Lifestyle
A Nail Art Neophyte Sits Down With a Manicurist
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When I set out to write an article about the New York-based, Instagram-famous nail artist Mei Kawajiri, I had never gotten a professional manicure before. Or, really, any manicure at all.
My mom — a neat freak if you’ve ever met one — was opposed to manicures on principle, for the fact that nail polish stains. So, growing up, I would go to a friend’s house and secretly have her paint my nails, only to use polish remover to scrub away the evidence.
Then in high school, I played softball, and, well, I don’t know if you’ve ever jammed your fingers into a dusty leather glove and snared a line drive, but let’s just say manicures and softball do not exactly mix.
Still, nails have always been an object of fascination for me, whether in the form of Sigourney Weaver’s purply-pink rattlesnake venom-spiked talons in the movie “Holes” or Cynthia Erivo’s forest-green ombré acrylics in “Wicked.”
Last year, I stumbled upon the Instagram page of Ms. Kawajiri, who has created elaborate custom nail looks for stars such as Cardi B, Ariana Grande and Bad Bunny. There were nails with hand-drawn portraits of anime heroines. Six-inch acrylic sets embedded with jewels and lace. Tips affixed with 3-D miniatures of asparagus, French fries, hair bows — even dirty socks.
These weren’t just manicures. They were works of art.
So when Dan Saltzstein, the deputy editor on the Projects and Collaborations team at The Times, approached me in January to ask if I had any ideas for an upcoming Art of Craft series about specialists whose work rises to the level of art, I had the perfect candidate.
The articles in the series break down an often-complex creation process into easily digestible steps: the nitty-gritty of exactly how someone fashions ornate, $5,000 saddles with a six-year wait time, for instance, or how an avant-garde balloon artist patiently coaxes stubborn latex into ephemeral inflatable sculptures.
I had originally been set to attend a photo shoot in mid-February with Ms. Kawajiri and our photographer and videographer, Sasha Arutyunova, but my grandfather died (he was 95), and I had to miss the shoot to attend his memorial service.
So I scheduled an interview with Ms. Kawajiri for the following week, and was faced with the challenge of writing an article detailing a three-hour technical process without having observed it. There were different types of nail tips? Of varying sharpness? This was a revelation to me.
But over the course of our 90-minute conversation, Ms. Kawajiri walked me through her tools — the brush with a tip as thin as a strand of hair that she uses to create elaborate hand-drawn designs on nails, the eye shadow she sometimes opts for in lieu of gel polish to fill in her finest 3-D shapes, the name of the 3-D gel she uses to sculpt miniature croissants and suitcases.
I asked about how things worked, or how the steps unfolded, when I couldn’t fill in the blanks. What is a base coat? What is a topcoat? What is the difference between a gel manicure and a regular one?
Ms. Kawajiri was very patient. And, in a way, my reporting required more sustained concentration than if I had watched her work.
It was all part of a conundrum for journalists that comes up often: Is it better to be knowledgeable about a given topic, enabling you to ask informed or nuanced questions, or to be a neophyte, coming to a story fresh, the way many readers do?
I’m sure an artistic nails enthusiast, or someone who has had even one manicure, would have asked more about specific techniques. But my inexperience ultimately — I hope — made for a clearer and more accessible article for readers who also didn’t know the first thing about nail art.
I came away with an appreciation for the artistry that goes into creating mind-boggling levels of detail on a minuscule canvas. I listened as Ms. Kawajiri explained her fascination with nails as a form of self-expression. I loved that she found inspiration everywhere, including in her real life, drawing from objects as mundane as her baby’s bottle.
I was reminded that no question is too small to document the exacting process it takes to create something deceptively complex. I’m learning alongside the reader, so any questions I have are ones my audience will likely share.
That’s one of the great joys of journalism — I write about people and places I never would have imagined, and I’m often surprised by the level of effort that goes into seemingly simple creations, whether that’s a poem, the Oscars red carpet or a set of potato chip-inspired nails.
And don’t worry, mom — my own nails are still boring, pink and clean as ever.
Lifestyle
Day 1,578 of WW3: The UN Security Council will meet on Monday to address Russia's latest strikes on cultural and religious sites, including the attack on Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra. ANGH, of course. This is your Saturday Ukraine discussion
Day 1,578 of WW3: The UN Security Council will meet on Monday to address Russia's latest strikes on cultural and religious sites, including the attack on Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra. ANGH, of course. This is your Saturday Ukraine discussion
Lifestyle
How actress Laverne Cox became the woman of her dreams (CT+) : Consider This from NPR
NEW YORK, NEW YORK – APRIL 21: Laverne Cox attends the “Animal Farm” New York Premiere at Regal Theater on April 21, 2026 in New York City.
Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images
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Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images
In 2013, when the Netflix series Orange Is the New Black came out, the world met the character Sophia Burset — a Black trans woman serving as the resident hairstylist in prison.
For much of the audience, it was also the first time they met actress Laverne Cox — who landed the role of Sophia at the age 40, just when she was thinking of quitting acting altogether.
In her new memoir Transcendent, Cox talks about the challenges she faced long before Netflix came knocking: a mother who withheld love, a father who was never around and the brutal denigration she encountered growing up Black and trans in the deep South.
To unlock this and other bonus content — and listen to every episode sponsor-free — sign up for NPR+ at plus.npr.org. Regular episodes haven’t changed and remain available every weekday.
Email us at considerthis@npr.org.
Lifestyle
Judy Blume says she’s done writing: ’50 years is enough!’
Scott Simon talks with author Judy Blume at the Santa Fe International Literary Festival in May.
Tira Howard Photography./Courtesy Santa Fe International Literary Festival
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Tira Howard Photography./Courtesy Santa Fe International Literary Festival
Judy Blume is the legendary writer of books for young adults including Are You There God It’s Me Margaret, Deenie, Tiger Eyes, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and Blubber.
Her last book, 2015’s In The Unlikely Event, was published more than a decade ago. Blume now spends her time reading children’s books behind the counter at her bookstore in Key West, Florida. Though she says she is done writing, her books remain beloved; her readers numerous and devoted.
Judy Blume spoke with NPR’s Scott Simon at the Santa Fe International Literary Festival in May. Here are excerpts from that conversation, edited in parts for clarity and length.
Scott Simon: How did you begin to write? What do you think made you a writer?
Judy Blume: I was a reader. And, you know, I meet so many kids and they say, “I want to be a writer when I grow up, but I don’t like to read.” And I say, “You know what? Forget being a writer.” Because I think every writer — that I know anyway — grew up a reader. And certainly that was true for me.
Simon: What was the spark that set it in motion from reading to writing, do you think?
Blume: I was married young. I had two kids young. And I was desperate for a creative outlet. I loved taking care of babies, but I needed something else and it could have been anything.
Simon: I have read that at one point in your life you made felt art pieces?
Scott Simon with Judy Blume in Santa Fe in May.
Tira Howard Photography/Courtesy Santa Fe International Literary Festival
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Tira Howard Photography/Courtesy Santa Fe International Literary Festival
Blume: Oh God, my first career. You know, I stopped because the Elmer’s glue — I’m an allergic person — started to give me funny things on the tips of my fingers. I made $300 selling those. And I bought myself a small electric typewriter. And the rest is history.
But I always had stories inside my head — when I was 9 years old. I bounced a rubber ball against the side of my house for hours. But really what was going on were stories. Fabulous stories, very melodramatic. I never told anybody. I never asked a friend, “Hey, do you have stories inside your head all the time?” Because I thought they’d think I was weird, which I might have been. So the stories were always there.
Simon: When you were writing, what was the process like for you?
Blume: Well, I kept a notebook for each book and I scribbled everything in it. Everything, everything, everything for a long time. For months.
And then on the day that I feel ready to start, well, that’s either the scariest part of writing or the best. Because, you know, when you have a good day — I mean, I had kids, and I would sit down at the dinner table and I would say, like, “You will never believe what Tony did today.” Because they’re real. They’re real to you. And you’re living with them for months, sometimes years. And you’re locked up in a little room all day with them. That’s why 50 years is enough. I was ready to come out into the world.
But I have found another career that I love dearly. I have a bookstore and I love that.
Tira Howard Photography/Courtesy Santa Fe International Literary Festival
Simon: I get the idea that you, at least for the moment, don’t miss writing right now.
Blume: I don’t miss writing but I’m very glad that I wrote. I mean, writing changed my life. But it was time to let it go. Could I have come up with more ideas and written more books? Yes. But I’m really happy that I found something else that I love to do.
Simon: Do characters ever come calling on you?
Blume: No. They know better. They’re quiet.
You know how many letters I get? “We need Judy to write a book — Margaret In Menopause.”
Margaret is always going to be 12. She’s not knocking, saying, “Let me out. I’m in menopause!”
They are what they are. They stay in the book. They stay in the book. They live for me in the book. And then I have to let them go.
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