|
 One
Ring to Say It All
Believe
it or not, the perfect engagement ring is out there
By
Erin Sullivan
When
I was a freshman in college, I worked at the jewelry counter
of a suburban department store that sold everything from electronics
to glassware to toys. At the time, I knew very little about
the commercial-jewelry business, and though I was not surprised
to learn that the markup on jewelry—particularly on diamonds—was
insanely high, I was surprised to learn that the quality of
the diamonds being sold at a 100-percent markup was often
disappointingly low. So at times it bothered me to see a newly
engaged couple come into the store looking for their rings.
They’d make their way around the counters to look at the selection,
which at the low end consisted of $200 rings containing teeny
diamond chips of negligible quality, clustered together to
create the illusion of a quarter carat’s worth of bright,
sparkly, shiny diamond. At the higher end, we carried rings
ranging from $1,000 to $2,500 in price—thin gold bands with
hulking diamonds dropped into flimsy settings, designed to
make the stone look as big as possible.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that most of the rings we were
selling were probably only worth a fraction of what people
paid for them, or maybe it was that I found it supremely depressing
to watch people buy their engagement and wedding rings (things
they ought to be considering with some dignity and preferably
with some privacy) just 20 feet from where a wall of car stereos
blasted the local classic-rock station, but the jewelry-selling
experience colored my perspective on the notion of an “engagement
ring.” To the point that, were I to become engaged, I thought
I’d probably prefer not to have one at all—maybe I could get
an engagement puppy or something instead.
I didn’t really have to worry much about it for a good, long
time, fortunately. But in early 2009 when my fiancé (then
boyfriend)—both of us holdouts at 36 on marriage, kids, family—and
I started to consider getting married, it struck me that he
might start thinking about buying me a ring.
“Don’t,”
I remember telling him. “It’s a waste of money to buy a diamond
ring—let’s think of something else instead.”
We talked about engagement puppies, vacations, big-screen
TVs, but everything sounded so ill-fitted for the purpose.
A ring really is a simple, visible, and (hopefully) tasteful
way to signify that one is planning to get hitched. So a ring
it would be—but where to find the right one?
We looked at old rings—rings with history and character and
filigree and craftsmanship. But none of them were quite right—the
history and character of the ones I liked made them feel too
much like they really belonged to somebody else.
We looked at cool rings for sale from boutique stores, but
to be frank, the price tags of many of the rings for sale
was frightening—he’s a photographer, I’m an editor, and it
just didn’t make sense to spend that much money on a piece
of jewelry. A meaningful piece of jewelry, of course, but
still.
After browsing Web sites and window shopping and dropping
into antique stores for a while, I came full circle. “Let’s
think of something else instead,” I told him, and we’d just
figure it out when we got there.
In September, we were out hiking with some friends when we
stopped near a ridiculously picturesque waterfall and he broke
out a little black box—the little black box. I felt
a little unsettled. “You didn’t,” I said, and wondered what
he had settled on. “Just open it,” he said, and when I did
I realized it wasn’t just a ring. It was the ring. It was
not old, it was not ornate, it was not a big clunky diamond
set high on a shiny gold band. It was chunky, it was white
gold (I have never been a fan of yellow gold), it was beautifully
crafted, and it held a rounded transparent stone in which
there were a couple of dark flecks—a flawed, unfinished, uncut
diamond.
After the formalities, I wanted to know where this ring had
come from, and he told me that he had commissioned it from
a local artist. He met with her one afternoon and she asked
him questions about me—what did I do for a living, what did
I like to do in my spare time, what did I wear? He brought
with him several pieces of jewelry I wear to show her. In
a couple of weeks, she sent him some sketches to review, and
when he picked the one he liked best, she invited him back
to sort through dozens of uncut diamonds to find the one he
thought suited me best.
Once he picked the stone—he wanted one that had visible flaws,
which give the stone its character—the artist created a wax
mold of the ring for him to inspect. When he signed off on
it, she sand-cast it in white gold.
I’m not sure why it hadn’t occurred to us before to have a
one-of-a-kind ring made, because now that it’s been done,
it seems so obvious: We like to patronize local business,
so doing it this way allows us to support both our local economy
and our local artists. We both got to be part of the process
of the ring’s creation—for him, by interacting with the artist,
for me by having a ring crafted based on information he had
shared about me—making it more than just a piece of jewelry
purchased to celebrate the occasion.
Best of all, the design of the ring represents both of us
and our relationship: Solidly crafted and carefully cast,
well-rounded by still asymmetrical and unafraid to display
that it has flaws.
And rather than seeing it for the first time at an impersonal
diamond counter, just down the aisle from the deafening sounds
of people testing out the big-screen TVs and car stereos,
I got to see it in the afternoon sunlight, just down the trail
from the deafening sounds of a roaring waterfall.
>>
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