There’s No Crying At Tiffany’s

Dear Friends,

I live in Manhattan, so when I go to Tiffany’s, it’s not a Tiffany’s – it’s THE Tiffany’s. People travel there from around the world to take pictures of the flagship store, buy engagement rings, buy graduation pens, register for wedding gifts, return baby gifts (does that silver rattle really need to cost $400 or does mommy need a sapphire celebration band?) and more. It’s actually a powerful feeling, I think, to be an establishment that houses so many celebrations in one’s life.

And even though I know that whatever engagement ring I do get one day will likely not be from Tiffany’s because everyone knows the diamonds are overpriced because it’s Tiffany’s. Also, if we were going to go the “F%** it” route, I’d cross the street and choose a Harry Winston instead. But for whatever reason, I walked into Tiffany’s to buy a jar of their jewelry cleaner and my heart swelled up in my chest like something big was about to happen to me, my fight/flight reflexes kicked in, the room started spinning, and I choked up. I kept walking – walking past the diamond studs, walking past the new rose gold line, walking past the engagement rings and then stop. Yellow diamonds? I sort of forgot slash like to pretend these don’t exist. Canary I think they prefer to be called. Canary diamonds. Just sparkling in my face, not allowing me to leave eye contact with them. I opened my mouth to say, “Can I try that one…” but the words just couldn’t come out.

I have to tell you, I’ve been in thousands of Tiffany’s in my life. From the time I had a Bat Mitzvah, I’d had a “reason” to go into Tiffany’s. I had to get my floating heart necklace cleaned, or my charm bracelet shortened. When I got my driver’s license, my sister’s in-laws bought me a beautiful Tiffany keychain that I had for a very long time. This was the time of the “ball issue” – hence the little silver balls would just fall off the keychain, exposing your car keys to the rest of the world (or bag). I’ve risked my life for these balls and spent a lot of increments of $6 replacing them. One time, I chased the ball down a hill on my sister’s old street in Bel-Air. The power of Tiffany’s. When I moved to New York, I decided to get myself a new keychain for my new life – and that ball is pretty sturdy. Haven’t had to replace it once.

So what made this experience so intense and profound? I think because I felt a certain closeness to the rings, or in my life. Not that I know the man I am going to marry, at all whatsoever, but that these rings and I were more like friends and soon-to-be lovers rather than mean girls taunting me. I felt positivity from these rings. These rings made me feel like I could fly – soon. But not yet. The canary diamonds would stay on their delicate cushions. The cushion cut rings with a pave halo and pave bands all-the-way-around would stay in their corner. For now. But soon, I feel these rings might give me a hug one day. On my left ring finger.

Who’s the man, the prince charming with the canary diamonds that I never knew I wanted until four days ago? I don’t know. But like in any good rom-com, feeling closer to him is half the battle.

When I pushed through the revolving doors, with my jewelry cleaner in-hand, I looked at my left hand and could almost see a sparkle – or was it a reflection off the diamonds, off of the glass – or a tear? Whatever it was, I want more of it. I walked up Fifth Avenue, back to my office, and smiled to myself. Will I be one of those celebration people someday soon? What will I be celebrating?



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