Don't Pretzel My Buttons

I would like to comply with this request, but really, OPI, you leave me no choice.

Are you aware that the only similarity between the word “pretzel” and the word “press” is the first three letters?  By that logic, I could writhe a sentinel like third Andorra evening shovel be apple my cleaver witness.  Ha ha, get it?  I mean, Gethsemane it?

I am also troubled by the question of whether I should inform you that under no circumstances should a pretzel ever be this color.  Frankly, if you have eaten so many godforsaken pseudo-pretzels that you consider this color to be in any way reminiscent of a pretzel, you are probably already beyond all medical help.  Although enough thiamine mononitrate in the brain pan would finally shed some long-awaited clarity on the “thought” “process” behind these names.

I Have a Herring Problem

(suggested independently by Charlie and Laura)

Oh, I'm sorry. Did you need me to speak up?

Uh-oh Roll Down the Window

Too late, this nail polish name already made me vomit.


(Suggested by presumably-nauseated reader Jessika)

It's not the first time we've tackled unpleasant body fluids here (cf. Jizz), but at least that has a certain tawdry Paris-Hilton-getting-out-of-a-limo glamour to it. This, on the other hand, caters to that large segment of the population who are constantly wondering, "Is there any product I could apply to my nails to remind me of how much I enjoy throwing up? Bonus if it can include that feeling of desperate helplessness from being trapped in a moving, confined area while the contents of my stomach are flung into the windshields of unsuspecting motorists!"

Apparently this is from OPI's "Touring America" collection, which I assume includes such similarly pleasant classics as Gas is HOW Much a Gallon?, State Trooper on a Power Trip, Why Didn't You Go Before We Left?, If You Two Don't Shut Up Back There I Swear I'm Taking Off My Belt, and Goddamn It, If I Have to Eat at Cracker Barrel Again, Tiny Faux-Rustic Rocking Chairs Are Going to Start Seeping Out of My Eye Sockets. The good news is that after wearing that last one, a top coat of Uh-oh Roll Down the Window would be entirely apropos.

Fiji Weejee Fawn

I just…I just don't even. What is this? I would accuse this bizarre and incomprehensible name of being selected by the world's least propitious random noun generator, but that would be far too generous considering that an entire third of this name is not in fact a noun and is not, so far as I can tell, even a word at all.

Suggested by lovely reader Gillian.

You know what? I need to retain some level of faith in humanity. I am going to assume that this name is a brilliant Wittgensteinian, Dogg's Hamlet kind of epistemological critique on how, despite years of apparently successful communication, there is really no way ever to know that we mean the same thing as anyone else by the words we use. Except instead of "plank" meaning "pass me the next piece," "Fiji Weejee Fawn" means "Don't ever let me name a nail polish again or you will be liable for gross negligence to our shareholders."

It is really almost besides the point to mention that in no possible way does this color resemble Fiji or a fawn. I am sure, however, that it is a dead ringer for weejee.

No More Waity, Katie

Charming. Prince Charming. Finally a nail polish marketed to the enormous audience who have already knit their own royal wedding, hooked up their Kate and William commemorative refrigerator, and are just twitching to spend their extra crumpet money. Of course, the polish will not be sold in the U.K., and it won't be shipped out until May, post-wedding frenzy, so…good luck with that.


Now, I like a good bit of rhyming doggerel as much as the next McGonagall fan, but "No More Waity, Katie"? Really? First of all, I'm pretty sure she goes by "Kate." And, call me crazy, but I can't seem to find "waity" anywhere in my copy of the O.E.D. You will note, however, that the actual word "wait" rhymes with her actual name, "Kate." So apparently someone just decided to add extra syllables and take up more space on the bottle to...make both parts worse? Yes, I know that "Waity Katie" is one of Kate Middleton's tabloid nicknames. So I could potentially (albeit with serious questions about how wise it is to emulate such fine literary sources as the Sun) let "No More Waity Katie" slide. That said, grammatically-challenged nail polish namer, consider the role of a comma. "Waity Katie," qua nickname, makes a certain amount of tenuous grammatical sense, in that the -y is a slapdash adjective-maker, thus she is a Katie with a proclivity towards waiting. "No More Waity, Katie," however, means that you are addressing the future Queen of England in baby talk. I hope you have an immunity to Corgi bites.

Substantively, of course, it is always great to have more cultural reinforcement that a woman's role is to exert feminine wiles and wait passively for a man to choose her. Thanks, Jerky Turkey.

Bitches Brew

SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling nail polish bottle.


Thunder. Enter the three Bitches.

First Bitch
Thrice I've backstabbed my best friend.
Second Bitch
Thrice and once today I've whined.
Third Bitch
I am SO bored--'Tis time, 'tis time.
First Bitch
Round about the bottle go;
Add like, whatever, I don't know.
Eye of newt; some blood of ducks;
That should be good for sixteen bucks.
Looks kind of dirty, but don't panic;
Charge extra--call the brand organic.
ALL
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Second Bitch
The bottle's full of our creation,
No more room for punctuation;
Forget the tired, trite, possessive,
"Bitches Brew"'s much more expressive.
We brew a lot besides just potions:
Moisturizers, perfumes, lotions.
You know it takes more than a wand
To get Three's tacky cauldron-blonde.
ALL
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Third Bitch
So anyway, that lame Macbeth,
Let's bring him to an early death.
He's so not hunky, and that wife!
Your hands are clean--please get a life!
After we've got him in our thrall
We'll head out to the nearest mall.
My jeans have been untimely ripp'd,
And for Bitch One, I've got a reason:
Your black cat is SO last season.
Bitch Two, you'll never catch a thane
Til Birnam wood reach Dunsinane.

Cool As

Do you American folks ever wonder if it is just our overheated advertising industry that is responsible for nail polish monstrosities? Finally, I have evidence of a foreign crime worth extraditing (graciously submitted by fabulous Aussie reader Jade).


(photo by Jade)

Cool As? Cool As What? I don't know if I can handle the suspense! A refreshing mountain spring? The von Trapp child Maria forgot about and left in the Alps? That gum I keep seeing commercials for where everything suddenly becomes an ice cavern and for some reason you can then talk to women with ease? Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a thermometer!*

What we really need here is some scientific rigor. (Or with this polish, rigour?)



Dear John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation: I am willing to devote my career to placing this nail polish at its appropriate point on the Coolness Scale. Send grant money and research assistants, stat.

*Not actually a doctor.