Move over, Blatchford. Men need spa

For many years now I have been a frequenter — a habitué, if you prefer — of local Toronto establishments that specialize in certain personal administrations mostly involving members of the female persuasion. Some of the details are a little too intimate to describe here, but I am forced to reveal the basics in the wake of a recent column by Christie Blatchford.

In her column, Blatchford lamented in strong language that more and more men are showing up in the hitherto female-dominated enterprises known variously as nail salons and manicure spas. Retail strips in major cities are filled with such operations. In central Toronto, for example, a Google search produces a list of the top 25 nail salons while another lists the cheapest manicure and pedicure “bars” in the city. At least 30 are within a few blocks of the National Post’s headquarters.

According to Blatchford, however, these salons/spas/ bars — which carry such names as La Jolie Femme Salon and Beauté D’Amour Nails — should be off limits to members of the male persuasion. “As often as not now,” Blatchford wrote, “there are as many men in the big chairs as chicks, getting their nails done, and that’s just not right. I don’t know why, but it isn’t. This is chick space, chick stuff.”

Eventually, the sorry history of this industry will be revealed along with the falsity of the claim that manipedi salons have always and should remain bastions of female exclusivity.

Let me start at the beginning. I’m sure if you checked the etymology of “manicure” online you will find a record of the origins of the word. As the word itself implies, it is a MANicure, referencing the fact that at minimum the word applies to women and men. It is a service to Man with a capital M, implying members of both sexes of the huMAN race.

There is also the yet-tobe-revealed fact that, when it comes to manicures and pedicures, it is men who are in greatest need and entitlement. Look at the hard physical work, the heavy lifting, assigned to men — construction, fishers, lumber jacks, gold miners, oil rig operators, highrise window washers, ditch diggers, newspaper columnists. For centuries we men have put our finger and toe nails at risk on a daily basis, only to be prohibited by social custom from visiting so-called “salons” that have too long been dominated by women. Mantoes, rough and damaged by the ravages of hard toil, and ragged male fingernails broken at the wheel of work, are equally entitled to care. And now, as the barriers fall, men are finally beginning to have access to care at any “salon” in town, Blatchford be damned.

Today, the only obstacles to male access to nail salons are the occasional side glances and unarticulated judgments of other patrons. Once in the chair, the man in today’s salon is as much a king as the women have been queens.

And more barriers may fall. At my current favourite mani-pedi salon, operated by an affable middle-aged Chinese couple, the husband is a big burly six-foot man who is unmatched in the art of re-working mantoes damaged by too many knocks, ingrown nail twists and signs of fungus. Men need more male pedicurists who understand the unique challenges of the hard-working male foot.

One clear sign that the female dominated mani-pedi salons are historically out of touch with the hard life of men is the inevitable wall of nail polish. These salons cater to the most superficial cosmetic aspects of nail maintenance. Row on row, spanning every subtle range of colour modern chemistry can produce — from black to green and blue and red and pink, hundreds of bottled hues and shades with names such as Carousel Coral and Naughty Nautical — a wall most women head to when first they enter to have their nails done.

Having seen the inside of Blatchford’s chick spas and salons, I can confidently assert that the women who frequent these establishments are for the most part an uncommunicative lot, preferring to work their cellphones and occasionally gaze at the all-news channel or whatever happens to be playing on the TV screen — before they return to their deep attentive focus on whether their newly-coloured nails in the toe-dividers are dry.

If only these salons were more like barber shops, where male barbers and their customers engaged in healthy banter about the state of the sidewalks or the state of the world, which frequently often focused on Italy, the birthplace of most of Canada’s retiring barbers.

Thanks to recent immigration from Asian nations, the rise of Canada’s nail salons — even if they are named La Jolie Femme — has opened the door to all men. Move over Blatchford, that’s my chair.

MEN ARE FINALLY BEGINNING TO HAVE ACCESS TO CARE AT ANY ‘SALON’

— CORCORAN

JUSTIN SULLIVAN / GETTY IMAGES FILES “Once in the chair, the man in today’s salon is as much a king as the women have been queens,” columnist Terence Corcoran writes. Take that Christie Blatchford!