Diary of a Gen Z Student: Bad perms and conditions — but let me explain why I can't complain

Jane Cowan: 'And what did I do while I was being charged €60 for a shameful set of nails? I sat there grinning like an idiot the whole time. Afraid I might hurt her feelings if I alerted her to the blood pumping out of my fingers.' Picture: Moya Nolan

As anyone that likes to get their hair trimmed or their nails done in preparation for Christmas Day knows, beauty appointments can be difficult to come by in December. Obviously, it is imperative to look your absolute best while you lull yourself into a chocolate induced coma in your childhood living room.

Last week, I was undergoing some such preparation for the big day. And though I excel in many things, bookings things in advance, is not one of them. So, I was cheating on my usual nail lady. I’m not proud of it. But a girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do.

Cheating on the person that tames your hair, dyes your eyebrows, lifts your lashes, or paints your nails, feels wrong at any time of the year. But seeking refuge in the warm embrace of a new nail technician at Christmas? That’s got to be a deadly sin.

I have greater feelings of loyalty to the women that keep the illusion of my natural good looks intact, than any man that’s every courted me. He bought me a bowl of pasta? I don’t owe him anything. But she threaded my eyebrows while I vented about the man that bought me the pasta? I think I owe her my first-born.

It’s a strange bond that is formed. I can’t really describe it.

All I know, is that I didn’t have a good feeling when I sat into the chair of a new nail lady last week, the only one that had an open appointment the week before Christmas.

Sitting down, I picked out a navy polish. This nail technician started by performing the great cuticle massacre of 2025.

Sure, she removed all the cuticles. But she also removed plenty of perfectly fine skin that was surrounding my nails. So, my fingers were bleeding. She grunted an apology for the attack and continued by wiping acetone across each nail.

You may be assuming that I quickly complained and asked her to cease burning my open wounds with acetone. You would be wrong. Because, while I may be a nail technician cheater, I am far too Irish to complain about something so minor as excruciating burning of my hands.

Jane Cowan: 'This nail technician started by performing the great cuticle massacre of 2025. She grunted an apology for the attack and continued by wiping acetone across each nail.' File photo

After that, she began slathering BIAB onto my nails. For the male readers that have bravely made it this far, BIAB is a strengthening base that is applied before some gel polish.

But whatever technique was being used, my nails began to resemble bubbles. Again, I smiled and graciously thanked her for her hard work.

When she started painting the colour over the nails, I had surrendered all hope for a decent looking manicure. She missed sections of nail with the polish, slapped polish on the throbbing wounds around each nail.

And what did I do while I was being charged €60 for a shameful set of nails? I sat there grinning like an idiot the whole time. Afraid I might hurt her feelings if I alerted her to the blood pumping out of my fingers.

You see, it’s not easy to tell someone that you want them to do their job differently. It feels like you’re telling them they’re bad at their job. But that attitude has landed me with some less than attractive styles.

• A few years ago, I let a hairdresser give me a micro fringe that tended to stick vertically into the air.
• A trim of my hair turned into a dire bob last summer. I looked like the inspo picture for the haircut from hell in Fleabag.
• Getting my eyebrows threaded the week before my Debs left me with half of my left eyebrow and many tears.
• A spray tan when I was in secondary school had me scrubbing my skin for hours in a futile attempt to dull down the unmistakably orange tones.

So, at the end of the appointment, when she asked me if I was happy with the nails, I said I was delighted, of course. I gave her a tip and wished her a happy Christmas.

Now, I’m writing this column a few days later, plasters on my cuticles, with nails that look like they were painted in the dark.

This is why women are so loyal to our hairdressers, nail technicians and eyebrow threaders. Because while you’re crying over your half eyebrow, or ugly nails, you will have no one to blame but yourself.

Now that the festive season is closing up shop, I should be able to return to my true love, the nail technician that knows me better than I know myself. And that is what I call a Christmas miracle.