Have you ever googled Beyoncé’s nails? Of course you have — unless you haven’t, in which case no judgment, it’s your life, but perhaps take a moment to google “Beyoncé’s nails.”
You will quickly realize that Beyoncé wants you to google her nails. Beyoncé has taken hundreds of photographs with her majestically painted fingers conspicuously splayed before her or resting delicately against her face or cupping her pregnant belly. Like everything that orbits or decorates Beyoncé’s earthly iteration, Beyoncé’s Nails are not just nails; they are a microcosm of Beyoncé herself. They are meticulously plotted and consistently perfect. They do not falter, they do not take a day off, they do not break (…metaphorically). They are terrifying. They know more than you do, they’ve seen more than you’ll ever imagine. They are matte and clipped. They are shiny and sharp. They are leopard-printed and talon-like. Beyoncé’s Nails are not dead skin cells coated with colorful polymers; nay, Beyoncé’s Nails are statements. I challenge you to find one photo of Beyoncé in which her nails do not complement her outfit without overshadowing it, in which her nails do not say, “I am Beyoncé and nothing gets past me. I am Beyoncé and I have made keratin my bitch.”
