When it comes to jewelry, I am simple and low-key. In fact when it comes to all matters of fashion and style - hair, makeup, clothing, jewelry - I am what the young people call “basic.” I’m a basic bitch. Or maybe it’s Basic Bitch. I’ll see if the AP Style Guide has a ruling on capitalization of that term.
I own probably 8 pairs of earrings. Four of them could be described as what we used to call “good jewelry” - a pair of plain white gold hoops, a pair of thick yellow gold hoops, small diamond studs, and a pair of brushed platinum “huggy” style hoops (the kind that open on a hinge) embedded with small diamonds. I have had all of these earrings for some time - decades in the case of the diamond studs and the brushed platinum hoops.
This last pair is the one that I wear 80 percent of the time. I sleep in them, I swim in them (maybe not a good idea) - I hardly ever take them off. One time, I wore the gold hoops, which are rather delicate, and took them off when I got home, meaning to change back into the platinum ones the next morning. Only I forgot, and I left the house that morning without any earrings at all. It was terrible. It was as if I’d gone to work in pajamas, with unbrushed teeth and uncombed hair. I didn’t feel underdressed so much as just undressed. I felt indecent. OK, that’s a (slight) exaggeration. Let’s just say that I was very ill at ease.
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In the delightful movie “Blinded by the Light,” the lead character’s mother, a Pakistani immigrant in 1980s England, is forced to pawn her few pieces of jewelry after her husband is laid off from his job at the Vauxhall Motors company. The family does its best to scrape by in Margaret Thatcher’s England - the mother takes in sewing, and the teenage children hand their pay packets to their father every week. But the bills keep piling up, and the family is forced to sell some valuables, including the mother’s gold bangle bracelets and rings. She watches as the jeweler sizes up the pieces, determines their value, and then hands the cash over - to her husband of course. She stares forlornly at her unadorned hands and wrists, ashamed of her family’s loss of position and bereft at the loss of the only beautiful things she owned.
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The other “good jewelry” in my small collection includes my platinum wedding band and matching engagement ring, a white gold and diamond ring that my mother-in-law gave me, a small ruby and diamond ring that was my grandmother’s, and a string of pearls. About a month ago, I was on the phone with my sister-in-law, walking around the house as I do when I talk on the phone, and twisting the white gold and diamond ring around my finger, also a phone-talking habit. The prongs felt sharp, and I looked at the ring to see if the setting was loose. Not only were the prongs loose, the diamond was gone. I panicked for a bit, but realizing that the prongs hadn’t been loose for long (because I twist it around my finger all the time, and would have noticed) I started looking around the house for the diamond, and I found it within minutes. It was on the floor. An hour later and it would have been vacuumed up. I put the ring and diamond away, resolving to get them to the jeweler’s as soon as possible.
About two weeks later, I went to Cleveland for a wedding. I was wearing my platinum hoops because they’re my travel earrings; and my wedding ring and engagement ring, because I never take them off; and my pearls because I always wear them for dressy occasions. Believe it or not, I noticed, when I was getting dressed, that one of the prongs on my engagement ring felt sharp. When I looked more closely, I saw that the prong had pulled away from the diamond almost completely, leaving it perilously loose. I took the ring off and stowed it away for safekeeping. Then I caught the pearls sliding off the string, which snapped as I tried to put the pearl necklace on. So now three of my favorite pieces of jewelry - not even pieces of jewelry, just things that make me feel like myself - were unwearable. I went to the wedding feeling ill at ease and underdressed - and like the mother in “Blinded by the Light,” a little bit bereft.
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In some ways, I might appear not to be especially concerned with possessions. I drive a 6-year-old RAV 4 that I often have to hunt for in the grocery store parking lot, because it looks exactly like every other suburban lady’s RAV 4. This happened just yesterday, in fact. Mine was one of at least four dark blue, almost black late model RAV 4s in the Safeway parking lot, and I had to look carefully to find the right one. My house is neat and clean and cheerful but would not pass HGTV scrutiny. It’s not on trend. My kitchen and bathrooms need “updating.” My furniture is a mish-mash of good, not-so-good, and indifferent; and my walls are covered with everything from family photos to actual art to my children’s school creations, preserved in inexpensive frames. I wear shoes until they wear out. I buy some nice clothes but I also have my share of second-hand items, not to mention some streetwear from the House of Costco.
But that’s not the whole story, now is it? I also buy at least five new handbags every year. That is not an exaggeration, sadly. I own at least 25 jackets and as much as I tell myself that I won’t buy ANY MORE JACKETS, we all know that this is not true. We all know that it’s only a matter of time before Number 26 shows up to keep the rest of the jackets company. And while I’m quite content with the jewelry that I own and don’t intend to acquire any new jewelry, I also cannot feel comfortable and normal and properly dressed and fit to interact with humanity unless I’m wearing at least my core pieces, no matter where I’m going or what I’m doing. I got my engagement ring and pearl necklace fixed last week (still need to get the other ring fixed - one thing at a time) and I can’t tell you what a relief it was to slide that ring back onto my left ring finger and to know that it’s there, catching the light and anchoring my wedding band in place. I suppose this makes me vain and materialistic. I do like the way that ring sparkles.
