The Colonized Closet: What We Had, What We Lost, and What We’re Taking Back

When I was younger, I didn’t think much about the gold in my grandma's drawer or the silver stacked in my mom’s trousseau box.
Jewelry was something we wore for something — a wedding, a family photo, a festival. Then we’d take it off, zip it back into velvet, and forget about it.

My mother slowly gave up on her jewelry. There was no defining moment. It was just gradual. The pieces that once felt necessary slowly became optional. The anklets were too noisy, the nose pin didn't match office dress codes, the bangles got in the way. She didn't talk about it, and I didn’t ask.

What fascinates me now is how much I didn’t notice that shift at the time. How the absence of those pieces didn't feel strange until I started designing my own.

Because when I sit down to sketch, I’m not pulling from a vacuum. I’m thinking about textures I’ve touched before, metals that feel cool against the skin, silhouettes I half-remember from childhood weddings. I’m thinking about how certain pieces — bold, stacked, heavy — made their wearers look anchored. Present.

But here’s the thing: I don’t want to "bring back" traditional jewelry in a literal way. This isn’t about revival or preservation. I don’t believe culture has to be frozen to be respected.

At Ate A Pearl, I’m interested in its translation. What would it look like if those same feelings — the grounded-ness, the intention, the intimacy — were designed into pieces that made sense now? Not bridal. Not ceremonial. Not tucked away for the “right” moment.Just part of everyday life. Tuesday jewelry. Grocery store jewelry. Bad-date-but-I-look-good jewelry.

Because the truth is: I don’t want my relationship with jewelry to be occasional.
I want it to feel lived-in. Not just accessorized — but internalized.

Got thoughts? We’re all ears.
Drop a comment or write to us at hi@ateapearl.com — we’re always looking for fresh takes and contributors for Side Dishes.