January 15: Pedicure Ponderings

My favorite nail polish color is a plummy pink called "More Time for Me."

By Magdalena I. García

There are very few cosmetic things I do for myself. For example, I have never colored my hair despite the social pressure to do so. And I’m old enough to have lived through at least two fads involving highlights (or rayitos—literally, little beams— in Spanish). I simply waited for natural highlights to set in: gray hairs. According to hairhighlights.org (yes, there is such a site!), highlights “give a funky and sophisticated look, adding depth and dimension.” Well, what do you know...I chose theological education and got just about the same results.

I also stopped wearing much make up decades ago. Perhaps I decided I didn’t want to look like Tammy Faye Bakker. Mascara has come a long way and waterproof formulas are available, but I figured that by now people are rather suspicious of women preachers with thick, dark lashes—and I could never produce the flowing streams of murky tears. So rather than a pretty look I chose to get an alternative world outlook—something that is not in the Cover Girl catalog, but readily available through higher education.

But there is one area where you might say I splurge: I get a pedicure about every three weeks. So this morning, as J. (the shop owner) sliced away my corns and dug under the fake toe nail (I lost mine moving church furniture, so acrylic keeps parishioners from getting nausea when they come up to me for the Eucharist), I pondered how many Haitians could be fed with the $40 pedicure fee.

The answer is simple: none; I’m not going to stop getting a pedicure. I know that sounds cruel, especially coming from a woman minister. But the reality is that my feet are in such bad shape—thanks to bunion surgery, metatarsal bone calluses, and other inherited features—that I should see a podiatrist on a regular basis. The podiatrist would bill my insurance well over $100, and collect a $35 co-pay from me, although he—or she—would not provide acrylic replacements nor nail polish! So years ago I decided that paying J. for a pedicure was a better deal. It’s also a more socially responsible approach: J. is a Vietnamese immigrant who owns her business and is raising two boys. My fee indeed feeds!

Regardless, my pedicure ponderings are not just a guilt trip; they are an important way of remembering that choices matter, and that the dollars we spend can change the world in multiple ways. In Christian code language this is called stewardship. It’s a healthy exercise. It makes you wonder what would happen if the next fad from Hollywood—or Paris—were latte ponderings, or martini ponderings, or Botox ponderings...