Irene Neuwirth, a jeweler, convinced her Australian opal dealer in 2010 to cut some gemstones for stringing into a casual but elegant necklace. He’d thought it was “ridiculous” to bore holes into such costly gems, but she’s still wearing that piece. Opal strands made from silk and hand-knotted by Neuwirth were not in high demand when she started designing them. But “at the moment, they seem to be selling everywhere,” she says. It isn’t only opals: There’s a trend afoot for beaded necklaces of all types, many of them silk-strung with earthy-but-ritzy semiprecious stones. (Neuwirth’s Beaded Candy line features uninterrupted strands of lapis lazuli, labradorite, turquoise, chrysoprase, and other stones.)
The resurgence of these pieces can be chalked up to the rise of all things grandmillennial, the traditionalist-inspired aesthetic that has us digging plissé lampshades—and digging through Grandma’s jewelry box, too. But the trend is about far more than just nostalgia: It’s a form of memorialization. This is the ultimate power of jewelry: To bind us to the ones we treasure, even in the face distance or loss.
For jewelers, business has been brisk during the pandemic, as people have sought, well, a lot of critical things from places of isolation and despair—among them, some sense of permanence and connection. We have been craving the colors (and, perhaps, the healing powers) of gemstones, aching for talismans—heirlooms, or future ones, at least.
Laurel Pantin, Victoria Lampley and their consulting The Stax were founded last spring. They act as art advisors in the jewelry industry. Lampley, who lost her mother in the end, made a habit out of wearing her mother’s jewels. Pantin and Lampley wanted to help their clients restore inherited pieces to their liking and acquire new pieces with meaning. Fine jeweler Isabel Borland has also been restringing many necklaces passed to clients, often adding stretches of opal or moonstone to their fussy pearls. Now, Pantin says, “When I am buying things, I think, ‘Am I going to wear this every day?’ When [my kids] inherit it from me, I want them to look at it and say, ‘Mom wore this every day.’”
They’re not the only ones looking at the present from the vantage point of the future. “I relate much more to the way 70-year-olds dress than the way 30-year-olds do,” says Sophie Buhai, who offers hand-knotted gumball collars in onyx, jade, lapis lazuli, and pearl. Borland strings are available in blue chalcedony or carnelian and malachite with silk or neon-pink thread. The clasps are hand-carved in wax, then cast in 18-karat yellow. “Wearing Granny’s beads with Mom’s jeans and Dad’s blazer” has never been more popular, per stylist and Bridesmaids co–costume designer Leesa Evans. When she wants to conjure that old-school élan, she turns to a malachite strand that had belonged to her own grandmother.
In 2019, The Row co-founder Danielle Sherman relaunched her family’s tailoring business as the fine jewelry brand Sherman Field. Inspired by deeply researched offerings from the ’40s and, in particular, a ’70s Cartier lighter of her dad’s, she wants her work to feel “like heritage jewelry, something that can remember and reference the past.” Last spring, she introduced lockets: heavy, handsome whoppers (in her house 18-karat gold) faced with barre or pyramid shapes, or with retro-tone stones such as tiger’s eye, lapis lazuli, jade, mustard chalcedony, and pink moonstone. Because the studio offers photo assembly, she’s seen piece after piece filled with beloveds. Of course, lockets are the most sentimental talismans and Sherman keeps a photo of her late father in one.
After jeweler Ashley Zhang’s dad passed away, she bought a fragile gold “in memoriam” pendant dating back to the reign of Queen Victoria. Queen Victoria, who lost her husband Prince Albert in 1861, plunged the country and court into mourning and encouraged a mania of grief jewelry made from Whitby Jet, a matte-black gemstone. (Hence “jet black.”) Zhang wore her antique for weeks before deciding to re-create it with an updated shape; in October, she dropped a modern mourning collection that remixes the Georgian epoch’s black-and-white enameling with the Victorian era’s urn and weeping willow motifs. New fine jewelry lines tend not to take off right away—plus, Zhang hadn’t really teased it—but “as soon as we launched, we had orders coming in,” she says. “I just feel like it speaks to the need out there.”
After my little brother’s death in 2020, I was immediately drawn to period mourning jewelry. There were also impearled forget me-not lockets (the beads symbolized tears); teddy Bear lavalieres, carved out of jet for bereaved mothers; rings etched to names and dates; and brooches that held snips. It was an Isabel Borland signet pinky-ring for me, hand-carved from wax and cast in golden, and it never comes off.
This article appears in the April 2022 issue ELLE.
Source: elle