I’m a major clothes horse, but glitzy manicures have always seemed excessive and impractical.
As a Post reporter at Police Plaza, I have to type on a keyboard with scum buildup dating back to the Carter administration. It’s hardly Vogue.
Lately, though, I’ve been intrigued by celebs such as Beyoncé and Lady Gaga who have been rocking Japanese 3-D nail art. Yup, 3-D — a manicurist literally builds designs that pop out of the nail. The outrageous trend comes from the Harajuku scene, where constructing Hello Kitty shrines on one’s fingers counts for ultimate style cred.
But are such designs practical for a typical working stiff in the city? I trim my nails with my teeth. For a change, I gave decorated digits a try.
I went to Valley, the manicure mecca in NoLIta (198 Elizabeth St.; 212-274-8985), where MIA, Katy Perry and Zoe Kravitz get their fingers pimped.
Brilliant manicurist Maki was waiting with bows and roses handmade from acetate to build a Barbie dreamland on my nails. Maki gave me fake talons, painted on a Dalmatian print, bejeweled them and glued on the 3-D flowery features. It took three long hours, but the effect was immediate.
My nails were so long that Valley’s owner had to button my winter coat for me, and, at the Broadway/Lafayette subway stop, I had to enlist a stranger to fish my MetroCard from my wallet.
The next day I began to adapt. I could close my jacket and fashioned a way to type, but it was impossible to close my bra, so I walked around with it undone.
Those annoyances aside, my hands were rad! The bodega clerks loved them. My coffee cart guy grabbed my hand and proclaimed them gorgeous.
The true seal of approval came while interviewing a former strip-club cocktail waitress. “Oh, I love your nails,” she said. “They’re so cute, but I would probably only get a bow on just one hand.” Duly noted, thanks.
My niece, Alessandra, 5, had a “bring a special person to school day” — and brought me. She clutched my hands to show them off. “Look at my aunt’s pretty nails,” she insisted to some suburban housewives in New Jersey. I felt like Fran Drescher at a PTA meeting.
Back at work, many startled cops tried to avert their gaze from my hand-bling, until one finally asked, “Eh, what’s with the nails?”
I felt like I was wearing braces on my fingers. I snagged them on scarves and tights and could only wear fingerless gloves. Fortunately they all fell off in three weeks, a pop-art explosion.
They had looked damn cool, but I’ll save them for special occasions, when you don’t actually have to do anything — such as get dressed. In the meantime, I’ll leave the 3-D to James Cameron.