I'm a 'long nails person' and I'm proud

My earliest beauty memory is of a matching set of Poochie or Strawberry Shortcake branded lipstick and nail polish I owned in 1986. They were in little bullet-shaped tubes, white plastic covered in pink love hearts; the lipstick was fruit scented, and the nail polish was a transparent fluorescent pink.
                                                 

To four-year-old me, that nail polish (which was effectively a clear topcoat, it was so transparent) was the last word in glamour.

In fact, I have many vivid nail polish related memories, including using Mum's varnishes to repaint my Barbie dolls (1992), finally finding a bottle of Revlon "Street Wear" polish in a barg

ain bin and feeling like the coolest person on earth (1997), and the blue glitter polish my family worried would be "too challenging" for some conservative relatives (1999).

Everything changed in 2010 when I met my great friend and nail collaborator Erin, who introduced me to a whole new world (I still remember the first polish we used, Butter London in "Henley Regatta"), as well as a niche new boast (turns out I have great nail beds; who knew?).

Nail art has gone from strength to strength over the past five years, in the general consciousness at least (since artists like Ortiz have been making mini masterpieces of nails for decades), but no matter how many Instagram manicures turn up on your 'suggested posts' page, people seem alarmed and even repulsed by long – really long – nails.

The great tragedy in these "ew, gross" reactions is that people are blind to the incredible sense of community that someone like Ortiz has fostered with her "long nail goddesses", not to mention the pure sense of self-actualisation and self-expression these people with long, painted nails enjoy.