NYC Manicure Turned Full-Body Awakening

Nails freshly painted. Nervous system briefly hijacked. Would I do it again? Absolutely.

May 14, 2025

This blog post is part of a series in which I practice writing using a randomly generated word as my prompt, no matter what it is. Today’s word is Nail.

I fulfilled the first snippet of one of many dreams by moving to New York City in the summer of 2022 for an internship. I had never even been to the city, and I was both through the roof and terrified. I was 21 and, aside from living two hours from home during college, this was:

The farthest I’d ever lived from my family, and
The longest I’d ever been away.

My sister and mom stayed in the city for a few days as I got acquainted with the high energy, the hot smell of piss in the subway stations, and that unmistakable NYC magic. But eventually, they had to go home. I was thrilled to be there… but I was also petrified to be by myself in that big, loud, stinky, wonderful place for the first time.

The first 24 hours after they left were rough. It was a Monday, I only knew a handful of people directly in the city, and my first day of work didn’t start for a WHOLE WEEK. I was so scared! So emotional! So excited? AUGH GAH IS THAT ANOTHER PERSON POOPING IN PUBLIC?!

I was staying in the NYU summer dorms, and per the contract I signed (STUPID!), I was required to purchase a summer-long meal plan. I figured getting lunch by myself would distract me from my nerves. I walked through Washington Square Park and swiped into the dining hall. Because it was a summer semester, most of the food stations were closed. BUT HAVE NO FEAR—They had a pasta station.

Also, I want to note that—for whatever reason—a worker at NYU decided to play early 2010s radio pop hits over the speakers at max volume at all times. It didn’t matter what day or what time it was—the employee on aux had a personal dance party to attend to, and honestly, I respect them for it. For example, here’s a video I took at 7:30 a.m. on a Tuesday:

I have nothing against 'In My Head'—it’s a certified banger—but it just wasn’t what I needed at concert-level volume that day. I just needed the pasta.

I walked up. Rigatoni in meat sauce. It would’ve been a disgrace to call it Bolognese—based on looks alone, I knew I was in for a rough ride. But HEY! I hadn’t even tried it yet… WHAT DO I KNOW!

I sit down in the corner. Jason Derulo BLASTS over the intercom. I take a bite of the pasta. Listen… I don’t want to sound dramatic, but I had a true visceral reaction to that rigatoni. It tasted so fake—like, ultra sweet or something. It was enough to make me cry—I legitimately went back to the dorm room and cried. It was the last straw for my little nervous self that day. THIS IS THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE THAT PASTA HAS MADE ME CRY?!

I called my oldest sister in tears, explaining that:

I was scared to be alone in New York City
It had only been 36 hours since my family left, and I was a mess
The rigatoni was hot garbage

So… what does any older sibling do when their little sister is in disarray? THEY SEND MONEY!!!!!!!!!

Kidding! But I’m also not! My sister Venomed me $50, but she specifically instructed me to use that money to find a nail salon and get a gel manicure. She also told me I was required to have freshly done nails for the duration of my internship—her donation was to cover the first installment. Very kind.

At this point, I have explored abouuuuuut… three streets in Manhattan. So I opened up Google Maps, typed in “Nails Greenwich Village” aaaand…

BINGO! A three-minute walk from the dorm. A short journey, yes, but technically new territory. SCORE!

Walking in was oddly comforting because, in that moment, I realized that all nail salons look the same. Was I in northeast Ohio right now!? I’d be chilling for the next 45 minutes.

The big question was what. Color. Should. I. Pick. Could it determine everything? What if Seth Meyers saw my nails and my big smile and thought, “Hey, you look like a young, talented young lady! How would you like your OWN TELEVISION SHOW?!” This was serious business, people.

The manicurist handed me the big ass color chart (Oh goodness… they have even MORE colors in New York than back home!), and it was time for me to decide. “Whatever shall I pick—there’s just so many opti- PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINK!”

I saw a color called “Getting Nadi on My Honeymoon,” and it immediately spoke to me. It was bright for summer, subtle enough for a professional entrance, and looked very similar to my at-home favorite, “Mod For You.” It was a perfect match.

I sat back, relaxed, and began looking at one of two classic nail salon fixtures while the nail techs talked to each other:

A canvas of mysterious abstract art
The Price is Right that was playing on the TV

My brain ping-ponged between: “Who designed that painting? How much IS a new golf cart? Did the artist have a specific vision in mind when crafting that piece? Will Rob from Erie, Pennsylvania, make it to the Showcase Showdown?” I was at peace.

Towards the end of my appointment, the manicurist had me put my nails under the light to really cook ‘em. Then, without a word, she stood up, walked behind me… and started massaging my back. I am rarely thrown off my tracks by quick, unexpected moments—but when I felt her hands grab my already tense shoulders, I jumped and sank into my chair as she started working through. It’s like she knew about the meat sauce!

I thought, “Is… this what New York City is all about? COMPLIMENTARY MASSAGES?” And in that moment, I was ready to take on the world. THROW ME INTO THE STREETS, ELEGANT NAILS AND SPA! I CAN DO ANYTHING! Okay, I stayed in my dorm for like two days after that because I was still nervous, but IT WAS A START! AND NOW… MY NAILS LOOK GREAT!

It is wild how much having your nails done can be a mood booster. A man high on scary drugs could scream in my face while I’m just trying to taste my very first bagel and lox, and I panic, but at least I’m panicking with my BUBBLE GUM NAILS! And walking into 30 Rock in my Banana Republic button-down, curls, and a gel mani? That was just one small piece of the puzzle, but it gave me my first real whiff of NYC confidence—something I had yet to fully discover or feel.

I ended up making my nail trip a mini routine during that summer. On a Saturday, I’d get dolled up, go get a latte of sorts, get the nails done (The Price is Right and massage included… FOR FREE), listen to live jazz in Washington Square Park and hope that nobody would come near me, meet up with my friends for dinner, and BOOM! AYYY I’M WALKIN’ ‘ERE!

And I decided that for the entire summer, “Getting Nadi on my Honeymoon” would be the official signature color. It was just too cute to switch things up—no OPI betrayal on my watch!

PICTURED: The Official Hansan NYC Nails circa 2022. What more could an intern like me ASK FOR!

The last week I went was bittersweet—I was incredibly excited to go back to all of the people I loved at Ohio State, but I couldn’t believe that my “I still can’t believe all of this happened” internship was already coming to an end. But one thing was for sure: if I was going to be waving goodbye to Seth Meyers one last time like I was leaving on the Titanic, my nails BEST be gelled up.

Now, this next part is actually what inspired me to write this blog in the first place because I was essentially sent to a different planet. Ahem…

I sit in my chair, I pick “Getting Nadi on My Honeymoon,” and let the nice woman get to work. I notice that I hadn’t had this specific nail tech before, but my nail-do is very basic and could be done by anyone, including myself, so I was about as relaxed as I could be. EVERYTHING! IS GOING! AS PLANNED!

She puts my nails in the light. She then stands up, walks behind me, and begins massaging my shoulders with such harsh intensity that my entire body was getting tossed in all directions. For the second time in this nail salon, I was thrown off. The massage so far wasn’t bad per se, but rather just a physical experience I had no preparation for.

Then—suddenly— she takes her thumb and rams it into the back of my neck, like she was Nonna kneading homemade cavatells for Sunday sauce. I have no clue what kind of pressure point she hit, but my mind and soul felt like they left my body. Like I was dancing in the subway asking strangers for tips. Like I was falling 50 stories from the Chrysler Building but knew I’d land safely. Like doing the sauna for the first time, but accidentally staying in for an hour because I didn’t know how long you’re supposed to stay in and being immediately thrown into an ice bath.

It was, hands down, the most bizarre physical feeling I’ve ever had. I think she found a pressure point that didn’t exist before, because for about 1.4 seconds, my whole body completely spazzed out like I stuck a fork in a toaster and was being electrocuted for my poor choices. It made me wonder what the different massage techniques are between these manicurists and whether or not they have a universal approach. Do they just kind of… wing it? Was the electrocution… planned?

Looking back on it, I can confidently say that I did not like the spasm feeling from that woman’s thumb. I don’t think she ever intended to hurt me. Anytime someone makes me feel bad, I'm like “SURELY this was just a misunderstanding on your part. Everybody makes mistakes!” But this woman? Maybe she sensed that I needed one last NYC slap in the face before heading back to the Midwest. And you know what? Considering I’m writing a blog about it three years later… mission accomplished, ma’am.

And then… that was it! It was… nothing! Nothing happened! I got my nails done like I would in any other salon, plus a FREE full-body reckoning! And it was exactly what I needed.

After my appointment, I went to the NYU dining hall for a quick bite to eat before one of my final solo Manhattan adventures. Trey Songz was respectfully turned up to 101% and… there was no meat sauce?! JUST! PLAIN! MARINARA! Did that woman warp time and space when she hit the pressure point? Did digging her thumb into the back of my neck magically cause NYU to swap out their nasty meat sauce for a humble tomato-based alternative? No. But DON’T CARE! HAND ME THE PECORINO ROMANO!

The lesson of this story is: be sure to do the little things, like getting your nails done, to make you feel refreshed and put a little spring in your step. Even if that “spring” includes a turbo jet and your third eye opening up from a complimentary massage.

At the end of that summer, I made a rule for myself: Until I was living on the East Coast full-time, I wasn’t allowed to wear that specific color I had during those last few months. I like to challenge myself, and if the only thing standing between me and the East Coast is a bottle of nail polish? Bring it on, world. Bring. It. On. And you best believe I’ll be going back to Greenwich Village to get shocked back into it.

In the words of Trey Songz: “Got a couple bottles, but a couple ain't enough.” Granted, he was talking about vodka. I’m talking about nail polish. But the sentiment? The sentiment remains.

So for now, instead of wearing “Getting Nadi on my Honeymoon” :