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While in government, I thought first when selecting a pin about the utility it might have in diplomacy. This is because some figures are laden with meaning. The lion, for example, has been linked to power and the sun since the days of ancient Greece. Thus, Syria’s formidable President Hafez al-Assad took considerable pride in the fact that his name means “lion” in Arabic. For our first meeting, I wore a lion pin, thinking it might put Assad in a forthcoming mood; it didn’t.

The serpent, connected in my mind to Saddam Hussein, is often portrayed alongside a tree or, as on my pin, a branch. Together, the serpent and tree are considered symbols of life, fertility, and (because the snake sheds its skin) renewal and rebirth. The association has cultural and religious connotations dating all the way back to the Garden of Eden—the concept of which can be traced to Mesopotamia, or modern-day Iraq.

Lion, Kenneth Jay Lane.

Two chicks, Tiffany & Co.

The dragon, meanwhile, has long symbolized China, as the bear has Russia, the koala Australia, and the mighty kiwi New Zealand. The Andean region is proud of its condor, Arabs of the peregrine falcon, Guatemala of the resplendent quetzal, Belize of the toucan, and the Bahamas of its flamingo. The United States may have a patent on the bald eagle, but other eagle species are claimed by a dozen lands, including Mexico’s golden variety, Poland’s white-tailed, Panama’s harpy, and the African fish eagle of Zimbabwe and Zambia. The ubiquity of the great bird of prey is what prompted Benjamin Franklin to suggest for America a national symbol all its own: the turkey.

Out of government, I have less need to concern myself with such associations. I am free instead to indulge my own preferences, which include, in addition to patriotic symbols, such intriguing creatures as butterflies, frogs, songbirds, winged insects, and an infinite variety of bugs—especially big ones, the kind that seem poised to leap from my jacket. As with the lion and serpent, many of these species come with a past.

Shaman Bear, Carolyn Morris Bach.

The dragonfly is an extraordinary species, with large eyes, two sets of powerful wings, an athletic body, and a healthy appetite for mosquitoes (center pin) and other pests. Known to the English as the “devil’s darning needle,” the insect is associated by the Japanese with courage, happiness, and strength. Artists find dragonflies fascinating; so do I. En tremblant dragonfly with pearl, Heidi Daus; turquoise enamel dragonfly, Ciner; yellow dragonfly, Swarovski; other designers unknown.

Spider Walia stickpin, Jewelry 10; green and silver spider, E. Spence; other designers unknown.

Crouching green and gold frog, Kenneth Jay Lane; other designers unknown.

The frog, for instance, is associated in many cultures with the creation myth, although I think of it more in the context of Moses and the second plague of Egypt (“The Nile will teem with frogs. They will come up into your palace and your bedroom and onto your beds.”). As for the spider, it has been renowned since ancient times for its patience, wile, and predatory attitude. I wear my spider pin—complete with web and fly—when I am feeling devious; if you see it on any day except Halloween, beware.

The butterfly, emerging from the chrysalis, was considered by the Greeks to be a symbol of the soul. In the art nouveau period, around the end of the nineteenth century, a popular jewelry design showed the body of a woman with the wings of a butterfly. This symbolized the liberation of women.

The liberation of a country was commemorated by the Cartier company when, in 1944, Nazi occupiers were driven from France. The brooch showed an open cage and a bird singing. Two years earlier, when the storm troopers seized Paris, the company had produced a similar piece, except with the birds locked up.

COURTESY OF THE CARTIER ARCHIVES/ © CARTIER

Archival drawing of Oiseaux en Cage, courtesy of Cartier.

N. WELSH/CARTIER COLLECTION/ © CARTIER

L’Oiseau Libéré, 1944,