the jewelry that wears me

what i talk about when i talk about fashion, part 2

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This is part two of my three part series on fashion.

In part one, I explored the common thread between spoons, silver, and family in my life.

Part two is an amalgamation of floating thoughts and observations I hold regarding jewelry. While the essay itself is not very long, it took a surprising amount of time to write and edit. The delay mostly came from incessant difficulties tying together what felt like very loose, one-off anecdotes.

Despite my efforts to establish cohesion and flow, this piece is probably best enjoyed as a collection of brief, self-contained essays.

Part three will be on clothes.

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When I was eight, my mom clasped a dainty silver chain around my neck for the first time.

The necklace lived tucked underneath my t-shirt like a little secret, noticeable only to me when it thumped against my chest to the cadence of my strides as I ran carefree across the playground under the California sun.

Taking the chain off was a battle I frequently lost. My clumsy fingers, better suited for vigorous nose-picking, would claw blindly at the clasp behind my neck—inevitably, I’d resort to maneuvering the clasp into view, transforming my physique into a hunched cursed creature with a double chin in the process.

It was anything but dainty.

Unsurprisingly, given all this gawky swinging about, I often broke and lost my chains. Surprisingly, my mom never got angry with me when I delivered her the bad news. Perhaps she knew this was what she had signed up for when decorating an eight-year-old boy.

I’ve continued to wear a silver necklace everyday for the past fifteen years, and, as the responsible adult that I am now, have managed to keep the same one for the last five.

In more recent times, I’ve added a pendant to my chain. It’s heart-shaped and engraved with the Korean phrase 감사한 마음, which roughly translates to “grateful soul.”

Growing up, I was frequently reminded by my parents and grandparents to live with a 감사한 마음. They never said it to guilt me for my privilege. Rather, I think it was their wish that this simple phrase, if repeated enough, would awaken a deeper, self-serving self-awareness within me.

One of the greatest flaws we have as humans is how easily we forget what’s most important to us. We are all guilty of being swept up in the daily grind, growing desensitized to the beautiful little things we swore we’d always appreciate—until some tragic, external event jolts us into remembering that what we have now is so much more precious than the greater wants we crave. And then we forget again.

I’ve yet to fully internalize how to live with a grateful soul. And so I wear the mantra against my chest, hung on a silver necklace that reminds me of my mom, a tangible reminder of gratitude—for myself, my family, and the moments that truly matter.

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Silver necklaces have remained a constant through the years—years in which I’ve grown to enjoy wearing all types of jewelry: necklaces, rings, earrings, watches, and bracelets.

Despite all these metals hugging my body, I cannot go as far as to say that I have taste when it comes to jewelry. To this day, nearly my entire collection has been gifted to me by my mom and sister. What others may perceive as my taste is really just a reflection of what my family has picked out for me.

A story that best illustrates this comes from the time I first started wearing gold jewelry.

For my 21st birthday, my parents bought me a gold necklace. Upon receiving and opening the felted box, I walked over to my sister’s room and asked her, how much do you think this necklace was? It was the first gold piece in my collection, and at the time, gold felt unnecessarily expensive and serious. Worst of all, it didn’t fit in with my silver collection. Out of lack of confidence and stylistic confusion, I never wore it.

When I visited home again a couple months later, my mom noticed I wasn’t wearing my birthday gift.

How come you’re not wearing it? Do you not like it?

I do like it. But I like wearing my silver necklace more.

You can wear both at the same time!

No, you’re not supposed to mix metals.

My sister overheard my assertion and, with a twinge of irritation, stomped into the living room.

Why can’t you mix metals?

Because it looks bad.

Do you think it looks bad?

I paused for a moment. Not really, I guess.

Ok, so it doesn’t. I mix and match my metals all the time. Here, look.

She showed me her right ear, a beautiful galaxy of silver and gold. I had never noticed.

From that day onward, I started experimenting with mixing and matching metals, and I haven’t stopped since.

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Jewelry is self-expression, status, nostalgia, talisman, heritage.

Archaeologists have identified a set of shell beads predating the modern Homo sapiens, suggesting that jewelry has always existed to fulfill our most primal desire to understand our place on this planet.

Entertain me for a moment and imagine a world where jewelry wears us, where these wood-carved trinkets and precious metals are the rulers of our existence. They do not hide their power; they sparkle and shine, their accumulation a universal symbol of strength and stability. When worn, they manipulate and contort how our bodies move, they control what we think and notice. They are passed down through generations, blessing and cursing entire lineages.

I’ve long felt as though my jewelry guides me. Rather than accessorizing to look good, I gravitate toward what feels right and what sorts of reminders I need throughout the day.

For every piece of jewelry I own, I can name who gave it to me and the occasion that warranted the gift. I could write entire essays on the memories tied to each piece because each one holds a story, and each story is a complicated reminder of growth.

Despite all the internal and external changes my body endures over the years, my jewelry remains steady and unchanged, centuries of wisdom baked into its molecular structure, guiding me toward the path it deems best for me.