With Nails, I

I have bitten my nails and the skin around them compulsively since I was a kid. I don't remember ever having any nails at all, just raw nubs. I remember being in seventh grade and using the metal end of a No. 2 pencil—sans the eraser—to methodically scoop into my non-existent nails, digging down with no pain or discomfort because I'd done it a thousand times before. Only that time, a guy was sitting behind me, handsome Rob Gilbreath, exclaiming, "Matt! What are you doing?" I had no explanation. But I have always treated my nails like something to keep at bay.

Declawed.

About two months ago, I stopped cold turkey. I was sick of the pain and the unsightly appearance, and in an exercise of will power, I cut it out. At first, I used a lot of hand lotion. Then I would run my teeth under the growing nails, like a dog holding your arm in his mouth but not pressing down—just for play. Then I joked I was growing them long in honor of my trek to Vegas tomorrow to attend the grand opening weekend of The Planet Hollywood Resort & Casino, at which I will see fingernailista Barbra Streisand perform.

But finally, José pointed out that I had girl nails. So I got my first manicure. I went to an all-guy spa in Chelsea, where an efficient woman sheared off my excess nails and all of my cuticles and buffed what was left for under $20. It didnt hurt, though I missed having nails at first. But it was an odd feeling—I saw myself as one of those asshole white businessmen you see having their shoes shined. Do they really need them shined, or does it give them a kick to have some black guy at their feet?

Follicle follies.

Certainly there are worse examples—in the new Vanity Fair (December 2007), Christopher Hitchens (of all people) goes on a self-improvement quest that finds him submitting to a "boyzilian," the stripping away of all pubic hair. It's called a "sack, back and crack." Aside from the demeaning nature of the job, why anyone feels hairless on a man is ideal is beyond me. A hairless penis belongs on someone whose penis you should not be seeing.

I sat silently as a guy next to me had his feet done, babbling incessantly on the phone with a Valley Girl lilt about how he'd just watched three episodes of Ugly Betty and was mad because all the best TV was on one night.

I was good. I was not like a dog at the vet fighting for its very life with each snip. I was docile. It felt good but didn't make me feel good.

Now, I have boy nails again...for the first time ever. I'm satisfied, but I feel certain I can maintain them myself, despite my past as an unfit manicurist. The best thing about having well-groomed nails is the fact that I never used to. Every time I glance at them, I'm reminded that I can do things just because I decide to with a little determination.