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French president Jacques Chirac practicing the art of diplomacy. My pin (shown on the following page) celebrates liberté, égalité, fraternité.

I also purchased a large American flag pin that I have since grown accustomed to wearing on the Fourth of July and other festive occasions. For funerals, to which I have been too often, I picked up a tricolor memorial bow.

The manufacture of costume jewelry with a patriotic theme flourished in the United States during and immediately after World War II. All the symbols I love—eagles, flags, drums, trumpets, and rousing slogans—were in vogue. The pieces were worn by noncombatants to signify support for the war effort and bought by sailors and soldiers to leave with sweethearts before taking up arms across the sea. Many of the pins came in the colors of the U.S. flag and continued selling after the war (except for those in red, which fell out of favor because of the color’s association with Communism).

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Memorial bow, Trifari.

One of the reasons I appreciate costume jewelry is that it can delight the eye and still spare the pocketbook. The modern woman needs to be able to experiment with a look and try different ideas. Given my height (five foot two), I had always assumed small pins were best for me, but soon I began to buy pieces that—although not costly—were bigger, bolder, and sometimes even crazier. To my surprise, I found that the look I preferred was more on the dramatic side than the demure.

American flag, Ann Hand;

brave heart, Swarovski;

AIDS ribbon, designer unknown;

heart with donkey, designer unknown;

heart stickpin, reproduction, The Metropolitan Museum of Art;

French ribbon bow, Silson;

patriotic bow, Carolee;

Statue of Liberty, designer unknown;

safety-pin American flag, designer unknown;

small American flag, designer unknown;

large Fight for Freedom torch, DMW;

WWII ribbon, Silson;

Stars and Stripes, Ciner;

small Fight for Freedom torch, DMW.

Uncle Sam Top Hat

Eagle, Trifari.

JOYCE NALTCHAYAN/GETTY IMAGES

I wore my Chinese shard dragon pin when testifying before Congress concerning U.S.-China relations.

JOYCE NALTCHAYAN/GETTY IMAGES

As my pins became more expressive and drew more comments, I had cause to reflect on the relationship between appearance and identity. To what extent, to adapt the old saying, do pins make the woman or, for that matter, the man? After all, the display of pins has never been confined to one gender. Medieval knights wore elaborate jeweled badges that defined their status and conferred a group identity. A fourteenth-century English lad could have no higher aspiration than to advertise a connection to the royal family by embellishing his cloak with the Order of the Garter’s radiant star. Conspirators on all sides in the English Civil War used pins, rings, and lockets to signal their loyalties to friends without tipping off their enemies. George Washington sometimes wore a spectacular diamond eagle, based on a design by Pierre L’Enfant and given to him by the French Navy, that included no fewer than 198 precious stones. Pottery pioneer Josiah Wedgwood, Washington’s contemporary, manufactured a medallion to be worn by opponents of the slave trade. Exquisitely carved, the cameo showed a black man in chains with the question, “Am I not a man and a brother?”

One of my many bold pins. Colorful bird, Iradj Moini.

THE TRUSTEES OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM

Josiah Wedgwood’s abolitionist medallion. Courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum.

ESM pin, Cartier;

saxophone, Kenneth Jay Lane;

Solidarity, designer unknown.

Heart-health red dress, National Institutes of Health;

In our own day, security experts rely on coded pins to identify people who are cleared to enter a particular area while excluding those who are not. Members of Congress are given pins so that they might avoid being stopped by guards while en route to their offices or the legislative floor. Clubs and lodges typically use badges (along with secret handshakes)