I guess I gave up on having good looking feet a long time ago.
Maybe it was when I went to the lake every weekend and every day possible in high school and early college. Maybe it was when I walked my way through every corner of the cities I lived in in Guatemala or Barcelona. Perhaps the endless miles of biking did it. Or the cramping into climbing shoes repeatedly. Especially each siezed opportunity to soak my feet in rivers and oceans across the west. Maybe it's the same grey nail polish that I've made my toe uniform for years.
I tend to be too active and all over the place to care about having manicured feet. So when someone asks me, "What happened to your feet?!" I usually just respond "Lots of good living."