I have a confession that still makes me cringe when I think about it. My grandmother left me her pearl necklace when she passed. It wasn’t a strand of perfect South Seas—she was a teacher, not a tycoon—but it was beautiful, creamy white, with a delicate rose gold clasp. I was in my twenties and…
I have a confession that still makes gemologists wince when I tell it. The first emerald I ever held was not a fine Colombian stone with perfect clarity and velvety green. It was a heavily included, pale Zambian emerald that I bought at a gem show for forty dollars because I liked the color and…
I remember the first time I truly looked at a diamond. Not glanced. Not admired from across a counter. Not nodded at politely while someone explained the four Cs. I mean really looked—the way you look at something when you know you might never see it again. It was a 5.03-carat pear-shaped diamond at an…
I almost destroyed my grandmother’s amethyst ring, and I didn’t even realize it until it was too late. It wasn’t a dramatic destruction—no hammer blows, no house fires, no tragic plunge off a marble countertop. It was worse than that. It was slow. I wore that ring every day for three years, never taking it…
I have a confession to make about the first garnet I ever owned. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t a gift from a lover or an heirloom passed down through generations. It was a chunk of rough I bought at a gem show for five dollars because I liked the way it caught the light. Deep…
I stood at the counter with my credit card in hand and nearly made a decision I would have regretted forever. The diamond was beautiful. I don’t even remember its exact specifications now—a round brilliant, just over a carat, set in platinum. The saleswoman had answered all my questions about cut and color and clarity….
I almost bought a diamond I shouldn’t have. It was my first time shopping for one—not for myself, but for a friend who had asked me to help her choose an engagement ring. She trusted me because I “knew jewelry.” I was too embarrassed to admit how little I actually knew about diamonds. The saleswoman…
I have a confession that still makes antique dealers wince when I tell it. Fifteen years ago, I inherited a ring from my great-aunt. It was platinum, geometric, with a rectangular pale blue stone flanked by two small diamonds. I was in my twenties and knew nothing about jewelry eras. I looked at that ring…
I nearly bought the wrong aquamarine once. It was at a gem show in Tucson, the kind of overwhelming sensory experience where every booth sparkles and every dealer claims to have the finest stones on earth. I was young, eager, and completely unprepared. A dealer placed a tray of aquamarines in front of me—dozens of…
I spent the first five years of my jewelry career using the words “shape” and “cut” interchangeably, and nobody corrected me. Not the customers, who were as confused as I was. Not the vendors, who probably assumed I knew what I was talking about. Not even the gem cutters I interviewed, who were too polite…