Oh, that’s a good question. I love antique stores; probably because my mother dragged me into every one she could find during my formative years. The very smell of old wood and dusty books and musty linens makes me nostalgic for my childhood. I’ve bought many things from antique stores–old records that you can’t find any more, books where the corners are starting to crumble, hats from the 1940s that look smashing on me.
But my favourite things to find in antique stores are bits of jewelry. I once found a sliver bangle that was part of an estate collection. I bought a gorgeous old cameo from an old man in a shop on a side street in Rome who could tell me who he bought it from. I have a vintage marcasite ring that I found in a dusty velvet box in the back corner of an overcrowded shop. None of my stuff is expensive–I don’t have the dosh for the good stuff, dammit. Not until I write that best-selling novel, lol! But it’s all greatly loved.
I love old jewelry. Partially because it suits my aesthetic, both in vintage form and reproduction (my favourite piece I keep going back to right now is a garnet-and-gold reproduction of Josephine Bonaparte’s coronation ring), and partially because there’s something about wearing a piece of jewelry that someone else treasured, that they cared for, that someone gave them perhaps to celebrate a special moment, or to tell them they were loved, or to comfort them when they were grieving. Jewelry is beautiful, it’s art, it’s decoration, and it’s oh-so-human. When I go to museums, it’s the jewelry collections that often speak to me most, more so than the art. A ring on display makes me wonder who wore it, how many generations it was passed down, what stories it might be able to tell. I see a necklace and I wonder who clasped it around their neck, what occasion they wore it for, what happened to them. Jewelry holds our stories, secrets, hopes, dreams, tragedies, and I think that’s just amazing.