Beyond the Sparkle
When someone asks what it’s like to design jewelry, it’s tempting to talk about the parts you can see: the sketches, the stones, the final reveal. But what drives my design work happens long before I ever touch a pencil. Before the layout, before the CAD renderings—there’s a person, a story, a set of circumstances that become the foundation for everything that follows.
Designing jewelry, especially custom work, isn’t about copying trends or making something that just looks good. It’s about understanding a client deeply enough to create a piece that feels like an extension of them—something that reflects their values, their lifestyle, and their story.
Design Begins with Observation
When someone comes to me for a custom piece, my brain kicks into research mode. I listen carefully. I look closely. One recent client sent me inspiration photos and images of her current ring—a vivid pink sapphire with matching vibrant nail art. I could tell right away: she wasn’t afraid of standing out. She loved color. She understood style. And even if she showed up to our Zoom call in a casual t-shirt, I knew I could go bold with her design. A garden-inspired art deco sunburst ring wasn’t just acceptable—it was perfect.
Contrast that with another client who was a self-proclaimed minimalist. She wanted a wedding band that blended seamlessly with her engagement ring, with a subtle vine-like feel. Even the faintest decorative element had to be intentional and restrained. What began as an asymmetrical design with delicate flourishes was ultimately simplified into a whisper of a ring—airy, organic, and completely aligned with her aesthetic.
Lifestyle Matters More Than You Think
Jewelry isn’t just about how it looks—it’s about how it’s worn.
I always ask my clients what they do for work, what hobbies they have, how they spend their days. A ring for a hairstylist needs to avoid high prongs and soap-catching crevices. A bezel-set stone makes more sense for a hiker than a fragile setting. Someone who’s elbow-deep in a garden or an engine all day? They need something that holds up to grit and motion. Medical workers and food service professionals often have regulations that limit hand jewelry.
Sometimes it’s not just about occupation—it’s about who they are and what they’re going through. Custom doesn’t mean expensive for its own sake. It means personal. If someone is grieving, honoring a loss, or trying to mark a new chapter in their life—I want to find a way to make that accessible. I’m a business owner with costs and overhead, yes, but more than that, I’m a keeper of stories. And sometimes, stories need to be told gently.
The Invisible Decisions
There are things a client may never know I did—adjustments that seem small but make all the difference:
Thickening prongs slightly for durability Adding under-gallery openings for easier cleaning Choosing tarnish-resistant metals for people in humid climates Designing extra clearance for lotion, gloves, or movement
Even medications can affect how jewelry wears—so I pay attention to every clue. I take inspiration from historical periods that suit a client’s personality, even if they haven’t mentioned it. A fan of structure and order might love subtle neoclassical symmetry. A lover of whimsy might be drawn to rococo flourishes. The details may be subtle, but they’re never accidental.
Emotion, Translated into Metal and Stone
One of the most meaningful pieces I’ve ever designed was a wedding band for an old friend. He’d weathered a lot, and the woman he was marrying brought him peace like I had never seen before. I created a bridge motif in the band—not something he asked for, but something I knew would resonate. It represented how she had reached across the distance between the life he had and the one they were building together. That’s what design can do—it can hold meaning you don’t even know how to put into words.
The Tension is the Point
Some designers will tell you it’s all about function. Others will say beauty is king. I say: they’re inseparable. Function and beauty don’t have to be competing priorities. In my work, they pull on each other like a perfectly balanced knot. If the design doesn’t feel good to wear, it won’t last. But if it doesn’t feel true to the wearer’s story, it doesn’t matter how long it lasts. So I keep refining until I find the tension that sings.
I’ve learned that jewelry has to feel good on and feel right inside. A piece can be structurally perfect and still miss the mark if it doesn’t reflect the wearer’s story. That's why I think of my work as emotional engineering: shaping something that works beautifully—and means something even more. If something doesn’t function well, it won’t get worn. If it doesn’t speak to the soul, it won’t be treasured. So I balance. I rework. Sometimes I overdesign and have to start from scratch.
Every piece I design has to answer three questions: Will it hold up to real life? Will it feel beautiful to the touch? Will it say what it needs to say without words? When all three are yes, that’s when I know it’s ready.
Why Intention Matters
Design is never just aesthetic. It’s a language. A client may come to me asking for a ring, but what they really want is to feel understood. To carry a memory. To step into a new phase of life. To celebrate something important. To be reminded that beauty matters—not just in a subjective, decorative sense, but in the deep, ancient way that beauty has always mattered.
We live in a world that often prioritizes efficiency over meaning. But jewelry, like architecture, like poetry, has always been a defiant act of beauty. A way of saying: this matters. This person matters. This love matters. My story matters.
An Invitation to You
If you're ready to create something meaningful, something that feels like it could have only been made for you—I'm here to help. Let's tell your story through design, one intentional detail at a time.
