Sydney Gard

Since I can remember, I’ve always considered myself to be a pretty boring person. I can’t juggle or sing or do any other cool things, I’m terrible at anything involving athleticism and I have no outstanding physical features. I’m pretty forgettable.

In middle school, I decided to become memorable. I tried “unique” necklaces, hideous rings and even worse giant belts. It was an extremely dark time. Then, I saw an online tutorial for a striped nail design and decided to give it a try. That was the beginning of my guilty pleasure: nail art.

Since then, I’ve accumulated over 100 nail polishes (mostly as gifts or on clearance—I promise I spend way more money on food), perfectly organized by color on my wall. If I have time, I paint my nails once or twice a week, usually while watching something on Netflix.

I’ve done everything from the classic glitter gradient and polka dots to intricate geometric designs and reindeer for Christmas. I have a digital album dedicated to nails I’ve done and another filled with ones I want to do in the future. Painting my nails puts me in a zen-like state. It is one of the easiest ways for me to relax and is something I genuinely look forward to and enjoy.

I am fully aware of how stupid this is. I spend hours putting nasty chemicals on my nails and receive a few compliments for it. However, that’s precisely why it’s called a “guilty pleasure.”

Some guilty pleasures are called that because they aren’t accepted by everyone or don’t seem cool to someone’s peers. Others are guilty because they are just plain stupid. I believe mine falls into the latter category, but I also believe it doesn’t matter.

Guilty pleasures are great because we love them despite their label. We do our weird hobbies even though people think they’re weird and watch our horribly rated shows. If we adore something enough to keep doing or watching or reading it, it shouldn’t matter

So keep listening to your secret Taylor Swift collection and watching Pokemon every weekend. Meanwhile, I’ll probably still be painting something ridiculous on my nails.

Trenna Soderling

Truthfully, I’m a bit of a nerd. I may not watch Star Trek or be a math genius, but I am an extreme introvert who would prefer to stay at home on Friday nights.

Even when I do cast off the comfort of my home for the real world, you’ll rarely find me without a book handy. In public, I’m usually hiding behind two-inch stacks of paper in both hands with a concentrated look on my face. This deters most attempts at awkward conversations.

Unfortunately, some people don’t understand that holding a book directly in front of me is not, in fact, an invitation to ask what I’m reading. Just because I’m sitting next to you on a plane or waiting in a line behind you does not mean that I wanted to make small talk. And if you were really curious about what I was reading, you could probably look at the cover of the novel I was trying to use as my shield.

Throughout the years, people have sent me links to articles about how books can increase empathy, reduce stress, improve memory and provide numerous other benefits. So why has reading become a “guilty pleasure,” an almost taboo habit?

I’m fully aware that many of my peers have cast books off as a thing of the past. I know professing my love for them makes people feel sorry for me. I can’t begin to count how many times people have told me books are lame, slow-paced or just plain boring. But somehow, I’ve never been able to be bored by the endless fictional worlds so readily available at my fingertips.

Luckily, most of my friends are willing to rave about books with me for hours on end, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have people there who will support me when I have to go through the excruciating process of deciding which book to remove from my shelf to make room for the new ones.

Having people to share your interests is amazing, but it can be  difficult when you’re scared of being labeled a weirdo. At times, people are ashamed to open up about what they’re interested in because they’re scared of being judged. However, if we can learn anything from how dorky I am, it should be to embrace your guilty pleasure with open arms.