On choosing with intention, memory, and a point of view
As first post of the year, I would like to tackle a topic that is really close to my heart and way of living. Not only as a professional in the industry, but also as a jewellery collector and lover.
I remember the first ring. I was seven years old.
It was Christmas, and my mother placed a small box in my hands with a seriousness that immediately told me this was something really important. Inside was a ring so delicate yet to my eyes it was so beautiful. It was the perfect size for my little hand —a fine gold wire, no more than 0.8 millimeters thick, shaped into a tiny knot. She called it the knot of love.
She didn’t speak about fashion or decoration or a toy to wear. She explained the value of this ring. Not only because it was real gold, but because it meant something. A ring is a promise, she said. A symbol you carry with you. And then she did something uncommon—she trusted me to wear it every day, with proudness. A real ring. For a child, yet a real ring.
It fit my ring finger perfectly. To a small girl, it felt immense. Not in size, but in the weight of trust and the emotional weight of Responsibility. I understood, instinctively, that this was not something to forget or misplace. And I never did. I wore it. I protected it. I kept it.
I still have that ring. I still wear it—now on my pinky, where it sits effortlessly, as if it had been waiting for this moment all along.
That was the beginning. From then on, jewelry entered my life quietly but consistently. Rings, chains, small objects of gold and silver arrived over the years from my parents, my grandparents, my family. Sometimes plain, sometimes set with gemstones. Each piece carried a gesture, a story, a reason. I didn’t call it collecting. I was simply receiving—and remembering.
Only much later did I realize that my collection didn’t start with choice. It started with trust.
A collection is not an accumulation
The word collection can mislead. It suggests quantity, completeness, boxes checked. I see something else. A living system. Pieces in dialogue with one another. Different weights, different scales, different moods—yet unmistakably related.
From the beginning, I was mindful of variety. Not because I planned it, but because my eye demanded it. Different gemstones. Different sizes. Different energies. A collection should breathe. It should give you options, not repetitions.
Style matters here. Mine has always been bold, but never loud. Elegant, but never rigid. There’s a touch of rock and roll in everything I love—not the costume of rebellion, but its attitude. Jewelry that feels too polite loses my interest quickly. Jewelry that dares, even subtly, stays.
This is why I don’t believe in starting with what everyone else starts with.
Emotion first. Versatility second. Everything else follows.
If I had to name two foundations for a meaningful collection, they would be emotion and versatility—in that order.
Emotion is obvious, yet often ignored. We are told to buy “classics,” as if desire were something to outgrow. I disagree. If a jewel doesn’t move you, it will never belong to you, no matter how correct it looks on paper.
Versatility is more practical, but no less personal. I look for pieces that speak clearly about who I am, yet move easily between day and night. Jewelry should not ask permission. It should adapt.
That is why I rarely commit to pieces that live in only one moment of the day. If it can’t follow me—from morning light to evening shadow—I question its place.
Beyond diamonds
Diamonds are… fine. I understand them. I respect their history, their structure, their role. But I’ve never found them emotionally generous.
On their own, they say very little to me.
Color, on the other hand, speaks immediately. It has a tone. Temperature. Mood. A gemstone with character changes how a piece behaves on the body. It can sharpen a neckline or soften it. It can ground you or lift you.
When I start—or expand—a collection, I look for gemstones that give something back. Stones that carry depth, not just brilliance. Stones that feel present.
Diamonds, for me, work best as accents. As light. As punctuation. They support the story, but they are rarely the story itself.
Where to start?
Pendants: the quiet backbone of a collection
If I were to recommend one category to invest in early, it would be pendants—specifically 18k gold pendants with meaning.
Symbols. Talismans. Objects that hold intention.
These are pieces you can wear all year, in all seasons, with almost everything. They layer. They travel. They become part of your daily rhythm.
There is one technical detail I care deeply about here, and it’s often overlooked: the bail. An openable bail—or at least a generous one—changes everything. It allows freedom. Different chains. Different moods. Different proportions.
A pendant that traps you into one chain limits its life. I want movement. I want a choice to mix and create different looks on with the same jewel.
The chain is not an afterthought
A chain is not a support act. It is a statement.
I am particularly drawn to handmade, graduated 18k gold chains—curb, rolo, anchor, anything with presence and intelligence. These chains have weight, not just physically but culturally. The only way to create a true graduated chain is by hand. That alone tells you something.
Artisanal value matters to me. Heritage matters. These chains hold their worth not because they follow trends, but because they embody labor.
Gold prices rise. Craftsmanship doesn’t dilute.
To keep such pieces wearable, I often consider hollow constructions—carefully made, balanced, intelligent. When done well, they offer presence without burden.
A matching bracelet, built on the same language, completes the thought. Not as a set in the traditional sense, but as a continuation.
Of course, handmade chains are the best bracelets especially if you are looking for a statement one. Better than rigid bangles, show more character and fluidity.
Earrings: daily rhythm and evening clarity
Every collection needs a pair of hoops for daily wear. At least one. Hoops understand the body. They frame the face without effort. They work.
But it’s the drops that allow expression to shift.
I gravitate toward drop earrings with color—topaz, morganite, aquamarine—stones that catch light differently depending on the hour. What matters most here is coherence. I often select drops that echo the eye color. It creates an unspoken harmony. People feel it before they notice it.
Color doesn’t need to shout or be too loud. It just needs to speak clear about your personality.
Rings: memory you can stack
Rings are where my collection becomes most personal.
I wear many. Together. With and without gemstones. Different widths. Different eras.
Some of my favorite rings were given to me when I was eight years old. Gold bands meant for a child’s hand. Today, they sit on my pinky, layered, unapologetic. They carry time with them. Not nostalgia—continuity.
This is something I rarely see discussed. Jewelry grows with you. Or rather, you grow into it.
A ring that doesn’t fit today may fit tomorrow. Or it may find a new finger. Or a new role. That adaptability is part of its value.
And if you don’t like the design anymore, you can always reset the gemstones into a new version that match you new self.
What I consciously avoid
Taste is as much about refusal as it is about desire. I know I have a controversial opinion about these popular pieces of jewellery—but you wouldn’t be here reading if it were different, right?
I would not buy diamond studs as a first piece or among the first pieces. Everyone has them. I understand the appeal, but I find them emotionally flat. Instead, if you really want a pair of diamond earrings, I’d prefer a simple drop with a lever back and a floating diamond. The same material. A completely different personality.
I avoid large, machine-made chains. Manufacturing has its place, but only up to a point. Beyond 2 or 5 millimeters, I want to see the hand. The intention. The irregularity that proves a human was involved.
Solitaire diamond pendants don’t speak to me either. They are expensive, often small, and strangely anonymous. I would always choose a larger natural colored gemstone with diamond accents instead. It carries a presence. It brings light to the neckline. It doesn’t dissolve into the crowd.
Engagement rings, and the freedom of perspective
As a collector, I never saw the engagement ring as THE ring. Just an important and meaningful ring.
When I chose mine, colour felt natural. Personal. Honest. I wanted a stone with character, not a symbol borrowed from expectation. I took the occasion and chose a piece by one of my favourite designers: Pasquale Bruni. An important black onyx, generous in size, cut in a unique briolette and cabochon flower shape, with a small diamond accent. I wanted something for everyday wear, with character—something different. And I love black. It’s my favourite colour, for me it’s a symbol of wholeness and unity of infinite.
I also believe deeply in freedom here. A partner should choose with intuition, not pressure. And an engagement ring should enter a collection as an addition, not a conclusion.
In my family, important rings arrived at different moments, for different reasons. That layered meaning feels far richer to me than a single focal point loaded with all expectations.
Starting with intention
If I had to distill everything I’ve learned into one thought, it would be this: start with intention, not imitation.
Choose pieces that symbolize something. That reflects who you are—not who you’re told to be. Let your collection be irregular. Let it evolve. Let it surprise you.
Jewelry is not meant to be a uniform. It is meant to be a language. Your language.
When chosen with care, jewels don’t copy. They confess. They remind me of moments and love. They hold joy, memory, and identity in a form you can touch.
And that, to me, is the only reason to begin your collection today.
