The Emerald That Made Me a Jeweler
And taught me just as much about life as it did about jewelry.
This is the story of a ring.
But really, it’s the story of all the people who made me into the kind of person who could make it.
It’s difficult to describe what this piece did for me over the last five months. When my client—whose hair I have done for the better part of a decade—told me she wanted me to make her an emerald ring, my heart skipped a beat. I was only eight months into my foray into jewelry, and while eager to say yes, I was not ready for a project like this. But the thing I wasn’t ready for is exactly what I needed to prepare me for the thing I wasn’t ready for.
I needed to source a 3+ ct pear-shaped emerald, and I had not yet found a go-to gem dealer. I asked around and ended up being sent to a man whose kindness throughout this process I could not overstate. He had just one pear emerald in his inventory, and after seeing four other emeralds with other dealers, the choice was clear.
My client and I were pussyfooting around pulling the trigger when he called me and said, “I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but I have another interested client and I’m going to be shipping it to them tomorrow unless you tell me you want it.”
This was my first time experiencing and understanding the weight of mazal. In the jewelry industry—all over the world, not just on 47th Street—it doesn’t matter what language you speak, the word mazal seals a deal worth hundreds or thousands or millions of dollars. No paperwork, no signature, no money up front—just a word that neither party can go back on.
When I told Amit we wanted the emerald, I made a commitment to him to purchase it even if my client backed out. And he made a commitment to me to sell me the emerald, even if another customer was able to pay sooner, or pay more. This industry is entirely built on the trust you put into your people.
Now, I can go to Amit and say, “I need to show my client three sapphires,” and I can walk out of his office with three sapphires on memo—I give him nothing as collateral. It’s a beautiful concept and one I think could teach us about life and our relationships with people in general.
There is a quiet power in being trusted without having yet proven oneself—an unspoken responsibility that compels us to rise to the occasion. When we are entrusted freely, we feel the weight of that gift, and we’re moved not to disappoint. Imagine where we’d be if we ran the world this way.
So I found the emerald, and I found Amit.
Then I realized: what happens if the day I’m taking the subway home with this emerald is the first time I get mugged in my 15 years of living in NYC? What if the emerald cracks during setting?
I hadn’t worked with a high-value stone yet, so I hadn’t even considered the idea of insurance. Securing a policy took longer than I anticipated, and during that waiting period, Amit held onto the emerald for me, patiently saying, “Take as long as you need.”
When my policy finally went into effect, I felt a huge weight off my shoulders. I could pick up our emerald, take her home. I could say yes to future projects with high value stones, without being afraid to even hold them let alone work with them.
Alas, the day I picked her up—even with an insurance policy in place—I was too nervous to take the subway. Carrying that stone through the city, knowing it wasn’t really mine to lose, I felt as though every person on the street suddenly knew what I had in my pocket. I’ve been told by a jeweler friend: “Hold onto that feeling, because the real problems happen when you’re so used to carrying gems and diamonds you begin to get careless.”
Sound advice I plan never to forget, especially since the insurance policy doesn’t cover “mysterious disappearance”—whatever that means.
So I found the emerald, I found Amit, and as inelegant as it may sound, I found a sense of security in Jeweler’s Mutual.
Now I could start designing, and I had complete creative freedom because my client is my biggest fan and believes in me implicitly—I love her so much for that. I could do anything! But it was so important it couldn’t be just anything.
For months, I had design paralysis. It had to be unique, elegant, and bold but feminine. I wanted it to have some asymmetry—but not too much—and I wanted it to flow beautifully on the finger.
We finally landed on a design, but I barely knew CAD yet—I had been practicing it for a few months at this point, and so much of my program was still a mystery to me. I could get by with basic settings, but basic settings are not why I wanted to make jewelry. Creating something fluid and twisty and winding and that wraps around itself is not easy; even my CAD instructor wasn’t sure how to approach it.
I tried to do it in wax, but I wasn’t happy with the results I was producing. Plus, CAD was quickly becoming something I really loved doing, and I knew I would eventually make it my primary design tool for future projects. I needed to be able to do this.
So I did it—over and over and over again. There are probably 20+ files on my computer of failed attempts to get it right before I finally got it right. When I did, and it was a perfectly cast-able file, I shed a tear. And now, when I want to create something organic and fluid again—a design style I love and hope to continue making—it won’t be easy, but I have solid methods I can return to.
So I found the emerald, I found Amit, I found a sense of security, and I found CAD skills I didn’t know I had.
I sent her off to cast, and in the meantime, I’d been frantically trying to find a stone setter. Up until this point, I’d set most of the stones in my pieces myself—they weren’t very high stakes. But if the most perfect emerald I’d ever laid eyes on cracked during setting, I did not want it to be at the fault of my hands.
When an incredibly talented gem-cutter I had followed for a decade posted that he was coming to NYC, I made an appointment with him to view his stones. We met at a coffee shop, and when I arrived, there was a tall man with long hair (not who I was meeting) standing outside. I don’t know why, but I immediately knew that I was going to be meeting this person too.
When Jean arrived, I watched through the shop window as the two men hugged, then walked in together. We all shook hands and introduced ourselves, and I was told that they were going somewhere together after this meeting with me.
Cyril—the long-haired man—met Jean, the gem-cutter, at the coffee shop because he doesn’t own a phone. It was easiest for them to coordinate a meeting place and head to their destination together; they hoped I wouldn’t mind. Cyril had been a jeweler in NYC for years, and after ogling at gems and speaking with the two men for an hour, I asked him if he had a great stone setter he could recommend.
He had me write my email address down on a piece of paper and told me he’d “use the computer at the library tomorrow” to email me some recommendations.
I didn’t expect to ever hear from Cyril—let alone hear from him exactly when he said: the very next day. The email came with a recommendation and read:
“If he sets emeralds for Tiffany, Van Cleef, and Harry Winston, he is good enough for me.”
Enter: Julio.
The sweet man from Peru who works for himself in his studio and always shows up in a perfectly pressed button-up shirt, socks to match—usually pink or purple—dress shoes, and a branded smock that reads Gentle Creations.
He chose that name because it’s something he always told his children—be gentle with each other—a phrase he said so often it became part of the fabric of their family. Not just words, but a way of moving through the world.
Every job I bring him is recorded in the most beautiful script you’ve ever seen on a classic jeweler’s envelope. When he’s deep in thought, he doodles little flowers on the envelope too.
This man sits with me at length, giving me suggestion after suggestion, I always worry I’m overstaying my welcome. He tells me how to adjust my CAD to make cleaning easier (which equates to a better polish), setting safer (no cracked stones). He gives me all of this time and knowledge freely, with no expectation of anything in return. He’s sent me home with tools to try when I’m struggling behind the bench.
Julio has elevated my design abilities—and of course, the finished product—beyond what I could have ever imagined.
His parents came to America when he was a child, seeking opportunity, at a time when possibility still outweighed policy. And in doing so, they created someone who would go on to create opportunity for others.
He has set for Van Cleef and Harry Winston, and now, he sets for me.
So I found the emerald, I found Amit, I found a sense of security, I found skills I didn’t know I had, I found Cyril, and I found Julio.
Each and every someone or something leads me to another—but isn’t that how life is? We just don’t often stop to acknowledge the ripple effect. I will end before I divulge how I found my appraiser. I discovered upon meeting her that she’s in the same Diamond Grading class at GIA with me. We haven’t met up yet, but we plan to study together one of these days. And by “study together,” I mean she’ll be schooling me—she already has a degree in mineralogy, and the course makes far more sense to her brain than it does to mine.
These are just a few of the people behind the scenes. The ones whose names you’ll never hear.
You’ll hear about Harry Winston and Tiffany.
And though I could only dream of it—maybe someday, Elvie.
But I am no one without my people—the people whose trust I will continue working to be deserving of, even though they never made me.
I am no one without the client who wanted the emerald ring.
(I am indebted to you, Sarah.)
There will be other stones that bring me other people and turn me into something totally new. But right now, I am who I am because of the people I have.
And I found them because of the pear-shaped emerald.
