Wearing someone else's jewelry

Last weekend we had family over to celebrate my son's second birthday. One lady in my husband's family, Jana, is originally from Illinois but has been in New Mexico for several years now. Jana asked to see my online store's inventory. As we went through the amber, garnets, fossils, shell, and loads of sterling, she remarked on the collection's departure from stereotypically "New Mexico" jewelry. (She had in mind the silver jewelry that is often turned out in mass quantities and sold at popular tourist attractions to appeal to popular ideas of "Indian jewelry.") I explained that part of my business plan is to use future capital to invest in local silversmiths, including those who bring modern, progressive elements into traditional Native American jewelry.

Then, because we were on the subject, I brought out my heirloom jewelry. Most of the valuable jewelry that my mom has passed on to me is antique Navajo work. The "crown" in my personal collection is a large squash blossom necklace made in the 1950's. It deserves it's own blog entry so I won't describe it here. Jana asked a lot of relevant questions about care and cleaning of a piece like that and then asked me, "Do you wear it?" I said that I do; like Jay Leno with his cars, I think that cool old stuff should be used for it's intended purpose.

Not wanting to sound dumb, Jana explained her lack of knowledge; she's always avoided Native American jewelry because "I never wanted to be one of those women who comes to New Mexico and drapes themselves in silver jewelry and broomstick skirts."

I agreed that such an artificial, cultivated image is ethnocentric and offensive ("Oooh! Isn't that exotic!" No. It's somebody else's lifestyle, or what we label "culture," and some people's lifestyles emphasize beauty and artistic expression. Vicarious identification with what you find "exotic" is not a celebration of that beauty.) And in the next breath, I found myself wondering how exactly I come off to others when I wear a squash blossom necklace that's bigger than my bra. Because, let's face it, at first glance you can easily categorize me as your average white chick.

This actually upset me a little. When I wear my necklace, no one knows that I'm not one of those wealthy, mostly non-Native collectors who think that it's cool to pay the market value of a used car for a piece of somebody else's culture - which ironically was probably produced for sale to a tourist or collector market in the first place.

So what's the difference between draping yourself in somebody else's jewelry and successfully wearing a really great traditional piece from outside your culture?

I think the answer has mostly to do with how well your overall personal image is put together. One reason so many of us collect jewelry is because fashion in clothing reflects a fairly narrow range of choices. For better or worse, that's the nature of fashion; you're identifying your appearance with that of people who know what looks best, or at least tell us they do. Furthermore, if I identify with the appearance of people in my own culture, that's fashion, but if I identify with the appearance of another culture, it's a costume - at best.

Jewelry gives us a lot of room to embellish within that realm of social identification. A successful personal image comes together when you strike that balance between who you are in your society, what looks good on your body type, and your authentic self. As a degreed technical writer in America working for an international science project, and a fairly athletic woman, I could wear a good suit and balance those first two parts of successful image. My - for instance - bracelet by an Alamo Navajo silversmith would then say "I really like cool bracelets." That's a lot different than trying to wear my idea of Alamo Navajo traditional dress, which would say, "I have a schizoid personality disorder."

Lest I sound like I'm only picking on people who wish they were Native American, let me ask you to take a close look at the current trend of Balinese and Hill Tribe silver jewelry. It's beautiful work, but my point applies to the ladies who walk around in batik pants and massive silver bead necklaces and who have only been as close to Bali as San Francisco.

It's like your parents told you when you were a teenager. It's okay to wear what the cool kids are wearing, but remember to be yourself. Please, please don't let your identity crisis cast it's glare onto someone else's traditional jewelry.