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A Mile in Her Feet

What I Learned from My Two Weeks in Women's Nail Polish

By C.E. ZulinPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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It started out as a joke, really.

I was attending one of my best female friend's bachelorette party and as a part of the low-key celebrations, the plan was to go to the salon to get our nails did. I didn't really feel like disappearing midway through the day so I agreed to go with. After all, I had heard about men getting manicures and pedicures and absolutely loving it.

As a gay man, I consider myself fairly open-minded, and as someone who manages to pass in straight culture without much thought, I think it's important to genuinely try to be. I've never liked things like gender norms and I will be the first to speak out and denounce forms of sexism, racism, transphobia, and homophobia as I see them. After all, it's the very least any of us can do to try and make the world a better place.

The attendant was lovely. I could tell she was shy since I was a man. So I tried my best to show enthusiasm and make her as comfortable as possible.

So midway through, when she asked if I was just going to get a clear nail polish, I weighed my options.

I could have just walked away with a clear coat of nail polish. I could say I received a pedicure with my masculinity intact.

Or.

I had the opportunity to try something new.

I asked the attendant for a shade of my favourite colour: forest green. The members of the bachelorette party were all very supportive and were thrilled that I was going the extra mile to join in the fun.

When all was said and done, I thought my toes looked fabulous if not sublimely fresh. I went home and showed my fiancé who let out a light chuckle as though nothing really surprised him anymore. And the day along with the bachelorette party finished with good times and wine.

But then, the nail polish remained.

The novelty had worn off and I quickly realized that I now had to either keep the colour for the duration of a full nail cycle or bite the bullet and admit it was all just for fun and quickly buy nail polish remover to frantically wash it away for the sake of preserving my own masculinity.

I wanted to keep things going. I really did. But as days turned to weeks, the struggle became more real.

I became incredibly self-conscious of my feet. Why? I shouldn't be. After all, women have nail polish on their feet all the time. And I was a revolutionary gay man fighting against gender norms! If I was afraid to show off my feet, I could only imagine how —

Oh.

I had started to piece together that I wasn't just putting myself in a woman's shoes for a month; I was putting myself in a trans woman's shoes.

Women trapped in men's bodies who feel afraid to express themselves as they see fit; individuals who fear for the judgement they will receive should the neighbours ever see them with something as simple as coloured toenails. After all, we're taught from birth that women's legs are smooth and soft with delicately painted toes and that men's legs are hairy and rough and unkempt. Feminine and Masculine. Black and White.

Each day, I struggled with simple tasks like letting the dog out at night. I would put shoes on just to walk onto our porch or cautiously stance myself so that my toes were pressed into the ground with the porch lights off.

Our roommate mocked me for it, as though because he didn't understand it, I must have secretly wanted to be a drag queen or a woman (he's gay as well, by the way).

So when company came over, I would keep my socks on.

I started dreading events like my fiancé's birthday because his mother would be in attendance and I didn't want to have to explain my reasoning (or lack thereof).

I was struggling beyond belief and questioning everything. But how could I be so selfish? I asked myself. At the end of the day, I had the opportunity to go back to my normal self when others had to live with this struggle for their entire lives. Maybe not always in a physical form like nail polish, but internally anyways.

After just under a month, I had decided I couldn't do it anymore. I took the plunge and bought nail polish remover and took the magnificent shade of forest green out of my life probably for good. But not without learning a valuable lesson.

I learned just how much pressure we as human beings put on ourselves to be accepted — even by strangers whom we never talk to. I learned that even in the most mild terms, we are afraid to show weakness. We are afraid to express ourselves if that expression might not be easily understood at first glance.

And I learned that we have a lot of work to do as a species if a simple coat of nail polish on a man can incur such a vicious response both toward myself and from those around me.

So maybe the problem wasn't the nail polish. Maybe the problem was how we perceived it.

Feminine. Masculine. These are just words. And if wearing my favourite colour on my toes is wrong, maybe being "right" isn't really as great as we assume it to be.

I might not be trans, but at least now I have such a deeper respect for those who are.

gender roles
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About the Creator

C.E. Zulin

Rockstar. Author. Blogger.

Fan of Dystopian Fiction like "The Hunger Games"? Check out "Saints of the Paradise Valley" at https://www.facebook.com/saintsoftheparadisevalley/

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