I was 11 when my 20-year-old sister drove me to my first nail appointment. Until then, I had observed for years my mother and my two older sisters visit the nail salon about five miles away from our home in Pico Rivera, a predominately Latine suburb of Los Angeles. I’d watch my sisters set aside $25 for an acrylic set, plan the day they’d go to the salon—typically a Saturday—and return home with trendy styles. Think: “Selena Red” with squared-off tips or classic pink and white French tips. My mom was more subtle. She always opted for a mauve pink polish on her acrylics with very short almond tips because, like many Mexican moms, she was always working with her hands.
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Now, my time had come. I knew I wouldn’t come home with a full set like my older sister. She just turned 15, and like most of us, she’d received her first set of acrylics for her quinceañara. Even so, I was about to officially enter a woman’s rite of passage polished off with a color called Champagne Dreams splashed on my tween-sized fingers. According to my 20-year-old sister, I needed to choose a light nude color so our traditional Mexican father didn’t notice and give me the “quítate eso ahora” speech. Like the other macho Latino fathers, he was strict about his girls wearing makeup or painting their nails before turning 15.
I can still see the salon’s singular wall full of bold, bright-colored nail polish bottles in my mind and smell the scent of formaldehyde that filled the salon. I also vividly remember the nail-salon conversation filling the room and seeing connections being made between the professionals and patrons. Even at 11 years old, I recognized this energy of comfort inside a nail salon. As if every woman there would step in to care for me in an almost village-like way. It’s the same feeling you get in any Chicano household.
Taking care of your guests and doting on your family is so Chicano. Putting yourself first and going to therapy is not. Even now, it’s still taboo, but growing up in the ’90s, therapy wasn’t something my family was familiar with. As a low-income household, my parents kept therapy in the “rich gringo” category. But as I reflect on my youth, about 30 years ago, I’ve come to realize that my mom’s nail time could have been a way of accessing a type of therapy unbeknownst to her. Was this a way for my mom to get away from it all and process emotions, all while experiencing a much-needed beauty treatment? Or were her salon trips purely for maintenance reasons? Either way, whenever my mom came back from her nail or hair appointment, her first reaction was always, “Wow!” One simple word that let out a sigh of relief and joy at the same time. Therapy indeed.
A trip to the nail salon has definitely evolved to something more than just maintenance in 2024. It’s a way of investing in ourselves, in people, in time alone, and also allows us to attract an instant mood booster. Nothing beats that feeling of walking out of the salon, looking down at your fingers (or toes) and seeing a shiny, colorful topcoat reflecting off the sun’s daylight. Rewarding ourselves with a nail appointment may only scratch the surface of self-care, but for many Latinas, and especially our elders who are constantly looking down at their hands to cook, clean, and do their day-to-day work, this little act of self-love goes a long way. It shows others how we show up as a culture and that we take pride in how we want to be seen: Polished, presentable and empowered.
Every three weeks you’ll find me in a nail salon getting my nails done, and like my mom, confiding in my nail tech. I often opt for a solid gel color, but when the mood strikes, I'll still sit through the process of a full acrylic set. Because as it goes, you can always take a Latina out of the nail salon, but you can never take the nail salon out of a Latina.