Some of the things I find most embarrassing about myself are the sociocultural tricks I’ve fallen for, hook, line, and sinker. Like, yes, I do sometimes want a fancier and more expensive lipstick instead of a drugstore one, simply because it is fancier and more expensive. And yes, I do sometimes feel like I would be “incomplete” without at least one romantic partner, even though my therapist and I are both quite certain that that’s bullshit. And yes, I do find engagement rings stunning, romantic, and magical, even though I know they are (like so many romantic accoutrements) merely an invention of patriarchal capitalism.
As you may already know if you are, like me, a nerd about such things, the engagement ring as we know it today was essentially invented by the De Beers diamond company to sell more rocks. It has the feel of an age-old tradition but actually is not. This symbol of long-lasting love, this pinnacle of conventional romance, is just an idea some marketing exec came up with in the 1940s. Bummer, huh?
However, just because something is a construct doesn’t mean it’s inherently bad. I like femininity and New York City and the diatonic scale, and these are all types of constructs. The engagement ring may be an odd idea hocked by shady diamond dealers trying to monetize love, but it has its silver linings, and it can be reclaimed, or subverted, or just enjoyed for the silly tradition that it is.
I fully don’t mean to say that everyone can, should, or must partake of this tradition. An engagement ring can be (and often is) ridiculously expensive, can be (and often is) exploitative of miners and other people involved in jewelry production, and can be (and often is) a sparkly and ultimately meaningless symbol of an emotion that is arguably better communicated by the comparatively unglamorous day-to-day realities of showing someone that you love them.
But when my now-betrothed (!!), Matt, and I discussed engagement rings, we agreed that we both liked this tradition and wanted a ring to be a part of our story. They went through a lengthy and detailed shopping process, and the ring they eventually chose for me is absolutely perfect. I swoon every time I look at it.
Someone asked me today how I think about my engagement ring in relation to my collar – another romantic object purchased for me by my love, intended to symbolize a dimension of our relationship. There is a lot of overlap in how they make me feel. I’m aware of both when I’m wearing them; they’re noticeable against my skin, and their absence is equally noticeable to me when they’re removed. They each remind me of commitments I have made, and commitments that have been made to me. And they each, in some fundamental way, feel like part of my body, an extension of my self, an outpost of my consciousness and identity.
In fact, tomorrow I’m going to see the jeweller who sold Matt this ring and I may need to leave it there for a few days while they resize it, and the thought of doing that is oddly sad. It’s not that I’ll miss flashing the sparkles at anyone who asks (it’s COVID times and diamonds don’t translate great over Zoom!), but more that I’ll miss the sense of comfort and love I feel whenever I notice the ring on my hand.
Sometimes I have these terrible nightmares where I “wake up” from my relationship with Matt and find that the entire thing was a dream – that I lost it all, as easily as one could lose one’s progress in a video game by turning it off before saving. When I actually wake up from one of these panic-dreams, nowadays my first impulse is to check for my engagement ring. Feeling it there is such a sweet sigh of relief every time. It means I haven’t lost anything, I still have this love and so much to look forward to, I still have a good grasp on reality and my reality is that I am loved by someone exceptional and kind.
I didn’t know I could feel this way about a piece of jewelry. But then, it isn’t just a piece of jewelry. Dammit, De Beers, you got me good.