My nails can't breathe. Did you know that those terrible lead bibs in the dentist's office made you feel suffocated when you had an X-ray? My nails feel that way.

What suffocates them is something called a "gel" polish. It is considered a lacquer, but I think it is actually stronger and longer lasting than this. I think it's car paint

A few months ago, when I performed in an off-Broadway drama, I didn't realize the trend of gel polishing. I don’t often participate in theatrical performances—in fact, I had to write a personal performance starring me a few years ago in order to fully participate in theatrical performances.

Nora and Delia Ephron's work is called "Love, Loss and What I Wore". It has been running in the West End Theater, and its five-person cast is changed every month for two and a half years (and will be closed after 1,013 shows next week).

Performing in it with four outstanding actresses is one of the climaxes in my life, and I will bring my memories to my dying day. For a while, it seemed that I was going to take the manicure to my dying day. It seems to stay there forever.

On the first day of rehearsal, we sat around a table and read the script aloud. I found it difficult to focus on the page at hand and was fascinated by the shiny nails of my actors: teal, emerald green, deep purple, fire engine red. As exciting as the range of colors is the quality of the polish: so smooth and smooth, it looks like a liquid. A viscous, shiny liquid, such as mercury. It's as if they are wearing a small and lively sports car on their fingers.

"It's gel," other actresses explained after rehearsal, helping me get together and letting me touch their smooth nails. "It lasts for at least three weeks. It never breaks. The only reason you need a new manicure is because your nails start to grow."

How did they know this amazing polish? Who sent the memo? I live in the Upper West Side, I spend too much time nearby, and there are other women like me who have not received the memo. I am ashamed of my nails, so fragile, so pale, so dull.

I want to join the club. On the one hand, not joining would be terrible stage etiquette. Since we only have two days of rehearsal before the opening night, my other actors seem to be sure to wear their fashionable manicures on stage to add a lively accent to our costumes, the black designer dresses we picked we are in Bloomingdales Department store. If my nails were not decorated, I would look strange and pitiful.

They say that gel nails are more expensive than regular nails in Korean nail salons—about $40—but I think I might continue to use mine throughout our five-week run. Amortized, it will be a bargain.

The next day, I went to the nail salon near the theater, and several other people went there. I chose a pearlescent powder white polish and thought it was suitable for the role I played: Ilene, or Gingie, Beckerman, and their memoirs were Ephrons’ inspiration for this play. The colors look cheerful, just like Gingie, but not as young as the more unusual choices. Gingie is a woman who has reached a certain age.

My gel manicure has six coats-two preparation coats, two gel polishes themselves and two top coats. It takes a long time to apply them, much longer than a normal manicure, so sitting down is more boring. But the polish dries almost immediately.

After the smiling, speechless manicurist applied each layer of gel, she put my hands under ultraviolet light for polishing; each one was as hard as a shiny stone within a few seconds.

After finishing, my nails look shiny and creamy, like shiny pearls. They are also like pearls—that is, I can't feel them. For a few days after I finished my nails, I would tap other nails with my thumb without any sensation-it was creepy, like rubbing your legs after falling asleep, but also exciting.

It's as if my nails are small foreign objects planted on my hands, some attractive bionic additions to my body. I like to do things with them: click on them on the desktop and remove the packaging tape from the packaging.

One day, after a few weeks of running, I became more adventurous. I chose red gel-a cheerful hue, like a red lollipop-and immediately started showing off my nails on stage, using them as gestures, and showing them to the audience.

After our run, my manicure still looks fresh, just like I did. This is an excellent fragment of a conversation, or at least an excellent way to turn the conversation to my subject. "Mine, look at your nails!" People would say. I would say, "Oh, I just played "Love, Loss" in Westside."

At the same time, the polish started to bother me. I miss my real nails. A new little moon appeared. My nails are eager to breathe, but my nail polish doesn't allow it.

However, even after a few weeks, my reputation has faded, but my manicures have not, and I cannot give up on them. They are my role! They are my happy time! I feel about them like I feel about the old baby blankets worn by children.

I am also afraid of the removal process. The cost of removing them for the first time is almost as much as the manicure itself, and the time it takes is almost the same. First, you dip your fingers in an acetone solution, then the poor manicurist picks up various tools-they look like miniature farm tools, small shovels and hoes-and then digs your nails like a farmer farming on the hard ground in early spring .

Eventually I started to peel off the polish, one strip at a time. This is not easy. I made it on my lap in a restaurant and it took a few days. But it is surprisingly satisfying, just like peeling an orange, only more challenging.

I leave my thumbnails for the end. They are long and strong, almost like apes, in a way, I find them both weird and charming. I don't want to give up using them to pierce banana peels, or know that I might be able to use them as a can opener if needed.

But in the end I also stripped them. When I finished, all my nails looked terrible. The gel, or let it stay for so long, seems to have lost every bit of natural luster. They look like they have been polished by sandpaper. Until now, a month later, they seemed to cheer up and regain a little brilliance.

I feel guilty for experiencing all this with my nails. But don't be so guilty that I won't do it again in a minute, for the right part.