I’m not saying nail art is stupid. But it is. It really fucking is. It’s a tiny irritating drop in the ocean of pointless female decoration that I think sucks balls. Now I get that decoration is usually fairly pointless.. And I do like art… but now, that’s a lie. I’m lying to you. I don’t like art. I was good at drawing as a child, and kicked ass at being creative (I kick ass at anything that doesn’t involve bodily movement), but when I realised I was no longer the best at art in my class (when did all the other children advance from scrawling on paper plates to suddenly appearing with a knowledge of anatomy, and the ability to draw cock with a straight face?) I lost interest and turned my creative energy towards being resourceful. I just realised that as I typed it. I am my own therapist. Awesome.
So I don’t actually like art. My idea of “good” art is a painting that looks very much like what it’s supposed to be.
Good art: Bad art:
I have to pretend to like art when I’m around other people I like, because EVERYONE likes art. I hate this. It’s one of the few ways I really do fake my personality around people close to me. (YES there are people close to me.) To me, the purpose of painting is to be good at representing shit in 2d that we see in 3d. It’s a skill. I don’t appreciate the stuff that is just some dickhead’s expression of self… Which is typically hypocritical because I’m here writing a blog for fuckssake. But any painting that could just as easily have happened accidentaly as on purpose, just doesn’t cut it with me. I don’t care how long the artist spent learning and unlearning the techniques in art school. I don’t care if some skinny bastard with a nice glass of wine stands around and claims to “feel” things while looking at a block of grey. And I do believe they are lying anyway. I think most art is just “Emperor’s new clothes” syndrome. People posing and pretending to get what everyone else pretends to get. (Except, I have a lot of good friends who I honestly believe enjoy looking at paintings….so I don’t know what to think..)
There is also something else I can’t put my finger on that makes me like some art and not like other art. The Mona Lisa, for example, I think is utter shit. Why is that so famous? It’s the most famous painting, ever. I don’t get it. But I don’t care either. I’d like to have some nice paintings on the wall, but I don’t enjoy walking around a gallery… Maybe if I knew the artist, I’d be like, holy crap, Rachel drew that? I didn’t know she could draw… maybe she’ll draw a picture of me and make me prettier and I can put it up on my wall and feel beautiful…And then I’d forget all about it and not care any more. Although obviously I would be really polite because she invited me (probably) and there is free wine. And I want a massive flattering nude portrait of myself, for free.
So that’s my opinion on art, more or less. I do like some paintings that aren’t “good” by my very black and white standards mentioned above. And as usual any opinions or thoughts expressed by me on this blog are subject to frequent and unpredictable change at any moment.
Left picture: Art I like, even though I don’t really think it’s good. It’s nice. I like it. Why? Don’t know. Don’t care. Saw it in the gallery, took me two seconds to look at and now I have seen it. I do not require more time to appreciate its’ artiness. Most people take about 10 minutes to look at a fucking painting. I hate going to gallerys with people because I have to hover around pretending to soak up cultural enrichment while I’m just waiting until they deem enough time has been spent and we can go to the giftshop or have a coffee.
Anyway, I was just setting the stage with my more practical/boorish approach to art. And how I feel the need to fake an interest in culture so people won’t realise I only like colours if they’re on my face, making me look prettier. Yes. So of course I don’t see the purpose in nail art. First, because the idea that people could find hands attractive baffles me. You obviously don’t want a girl with a lobster claw or some really hairy hands or grotty nails or anything, but aside from a woman’s hands looking normal and nondescript (as hands are wont to do. They are HANDS. For fucks sake…) I don’t see where you go from there. And do you know how much manicures cost? Over here, they have these salons called “Nail Reconstruction centres”. What the fuck does that mean? It sounds like a centre for people who lose their fingernails in horrific accidents, and have to have them rebuilt using fragments of toenail and ass bones. But what really happens is you get your nails painted and maybe some fake ones stuck on the top and for the service of rendering your hands completely useless (forget about opening a swiss army knife), you have to pay like 70 euros or MORE. Because that was a special offer I saw in the window of one of these places. Ooh what a treat, I really feel like I had a “me” day, I got some bint with a degree in painting fingernails to push back my cuticles and charge me more than it costs to hire a prostitute, probably. (are we supposed to care if our cuticles are pushed back or not? Is this some other standard of attractiveness we have to adhere to? I already wax my legs, my upper lip, my vadge, brush my hair, wear makeup, try to keep my body fuckable, rub cream on my skin, wash, brush my teeth….leave me the fuck alone.)
And the other thing is…. no, that’s pretty much it. Just one of many, many decorative things women seem to love that I just don’t get. I love clothes and shoes, in the sense that they make me look better than I really am underneath. I appreciate that they trick people who see me into thinking I am slimmer, cleaner, and more attractive. If my nails were painted with miniature palm trees or hello kitty faces or some shit, the only result I can imagine is men thinking I am unresourceful, can’t even open a car door without chipping my investment, have a tendency to waste time and money (I do, but at least it’s not that fucking obvious) and probably will insist on having sex indoors on a soft cushioned surface to avoid breaking a nail. This is not the advertisement I want to be sending out. Why would any woman want to look more useless and frivolous? That’s what nail art does, in my correct opinion. It’s just like throw pillows. What the fuck? Throw pillows. Don’t you just hate them? Don’t you just want to go all Ben Stiller in I can’t remember what film? It’s feminine bullshit trickery, that’s what it is. More pillows on a bed or couch? Yes, please. More pillows that are too small to be comfy? More pillows that are small, and also lots of them so they would never be very comfy anyway because there are too many pointy edges and lack of surface area means lack of soft cushiony bits? And that have to be removed and put away every time you want to sit down or lie down? What the fuck? Who invented this? I get that one or two on the couch look nice, but they also serve the purpose of being cushions. You can put them on your lap when you eat a hot dinner in front of the tv. You can use them when your neck gets stiff. You can make your cat sit on them to protect your knees from the claws. But any cushion that is just there to look nice, is a failed cushion. Why not just place some barbed wire or broken glass on the couch for decoration, if you’re going to be removing it before sitting down anyway? Fucking can’t stand decorative pillows. Anyway that felt good.
And hey, guess what I achieved?
No, I didn’t clean anything. I actually made more of a mess. I pulled down my skinny bag because I woke up feeling skinnier than in ages (disgustingly dodgy diet pills seem to be working.) and I broke open the binliner, equally filled with hope and despair, and scattered clothes all over the floor, but lo and behold I have lost some weight! My lovely halter dress with the black and white stripes that does Marylin Monroe effects in the wind, but that I haven’t come close to being able to zip up in over a year… maybe two… IT FUCKING FITS! It fits like a glove! It fits I can’t believe it, so happy. Of course now it fits I realised it’s actually not THAT nice. It’s nice. It’s flattering. But I’ve been bemoaning the loss of my “favorite dress ever” because of my overeating and now it fits and to be honest I have other dresses that are nicer. But the real happy part is that I have lost weight. Fucking A, guys. Fucking A.
My secret to success here, I’m afraid, is exactly what everyone always says it is. It’s true. I know, everyone looks for a miracle diet or something but the way to lose weight, and I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the following:
Take diet pills, and half starve yourself.