, only reluctantly taking her nails off for a few months when money got tight and everything else had been cut from the budget.

The type of client who is always sunny and funny and animated and you always look forward to seeing her and have a genuine great time during her visits.

Until you've known her for a little too long.

Some clients — like friends and lovers — come into your life and make your heart sing, and eventually settle into a comfortable routine that lasts for years, possibly for your entire career, and occasionally beyond that through your entire lifetime as good friends. And some clients — like friends and lovers — come into your life and make your heart sing, for a few months. Until they begin to reveal their full selves including all their incompatibilities with you, until they wear out their welcome and make you scramble desperately for a professional way to extricate yourself from the toxic cloud of doom that accompanies them to every appointment.

When a client goes bad like this, it's usually after you've befriended them on some level. After you've revealed more about yourself than you would to an ordinary client, and have learned more about the client than you ever wanted to know. Whether you think you've crossed that precarious line from client to friend or not, the problem lies in that client believing that you've crossed that line. Making a stand to set the record straight almost never goes smoothly, and rarely allows you to keep the client but lose the friend.

And that's how I ended up with nerve damage in my big toe. I'd been putting up with her for far too long. I was in a bad mood for the entire week leading up to her appointment, and it took an entire week after her appointment to recover. I had to clench my jaw and force a smile while I sat through her services, silently singing the Piña Colada Song in my mind to distract myself from the narcissistic misery she brought in with her and attempted to lay on my shoulders.

The last time I saw her, I was wearing Ugg Boots. It was one of those nights I worked late, and she was my last client. I came home around 9 p.m., emotionally exhausted and physically drained. Changing out of my work clothes and into some comfy pajamas my first priority. I was standing up, leaning over to take off my boots when something went wrong. I ended up slamming my foot — big toe first — into our bedroom floor. I crumpled into a heap of blubbering flesh on the floor while I cradled my pounding toe in my arms (which I'm proud to still be able to do, although it's certainly not as easy as it used to be) while I cursed the name of the client who had brought me to such a sad state.

I called her the next day to let her know I would no longer be able to do her nails. I didn't even bother finding a "professional" reason. I just told her I wouldn't do them anymore, end of statement. I hung up on her while she blubbered that her life was over and nobody else could do her nails like me.

It's been three years. I haven't spoken with her since. Hopefully her new nail tech has a stronger buffering system than I do. But my toe is still numb.

I believe I've mentioned in the past that my original intention was to become a graphic artist. Obviously, I got sidetracked from that goal along the way and have spent the last 18 years doing nails instead. Nevertheless, I've remained interested in graphic arts and fascinated by marketing, if not exactly dedicated to them.

So while I admit that graphic art design and the use thereof for marketing purposes isn't exactly my area of expertise, I still design my own business cards, signage, and most of my advertising. It’s probably more out of a desire to control every aspect of my business, and a little bit because I'm too cheap to pay anyone who didn't discover the awesomeness of doing nails instead of graphic design, than from any notion that I'm a gifted natural.

Then again ...

Lately I've been working on an ad that will run in a local, community newspaper. It's just going to be black and white on newsprint — nothing shiny, colorful, or even particularly high-quality — so I tried to include some basic elements while keeping the copy simple and clean. Then I e-mailed it to the sales rep.

Not terribly surprisingly, the sales rep e-mailed back and said the company graphic artist had some concerns regarding my design. He (or maybe she, I haven't actually interacted with the artist) specifically mentioned that the typeface and size in my original copy might not show up well when printed. Which I can totally understand and respect — so I said that I'd see what I could do about tweaking it, but meanwhile, by all means, let the artist who actually works for the paper and has experience in the field and an understanding of how original art translates to the final medium work on the ad too.

I get a proof a day or so later that brings me to my ultimate point here today: WTF? I have encountered this throughout my career, in numerous — nay! EVERY — advertising venue I have worked with.

While marketing gurus are busy writing books and contributing articles to our trade magazines about designing effective ad copy and marketing materials, it seems the people who are collecting paychecks at numerous newspapers, yellow pages, and other advertising venues, aren't getting the same advice. It never fails that the proofs I get back from these artists show little to no thought about how the copy will actually work as an advertising tool.

So, here are two copies of my ad for you to consider, one is the original put together by moi, the other is the proof the artist sent back for my approval. To date, I have not approved a proof, much to the dismay of the poor sales rep who makes a living off of commission. But here they are, feel free to offer your critiques of each! Just take a lesson from this and remember that no one knows your business like you do, least of all the guy who's putting together ads for the local yellow pages book. So you can't always trust your local ad department to build an effective ad for you.

I was just over at the Competition Insider, catching up on Lynn's blog — I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I'm terrible at keeping up with my fellow bloggers. Heck, I'm terrible at keeping up with my own blog! The BF is the one who reports to me when I have comments I should reply to. How sad is that?

Lynn recently did a post where she talks about the absurdity of California's licensing requirements; you need a license to so much as file someone's nails, but not for tattooing or body piercing. In that post, she also touches briefly on the subject of professional titles — which is something I've been meaning to talk about too.

California officially calls us "manicurists." I remember, back in school, our instructor walked my entire manicuring class a few blocks down the street from our school one morning to the local trophy shop where we all ordered name tags. I stood in line patiently waiting my turn behind the other girls, and when I got to the register, I gave the lady my name and requested that my tag read "nail technician."

This caused quite a stir as all but one of my classmates clamored to change their orders! Only Lily opted to remain a "manicurist," and I respected her decision to do so. (I wish the Internet had been so available then; I'd have loved to have stayed in touch with her, and many of my other classmates.)

Eighteen years later, I'm with Lynn: I've outgrown "nail technician."

For starters, there are far too many occasions where I find myself hob-knobbing with the college-educated crowd only to have someone ask me what I do. I used to say I was a "nail technician" and, I kid you not, every time they'd look at me funny and say, "what's a male technician?" Good grief people. Really? So I would smile politely — patiently — and say, "I do nails."

Then the light would go on over their heads as understanding dawned — then they'd walk away without spending another freakin’ minute of their precious $80,000 education wasted on lil ol' me.

Oooh. Sorry. Do I sound bitter? I know Bachelor's degrees are strong among my own people, and even several Master’s and a smattering of PhDs. Fortunately, y'all know that doing nails totally rocks and I almost never get the "I'm better than you" cold shoulder from my colleagues. But I bet you know exactly the type of people I'm referring to, and I bet those of us who finished college have seen more than one jaw hit the floor when you mention your degree to one of these people.

Let's just say, I have encountered enough education snobs that one day, many years ago, I set myself down and gave the matter some thought — and I believe I came up with the ultimate pretentious euphemism — I began introducing myself as an "onychological enhancement engineer."

I've since dropped the "engineer" in favor of "specialist" since I feel it encompasses the nature of my business more fully.

The BF's 12-year-old niece calls me a "nail stylist" — and that suits me just fine.

Nothing nearly as good as Martin Luther King Jr., but significantly more nail-related. 

In my dream I attended a class offered by a major manufacturer — a real manufacturer that exists here in the waking world — which was being taught by an educator who was entirely a fictitious creation of the dream and, as far as I can think of, isn't even based on any real person, so don't get all curious wondering who I'm talking about. It was a dream.

In the dream the Entirely Fictitious Educator was doing some very intense demos for a small group of students. Most of whom represented newly licensed techs, but also included a handful of haggard old crones such as myself.

So, as I'm leaning over, craning my neck to watch her technique she asks me if I actually use the company's products.

I reply that I do not.

She says, "Well that's what you're doing wrong."

Well — in the dream, mind you — her words struck me as pretentious, demeaning, and just plain inappropriate to her position as a representative of a major nail product company. But I held my tongue and decided to just let her have her opinion and not respond. Then, after about a half a second (in dream time) I rethought myself. And I spoke up. And I said, "That was just plain rude."

So, in the dream, my Entirely Fictitious Educator looks up from her demo nail and squints at me and demands that I justify my insolence.

So I told her that telling a veteran nail tech who is successful in the industry that the way she's doing her job is "wrong" is absurd! How can she justify that comment to someone who is well-booked and making a living in the business?

At that point the dream sort of broke up. Mostly because that's about the time I woke up enough to first realize that I was sleeping in a small tent in the middle of the forest and that it had gotten significantly colder than it had been when I fell asleep; and secondly that I was pretty fired up about the snotty attitude from the Entirely Fictitious Educator in the dream.

I've never actually lived that specific scenario, but I have encountered some similar elitism lurking in our industry. There seems to be a ridiculous number of people out there who truly believe they know the absolute, one right way to be successful as a nail tech. Some people will flat out tell you what that is. Some people make decent money charging for classes to tell you this. Some just offer the advice for free whether you want it or not. Some people are happy to tell you that what you're doing is "wrong" but they aren't going to share their version of "right."

But I'm here to tell ya, there's more than one way to file a nail! And if you spend enough time talking to the people who are out there making a living doing nails, you'll soon discover that there is no right or wrong way to do it.

Maybe it all comes down to your personal definition of what "success" is. There are nail techs out there who have never seen a copy of NAILS. Who've never been to a trade show. Who've never taken a continuing education class. But who still pay their bills every month with money they make from doing nails. And, much as we hate to admit it, there are also nail techs out there who never bothered to get a license, who don't follow state regulations, who don't have a clue they aren't supposed to use MMA — but they're still making money in the business.

I can concede that I have my personal opinions about what constitutes doing your job "well," but even if your standards are sadly lacking, anyone who is making a living doing nails, or at least making as much money as they want to at it, qualifies as successful.

Obviously, I'm all about meeting some minimum standards if you want to hang with the best in the biz — but don't let anyone tell you you're doing nails "wrong" if you're not living up to their arbitrary standards. Not even some Entirely Fictitious Educator in a stupid dream!

Speaking of stuff I spend good money on, let's talk packaging. No. Not packaging like who has good packaging, who has cheesy packaging, how packaging affects product costs, or even how packaging affects our decision to buy certain products ... I'm talking about packaging that just plain makes me want to shoot someone.

I am all about pretty packaging. I'm a sucker for good marketing material, and companies that put the extra effort and money into putting their products into fancy, shiny containers definitely do get my attention — and often my money. It matters not at all that, intellectually, I am fully aware that I am not buying the pretty container that my acrylic powder or gel polish comes in, I'm buying the product inside that container. But trust me, if that product is inside an attractive bottle I'm all the more likely to pick it over the product with packaging that is merely functional.

But I've got a few products now that make me wonder why companies aren't thinking ahead to how their products are going to be used in the field. Are they clueless? Do they know what it is they are making? Do they know what it is they are packaging? Or is the person who's in charge of choosing the packaging just the boss's kid who's never done nails in his life and gets to sit down in front of a catalogue and simply points to a picture of a pretty jar and says, "OOOOOOOOH?"

Because, for instance, some of my gel polishes come in pots instead of polish bottles (and definitely instead of squeezy tubes) and some of those pots are quite pretty to look at. But did it occur to the company that those pots would be full of gel? Gel is a sticky mess. And I guarantee you that not all of the people using that gel are as anal-retentive as I am about keeping their little pots clean. That means that for many techs, their little pots of gel are going to require some extra effort to open as the lip of the jar gets coated in sticky, gooeyness. All the more reason to think these things out ahead of time when you're choosing your packaging! Your fancy little jar should not be made of two separate pieces that come apart rather easily when you attempt to unscrew the lid. If it does that when you open the pot for the first time, imagine what it's going to do after it's been used a few times!

Especially when I just recently did the "gel polish versus polish from the same company" price comparison in my head and realized that the gel costs maybe eight to 10 times more than the polish! The pot is very pretty, but pretty doesn't matter when you can't open the dang thing to get to the stuff inside. That just results in a lot of frustrated techs throwing away a very expensive pot of gel amid much cursing and deciding that they will use a different line altogether.

I already find myself conveniently "forgetting" to mention that I even have these gels to choose from.

A long, long time ago I took a class with Tom Holcomb. I mean, I didn't really take a class with him. I took a class that he was teaching. During the two-day class he did a lot of ranting — maybe it runs in the veins of the industry? — and one of the things he talked about was what a shame it is in our business that our professional tools are crap. Or basically, at least in the U.S., the tools of our trade don't reflect the range in choices of quality that are available in other industries. The specific example Tom gave was to look at hairstylists: They have shears that cost thousands of dollars, but the best sculpting brushes we can buy are less than a hundred bucks.

Well now, I don't know if there's really a need for a sculpting brush that costs over $100 — and I sure as heck wouldn't pay thousands for one — but his thoughts on the subject have echoed in my ears for the last 10 years or so since I took that class.

I remember, shortly after becoming a licensed manicurist, I found myself in a fancy art store in Southern California. I spied a very pretty Kolinsky sable brush in the front case — a fat size 10 (I've always loved a fat brush, but not these size 22s you can paint a barn with that are popular these days!) with a black lacquered handle and gold ferrule.

It was (cough, cough, choke, sputter) $600.

I asked the clerk why it was worth so much. She said, "It's Kolinsky sable."

I suppose it's possible that all these $20-$50 “Kolinsky” sable brushes I've been buying for the last 20 years haven't been the real deal. I suppose it's possible that they've been a blend of Kolinsky and other sable — maybe they've just been hair from your ordinary, garden-variety, American weasel. And, of course, I don't paint with my sable brushes, I sculpt acrylic. But I seriously doubt that schmancy brush in the case would have done a better job than any of the brushes I've lovingly cared for since figuring out how to do nails without wrecking a brush. (Tip #1: Buy a decent brush, but not a $600 one.)

But, yesterday, as my newest fancy sculpting brush (that cost a lot of money as sculpting brushes go) fell apart for the umpteenth time, I couldn't help but find myself wondering, if I spend $600 on a brush, will it at least stay in one piece? Technically, I want this brush to stay in two pieces, since it's one of those nifty brushes that has a lid that doubles as the handle of the brush. Then there's the brush it replaced, which was a fancy collapsible brush that slid back inside its own handle — usually while I was trying to place a bead of acrylic. Also, quite pricey for a sculpting brush.

So my message to the manufacturers of these fancy brushes? Stop worrying about the gimmick aspect of the dang brush! Yeah, I like having a cap for my brush, that's amazingly handy. It doesn't matter if all the hairs are hand-tied by fairies who kiss each delicate strand in order to ensure that the brush will never clog if the handle keeps falling apart during use.

Or maybe Tom had a point. Maybe a really good brush costs hundreds of dollars and all these $40-$60 options are just the best manufacturers can reasonably offer because that's the most we're willing to pay?

Maybe, but I'm not ready to go out and buy a $600 brush.

I am getting pretty sick and tired of defending fantasy nail art and stiletto nails. That's just all there is to it.

I have a digital picture frame on the shelf near my desk. The slide show it runs through consists of pretty much all the photos I have of my own work, several pictures of my dogs, the BF, various camping and hiking adventures — you know, some personal stuff that makes for good conversation — and lots and lots and lots of photos of nails gleaned from around the Internet.

One reason I finally put all those pictures on the digital frame is because I spend a lot of time telling my clients about the types of nails that some of my colleagues are doing, nail styles that are popular in other parts of the world, and different nail types that are even possible — stuff that's hard to describe to someone who's never seen it, like spiral nails.

I don't get to do these nails. Makes me crazy. I talked one client once into stilettos and she made it all of 48 hours before begging me to cut them down. I've done a grand total of four spiral nails in my entire career. I don't even get to do long nails very often.

Consequently, I don't have pictures in my own portfolio of these nail styles. But I don't want my clients to be out on the town and come back and say, "OMG! I saw this girl whose nails were all super long and pointy! Maggie, how come you never told me you could do that?" So I have all these photos on my digital frame slide show.

My clients still insist that stilettos are "ugly," but they are at least making an effort to assuage me by agreeing that just because they don't like something doesn't mean it's ugly. But good grief! If I have to explain fantasy nail art to one more person things might get ugly!

I don’t get it? How can these same people get that the fashion industry, the hair industry, even the car industry has concept designs? Entire shows, competitions, designs dedicated to showing off? To demonstrating what can be done with the medium of the industry? Not what is common or practical. So when a photo rolls around of a handful of nails that are 12 inches long and covered in 3-dimensional butterflies and dragons that stick out 3 inches on all sides, this is NOT an example of what someone had done for her son's wedding. This is NOT intended to be a practical design that someone really wears. This is obviously an over-the-top, avant-garde design. 

And how can you even utter the words, "That's so ugly?!" Are you even looking at it? That's AMAZING! That's all done with nail products! Can your nail-lady do that? Well I guess you'll never know because you won't let her do anything. (pant pant pant) Oh. Sorry. Well, that's why they call the column "Maggie Rants [and Raves]" I guess.

I just had to vent about the lack of appreciation for our art that permeates the masses to people who would understand my pain. I feel better now; but I think I'm going to work on coining the term "concept art" in our industry, and getting more of it in front of the general public so people stop seeing it and thinking it's something to wear and start appreciating it for what it's intended to be — art for art's sake.

I don't know how some of you fellow techs out there do it. Keep your schedules to "normal" business hours, that is. Who are your clients? Where did you find an entire clientele comprised of people who don't have to be at work during those hours?

My clientele is almost entirely comprised of working women. I'm eternally grateful to those who are self-employed, work from home, have variable schedules, take a long lunch, or who just plain play hookie and have a "doctor's appointment" every other week. But I usually have a handful of open slots in my week somewhere between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m.

The phone still rings, regularly, with hopeful — and sometimes desperate — voices on the other end of the line asking for appointments. But when I offer them my next opening on, say, Thursday afternoon at 2 p.m., I hear a disappointed, "Ummm, I work till 5."

I have finally had to draw my line in the proverbial sand and put my foot down hard on my side of that line. And my side of that line happens to be on my side of 5 p.m. I already work till 9 p.m. on a regular basis. In fact, 10 p.m. is not uncommon. There are only so many hours after 5 p.m. and they are full. 

I just love hearing people tell me that I really "need" to start working on Saturdays — or Wednesdays (yeah I take Wednesdays off; it's another long story) — because my current schedule is unable to accommodate them. Well heck! Even with my handful of daytime openings, I average a 42-hour work week! And I only hold my tongue sometimes when someone reveals this incredibly selfish viewpoint with me. I usually let it be known that I can be contracted outside my regularly scheduled hours at double my regular prices — double-time plus Starbucks if it's before 10 a.m. Or I’ll remind them that my inability to schedule them at a time convenient to them does not constitute financial destitution on my part; the fact that my regular schedule is too full to accommodate them, in fact, indicates that I happen to be holding my own without them.

I think everyone should be able to take an hour-and-a-half lunch one day every other week. Maybe two hours. I have yet to think of a business that honestly would not be able to allow one employee to have an extra long lunch each day. I just need a little extra time tacked on to their lunch hours to allow for travel! Let them make it up by coming in an hour earlier or staying an hour later, or just give them the option of taking the extra time off without pay — you know how many of my clients would take that option if it meant they could come get their nails done during the day?

The world is not going to end if one of your four receptionists takes an extra hour for lunch one day every other week!

I suppose the business world is not likely to relinquish their control of their employees' time and lives — I'll have to focus on filling those open slots with the bosses and the self-employed, and the working gals will be stuck with nail techs that work on Saturday.

After taking some time to think it over, I have decided that I am not going to run out and invest in any fancy-schmancy LED gel lamps any time soon.

For one thing, I have done my darnedest to learn as much as I can about LED UV technology versus fluorescent UV technology, which came down to a long afternoon of learning about light technology in general — which was interesting enough, but probably the most interesting thing I took from it was that I might, maybe, possibly, understand the theory behind photon torpedoes better now.

It all boils down to the conclusion that LED technology isn't all that stunning to me, is quite pricey-(and I'm not convinced the extra cost is worth it in the long run), and that the gel manufacturers don't seem to want to actually offer any legitimate information about LED lamps and gel technology — leaving me with a nagging feeling that I'm looking at a lot of smoke and mirrors.

Yeah, LED lights are cool. Both literally and figuratively. And maybe that's where the future of our gel lamps is headed, but for the moment I think I'm just gonna hang tight with my good ol' tried-and-true trusty fluorescents.

I'm not interested in investing that kind of money into a couple of lamps that will take up almost the same amount of space on my desk and may — or may not — work with multiple lines of gel products.

Let's face it, I'm not using gel products from only one manufacturer. I need lamps that work with whichever gels I use. It's ludicrous to expect a tech to buy a different lamp for every gel product she uses, both in terms of the financial investment and can you imagine having to put away one lamp and get out another with each client? But rumor has it that the impending LED lamps might be adjusted to such a precise wavelength that they honestly won't be able to bridge the gap between product lines.

And that 30-second cure time we keep hearing about sounds so enticing — until I'm actually sitting here doing gels and realize that it takes me one-and-a-half to two minutes to apply a layer of gel on one hand while the other hand is curing for two minutes. I have two lamps on my desk, so I never have down time waiting for one hand (or foot) to cure before the other hand can go in the light. A 30-second cure time won't make my life easier. It won't cut my service time down.

Oh yeah, and then there's the promise that we will never have to replace the LEDs. But the more I look into this claim, the less inclined I am to buy it. Apparently this will have a lot to do with how the lamps are built, the quality of the components used to construct them, and how they are maintained over time.

I'm just going to wait on this. Hang tight with the lamps that I already know work just fine and ride out the time it takes to work out the bugs with this new technology.

I backpack. Camp. Hike. Wheel (as in, drive off road in a 4-wheel-drive.) And now, canoe. Point being, I like to go outside. And while outside, I like to wander off to places where there are no roads, no people, no electricity, and no showers. Preferably for days at a time.

I imagine that many of you are awestruck at the very notion. You may even be muttering something along the lines of, "OMG! That's my exact idea of hell!" And you can sure as heck imagine that's what I hear from most of my clients!

My clients patiently work with me as I try to get them all rescheduled around my backpacking plans. They politely chitchat with me about my upcoming adventure, and inevitably, several of them will ask me questions like, "So when you go backpacking, do you stay in a campground?" or "So is this like at a hotel or something?" Or maybe, "But you have a trailer or something so you can take a shower, right?"

Ummm. No. My idea of a vacation is to basically do the exact opposite of what I do at work. Which often strikes me as odd, seeing as how I often consider work-related things "vacation." But I chalk that all up to my eclectic and fascinatingly eccentric personality and just pretend it's not weird at all.

But more about backpacking! Sometimes it irritates me, but most times it amuses me (depending on my mood) that I almost always have to explain the details of backpacking and how it differs from camping. And how "camping" in my book differs from "camping" according to my clients! Essentially, backpacking requires putting everything you'll need for the trip into a sack, putting the sack on your back, and then locking the car and walking away from it. No, there are no showers. No toilets. No hairdryers ... And sometimes there are bears. And while what I do in my spare time is the exact opposite of what I do at work, it's also the exact opposite of what I want my clients to do in their spare time.

I want my clients to sit at home with their feet up and their hands in the air, eating bonbons and having all their needs attended to by fairies — or maybe small elves. I want the most stressful thing they do to be driving their car to the store or meeting their girlfriends for lunch, where they spend their time comparing nails and talking about how awesome their nail-lady is (because, naturally, I should be doing all their nails!), even if she is kinda strange.

I certainly do not want them trekking across the Sierra carrying 30 pounds of gear on their backs and trying to put together a miniature camp stove two or three times a day while fending off bears with a hiking pole! That is definitely not in my "care and feeding " instructions for their impeccable enhancements.

This is one of those instances where I am willing to live these adventures so that my clients don't have to! I wonder if that makes my gear tax-deductible?