I am a big fan for about two months a year; then, after approximately two weeks, I am an anti-fan

Let’s talk about stiletto nails. No, not stiletto heels with nails in them (but wouldn’t that be interesting?) – but those pointy, shiny, manicured-to-the-hilt nails made infamous by Lana del Rey, Rihanna and those Tom Ford ads.

I am a big fan – no, huge fan – of stiletto nails. I think they’re sexy and beautiful, and with interesting nail art I think they can be super-cool and fashiony. Like these, on the incredible Glaswegian blogger, Betty of Forever Yours Betty.

And then. Then, I am not so big a fan. I think they’re tacky and over the top, and reminiscent of not-so-high-class girls in short shorts with bad hair extensions and fake Christian Louboutins and white cars. They make typing and bra-tying and hair-clipping exceptionally and unreasonably difficult.

I am a big fan for about two months a year; these months directly precede the moments I go to the nail salon and have stiletto nails painstakingly applied with layer after layer of gel, dried under UV lights. Then, after approximately two weeks, I am an anti-fan. They are the devil. I grow tired of being unable to clip in my hoop earrings, tie my own bra, tie my shoe laces without being afraid they’ll catch beneath my fake nail beds.

My most recent foray? It took place in Beauty Chic on Parnell Street, following a stellar recommendation from IMAGE’s Jo Linehan. I booked online (which – hi – why does every nail salon not have this incredible, futuristic function?), I arrived five minutes early, I was seen exactly on time and the procedure – including the inverted heart nail art – took about an hour.

rosemary maccabe's stiletto nails from beauty chic

They were, hands down (geddit?) the best gel nails I’ve ever had done – and the girls who removed them in Tropical Popical after a mere two weeks did note, more than once, just how well they were applied. “The gel is really thin, this is a really good job.”

So why the two-week nail stay? Well, on day 12, I caught one of my nails in my bike lock, tearing the nail in two halfway down the nail bed – tearing my own nail in two, which started to bleed beneath the layers of gel. It was, honestly, horrific. I immediately had that nail removed and thought I might stick with nine gel nails and one regular, as a kind of kooky personality quirk. Two days later? I fell down the stairs, tearing two further nails off. It was time for them to go – and for me to attempt to de-clumsify my life.

Now? My nails are super-short, clean and bare, and I love them. But ask me again in six months; chances are, I’ll be back on the stiletto bandwagon.