In an unexpected turn of events, we lost Dave McKechnie in April 2022, leaving a lasting journalistic impression due to his exceptional aptitude and skills. The world respected him as an esteemed colleague who gifted us with a significant journalistic heritage.
As a talented editor with an experience in subediting, Dave was not just a proficient journalist but a skilled writer as well. His remarkable reports from Colombia and Myanmar, paired with an impressive history in sports journalism, made a huge impact. His works exhibited remarkable understanding and creativity, seasoned with a touch of humour that surpassed all subject categories.
The coveted prize was clinched by Liz Cookman for her ‘Ukraine Letter’, and the publication is lined up for the next week. Ailbhe McMahon, the first runner-up earned accolades for her ‘Varanasi Letter’, followed by Sorcha Lanigan, the second runner-up writing the ‘Athlone Letter’.
Despite the ongoing war in Ukraine, the Kyiv manicure remains unencumbered. Kamala Harris smoothly navigates through her first interview leaving Democrats questioning where she got everything right. In the largest intrusion since 2002, the Israeli military penetrated the West Bank. The campaign mudslinging pulls Arlington cemetery into a controversial dispute involving Trump’s staff.
Three weeks ago, Yulia precisely removed the cornflower-blue polish from my nails with an electric filer, reducing it to a cloud of soft-coloured dust. The serene environment of the downtown Kyiv nail parlour, filled with the hum of sterilisation machines and mystical electronic tunes, was abruptly interrupted by the eerie wail of a nearby air raid siren. Yulia disregarded the interruption, rolled her eyes and casually moved on to the next finger. Despite the persistent drone and missile strikes and the regular power cuts due to the war in Ukraine, she ensured that the manicures remained unaffected.
The frontline fighting machismo often obscures the silent struggle observed in Ukraine’s women, who bear both grief and economic strain while simultaneously safeguarding businesses and families.
In the heart of the city lies Backstage, a modernist salon characterised by unadorned white interiors and strip lighting. This establishment is fortunate to have regular electricity, something that can’t be said for most in the area. Nearby, technicians labour under the dim light of lamps driven by generators in an underpass. Following the reemergence of rotating power cuts, the city resounds with the rumble of diesel-fuelled generators, and the scent of a mobile funfair pervades the air, a sensory experience reminiscent of the early days of the conflict.
Desite the harsh conditions, the aesthetics sector continues to thrive. It was one of the first industries to recover after the turmoil of Russia’s 2022 invasion forced small businesses to close. It’s not unusual for beauty parlours to remain operational under occupation, even on days with no access to running water or central heating, and irrespective of local building damage caused by overnight missile strikes. A salon proprietor once proclaimed with dark humour, “We will open even if Putin detonates a nuclear bomb”, while volunteers mended the windows of her bombed property with wooden planks.
Ukrainian women are renowned for their beauty. This perception, although criticised by progressive city-dwellers as fetishizing, appears to hold importance here. Hairstyles are typically lengthy and luxuriant, and nails neatly maintained. Effortlessly styled ensembles are the rule rather than the exception, ranging from contemporary styles like peasant dresses and Adidas Sambas, to more daring looks involving intense gothic eye makeup and nautical headgear. International female journalists often feel underdressed and seek out local salon recommendations. A lead reporter once confessed she felt embarrassed to show her hands to anyone.
Kyiv is relatively secure due to its advanced air defences, donated by foreign allies, making life seem somewhat normal in comparison to eastern front lines and vulnerable cities like Kharkiv and Kherson. During the daytime, life seems relatively unaffected, but nightfall ushers in a military-enforced curfew, constant wailing of sirens, the resonant echo of defensive weapons being discharged, or worse. Even in this relative security, grief touches everyone. With tens of thousands of lives lost so far in Ukraine, prosthetics are becoming a frequent sight. Identity in this conflict is paramount as Russia seeks to impose its own ideals upon Ukraine and its people.
In the throes of frontline combat exists a more unobserved conflict unleashed by the women of Ukraine. They grapple with the emotional and financial pain while maintaining their families and businesses. For some, the apparent trivialities of beauty and fashion serve as a psychological anchor. Procedures and customs provide a semblance of control amid the suffering and doubt, with personal grooming becoming a key asset in their fight to safeguard mental, physical, and psychological wellness. Tiny everyday actions of resistance are about “seeking out space to truly live among all the survival and existence”, quoting MP Lesia Vasylenko’s recent tweet.
As individuals were escaping the harsh stranglehold on Mariupol during the war’s initial stages in vehicles riddled with shrapnel holes and shattered windscreens, it was surprising to encounter several women who managed to preserve their manicures’ last traces. “My looks are extremely important to me,” claimed one woman, Liudmyla, who had facial injuries from shrapnel from a previous missile attack. Upon arriving at a humanitarian centre in Zaporizhzhia, a region controlled by Ukraine, one of her first actions was to apply lipstick in the restroom. “I merely wish to feel normal again,” she voiced.
Beauty also serves as an indicator of identity – one of the victims in the Bucha massacre, Iryna Filkina, was recognised by her nail technician from news photos of her dirt-covered hand flipped up and blood-red polish. It’s pivotal to define who you are in this war, as Russia anticipates implementing its own perceptions of what Ukraine and its people should ideally be.
After living for two and a half years in Ukraine and nearly the same duration in a war, I’ve come to appreciate the tranquillity of a salon visit and the certainty that comes with personal grooming. Yulia, my manicurist, adorns my nails with a light pink polish. I recount a recent experience attending a friend’s wedding in Cork, where the bride admired my perfect nails so much we concluded that Ukraine boasts the world’s finest manicures.
“Indeed,” Yulia concurs, chuckling, as the lights suddenly dim.
Liz Cookman is an independent correspondent who has resided in Ukraine for the past two and a half years.