Roy Suryo
In recent months, Paloma Buddemeier has watched a stream of people walk into her London-based nail salon, Wumman Spa, with a singular goal: to achieve a look that suggests their nails have never been touched by polish. "It’s crazy," Buddemeier, the salon’s owner, observes. These customers still receive meticulous care, with their nails being filed, buffed, and trimmed. "You still do the cuticle, you do the soaking and hydrate everything," she explains, "but you just put no polish on." This phenomenon, Buddemeier attributes to a viral craze for bare-looking nails.
Artsy, glossy shots of naked nails have been flooding social media feeds and gracing fashion runways and red carpets, a trend increasingly framed as the latest embodiment of "quiet luxury." However, critics argue that this embrace of bare nails carries significant implications regarding class, the relentless cycle of beauty standards, and the often-biased definitions of what constitutes tastefulness.
The historical and creative roots of nail art are deeply intertwined with Black, Latino, and Asian communities. The suggestion that bare nails now signify high status, these critics contend, risks stigmatizing bold and vibrant manicures, which have long been a powerful form of self-expression for these groups. Beauty journalist Kristina Rodulfo tells the BBC that this trend "really promotes blankness and this kind of sameness and erasure of culture and identity that is so important to black and brown communities." She further elaborates that when bare nails are praised as "elegant or tasteful," these terms often function as euphemisms that subtly perpetuate white supremacist beauty standards.
For some, however, the decision to forgo polish is less about a rejection of elaborate nail art and more about simplifying their daily routines and challenging ingrained beauty expectations. Some converts are ditching polish as a form of rebellion against entrenched female beauty standards, seeking to reclaim time and financial resources. Others genuinely appreciate the aesthetic of natural-looking nails. Then there are those who have always preferred to leave their nails unadorned, now finding their long-held preference suddenly fashionable, albeit with a touch of amusement.
Irish TV presenter Angela Scanlon, for instance, had a long-standing routine of visiting a nail salon every fortnight, a practice that began during her time in New York in the 2000s, where manicures felt almost like a universal uniform. However, this regular appointment soon morphed into a chore. Scanlon would routinely sport everything from thin, shiny shellac to sturdier "Builder In A Bottle" gel manicures, religiously renewed every two weeks. "It wasn’t like I was in my head going: ‘I must go because Dave from Hull is going to be disgusted if I’m on This Morning next week without a full set’," the Radio 2 presenter admits. "I just added it to the list of things that we must do… in the way you would wash your hair."
Eventually, in a moment of profound realization, Scanlon decided to break free from this cycle, aiming to reclaim both time and mental energy. "I heard myself saying to people: ‘Ugh, my god, I have to go and get my nails done.’" she recalls. "And I thought: ‘I probably don’t need to do this anymore.’" Scanlon’s subsequent posts on Substack and Instagram detailing her decision to abandon continuous manicures resonated deeply, appearing to tap into a widespread sentiment.
Simple, unadorned nails were prominently featured at New York Fashion Week in February, with designers like Marc Jacobs sending models down the runway with polish-free nails, though some fashion commentators point out that this is hardly a novel development. Nevertheless, beauty publications have enthusiastically declared the shift: "All The Cool Girls Are Quietly Quitting Manicures," proclaiming that "Bare Nails Are the New Status Symbol" of "Polished Women" and even asserting that "Manicures Are No Longer Classy," crowning bare nails as the "ultimate indicator of wealth." This sentiment is now fueling an incessant stream of posts on Instagram and TikTok, showcasing shiny, natural-looking nails and offering tutorials on how to achieve the look at home. The trend has become so hyped that some individuals are now booking salon appointments specifically to replicate this seemingly effortless aesthetic.
At Wumman Spa, Buddemeier’s clients sometimes spend hours in the chair as nail artists meticulously craft hyper-realistic extensions in sheer, glossy neutrals, emulating the understated elegance of celebrities like Zoe Kravitz and Zendaya. Londoner Khadija, a former enthusiast of elaborate nail art, pivoted to bare nails earlier this year. "It’s just really chic. And I love less is more, I love minimalism… less consumerism and just self-care things that you could probably do at home," she states. Her friend Emmanuella, influenced by the rising cost of living, has reluctantly joined the bandwagon. "It’s just too expensive now," she confesses. Another individual, a 25-year-old who prefers to remain anonymous, tells the BBC, "I think getting [your] nails done is tacky now, because who’s got an hour to waste?" adding, "also, I lift weights in the gym, so I don’t want to snap a nail and waste money."
However, a segment of the population views the trend, or at least the discourse surrounding it, as indicative of something more insidious. Manicures, according to fashion journalist Suzanne E. Shapiro, have historically served as subtle communicators of a wearer’s social standing. "Women’s bodies – and sense of self-presentation – have always held huge political and cultural significance," Shapiro, the author of Nails: The Story of The Modern Manicure, tells the BBC. Even as far back as 13th-century Imperial China, the extended talons worn by nobility and the ornate brass nail guards that protected them were a clear signifier of a life free from manual labor. In the 1800s, a single layer of rose-tinted waxy salves indicated vigor and health, while two layers—in an era when artificial beauty was often conflated with virtue—marked a woman as vain or "loose." The introduction of red at-home nail lacquer by Revlon in the early 1930s, conversely, became a symbol of empowerment for modern women rebelling against such judgmental societal norms.
Historians emphasize that it was women of color who truly democratized manicures as a fashionable and accessible avenue for self-expression. Trailblazers like entertainer Josephine Baker, disco icons Diana Ross and Donna Summer, and Olympic gold medalist Florence Griffith-Joyner—whose dazzling acrylic nails often captivated headlines more than her record-breaking athletic achievements—pioneered the art of nail design. "These were times that it was hard for black women to be able to express themselves," notes celebrity nail artist Celeste Hampton. "[Nail art] allowed black women to express our form of softness, our form of femininity, our form of beauty." The subsequent influx of Vietnamese refugees in the 1970s led to the proliferation of nail bars, making professional manicures no longer the exclusive domain of the affluent.
Yet, as with many luxuries, their increasing popularity and accessibility to the masses prompted a shift among the wealthy, a phenomenon known as "counter-signaling," according to Rodulfo. "The same way that logo bags are considered gauche or quiet luxury is more aspirational, bare nails are considered the trend now," she explains. "The examples are almost always white women or celebrities… [and] they’ll often conflate class and taste with that bareness."
Others highlight the inherent irony: bare nails, often perceived as effortlessly natural, frequently require their own time-consuming and costly grooming rituals. "The irony in all this is these natural nails are not natural either," Shapiro points out. "They also require a lot of grooming and sometimes pretty premiere services." While the beauty industry undoubtedly faces valid feminist critiques regarding unrealistic standards, the largely female-led nail sector also provides a sense of empowerment for many women. "I feel like nail care has very much had a ‘for women, by women’ sort of ethos around it," Shapiro observes. "The first salon opened in New York City was owned by a woman, and she was a remarkably independent one… a lot of the first entrepreneurs offering product lines, opening salons were women."
Hampton expresses sadness at how trends have been, and continue to be, weaponized. "We’re taking the fun out of nails… Anyone should be able to wear what they like – nail polish or bare nails," she argues. "Why is there an argument? Why is there beef?" Scanlon, too, appears perplexed by the intensity of the debate. "For me, it’s like just stop judging ourselves and everybody else… Some people like to have the nails done, some people don’t," she says. "I suppose the question that I was posing was, is it doing anything for you?" Ultimately, she concludes, "The truth of it is: it’s not that deep."
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