Read My Pins_ Stories From a Diplomat's Jewel Box - Madeleine Albright [8]
My most cherished jewelry: A heart pin made by Katie
After Joe’s Aunt Alicia Patterson Guggenheim died, my daughters and I received a small share of her jewelry. This included a beautiful pink tourmaline heart and a diamond-and-sapphire poppy pin with matching earrings. There was also a pair of earrings with little pearls and a jade fish on the end that were meant to go with the jade dragon pin I had been given earlier. Although I adored these pieces, I so feared losing them that I rarely wore them. In any case, showy jewelry made me uncomfortable. Because of the social status of Joe’s family, he had been considered the perfect escort for Chicago’s well-bred young ladies, taking them to debutante balls and similar high society affairs. Suddenly he began to appear with me. Having nothing suitable to wear, I sewed a dark-red velvet dress to go with the garnets I had received from my parents. It had a tight waist and quite a low neckline so the garnets would show. I still have the dress as a reminder both of the evening and of the years when—for me—a tight waist was possible.
My life changed when Joe and I moved to Washington in the early 1960s. Jacqueline Kennedy, with her affinity for Givenchy and Oleg Cassini gowns and Schlumberger jewelry, was bringing unprecedented glamour to the nation’s capital and America’s global image. She wore diamonds to Paris, pearls to India, and bangles everywhere. Jackie, as she was called, was recognized as a fashion trendsetter, known by millions for her jewelry, handbags, hats, and hair. This was also the era of such spectacular movie icons as Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, and Marilyn Monroe, who, when singing “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend,” embodied the stereotype of a woman willing to be possessed but only in return for possessions.
Still, even in the swinging sixties, status in Washington was determined more by power than by glitter. My husband and I socialized with other young couples turned on by the promise and politics of the Kennedy administration. The men in our group mostly had jobs in government or as journalists; the women were active with children and social causes.
Poppy, Verdura.
Meli Melo, Cartier.
Wrapped Heart, Verdura.
The jewelry worn by the wives in our circle consisted primarily of engagement and wedding rings, the occasional pearl necklace, and earrings that were generally nondescript but sometimes op art or pop art. We thought of jewelry as a traditional and fun means of adornment that was paid for by (usually male) acquaintances or that came to us through family ties. A fancier or more expensive item might make some statement about how much a husband could afford, but it was not a declaration of any depth about the woman wearing it.
Following my divorce in 1983, I found myself tapping into another sort of tradition. By then, I had completed my education and started out in politics. I had begun drawing a salary of my own working for a U.S. senator, Edmund S. Muskie of Maine, and then in the White House under Jimmy Carter, in whose honor I wore a pin shaped like a Georgia peanut. After that, I followed in my father’s footsteps, becoming a university professor. Though devastated when my marriage fell apart, I soon found my own spirit and voice. From that time on, when my mind turned to jewelry or clothes, I thought less about the expectations of others and more about my own sense of identity and pride.
Suffragette pin, designer unknown.
My experiences, of course, were hardly unique. Women have been striding toward independence for many generations. In Great Britain in the early twentieth century, supporters of the suffragette movement wore medals or brooches in the shades of green, white, and violet—signifying, respectively, hope, purity, and dignity. Not coincidentally, the initial letters