Over the last four months or so, I have taken to wearing black nail varnish, not all the time, but probably about half the time.
It’s not to look glam, and I certainly don’t think its sexy, though there is a bit of a goth thing to it. There isn’t any gender thing to it for me either, not in the slightest, though I know people might take it that way. If Ozzy Osbourne can do it, so can I. There is though a certain amount of deferred teenage wish fulfilment involved, which I entirely embrace.
Now it is much easier for me to do this than it is for some men. I’m retired and I’m usually out with my husband, and while he is in a wheelchair, he is a big guy who looks like an old biker, and I am certainly not the waif I used to be. People don’t bother us, even when they see the nail varnish.
But if I ever think twice about going about my daily business wearing black nail varnish, well aside from the fact that I know I should only stop if I happen to feel that is right for myself, I just think of one thing.
If I, a middle aged man in East London, can go about habitually wearing this stuff, then maybe it makes it that much more difficult for some kid to get beaten up for looking different, or being a goth, or a punk, or just shy and sensitive. If wearing nail varnish even does a small something for that, and contributes to inoculating some tiny part of the social eco-system, then how can I not?
It’s for reason’s like this that I support the Sophie Lancaster Foundation and its work to get hate crimes against subcultures recognized and taken seriously.
These things should never happen, and we have to civilize our own society. Too much is still a desert of conformity, especially for the young.
We need to make it rain.