“Men shouldn’t wear pearls” - Our beauty editor on finding his true self through pearls

Think of the thing you love the most. Now imagine it was considered the worst thing you could possibly possess. My mother has worn pearls almost every day since as long as I can remember. For daily endeavours she would go for classic, cream-toned, 6mm studs. They rarely left her ears. It didn't matter if she was going to a meeting or getting groceries, even the simplest pair of jeans would become suddenly more polished thanks to the white, bright, glimmer that peeked through her dark curls. For special occasions, she would bring out heavier contenders – multicoloured necklace pairings with diamond stones and nacred creations. She appeared in my mind as a Grecian deity; the queen of an undersea kingdom.

I was never a ‘daddy’s boy’. Honestly, I don’t even think my father was a proper ‘father’s son’. I naturally leaned towards my mother when it came to daily activities, counselling and bonding. I loved — and still love — my father, but a boy's bond with his mother is something to which nothing can compare. Still, an idealised little boy is one who delights in playing catch with Dad, and in learning how to shave. That was never me.

We never even reached the discussions about where I was allowed to go, what courses I was to take in school or even who I was – or wasn’t – supposed to date. The issue was who I was supposed to be. Think, for a moment, from their perspective: they had raised — in their eyes — a golden boy, with an idealised future. In reality, what I was would never fit their mould.

The breaking point came the day I discovered my own love for all things that glistened under the moonlight. The day I realised that, just as my mother, I loved the divine creations of oysters and mussels. With enthusiasm and anticipation, I sought my own set of natural gems birthed from the bottom of the sea. With one single pendant, brand new, I happily made my way back to the castle, where the fate that awaited was far from what I could have imagined.

One single look was all it took to know how displeased my mother was with my own display of beauty and jewellery. One single moment for the beloved queen to turn into the monarch from all the fairytales – she who curses the young heir and condemns him for an unacceptable action. “Men shouldn’t wear pearls,” she said. My world shattered.

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Just as Persephone, I found myself falling down into the underworld, an eternal darkness with just my thoughts to keep me company. How could something that brought my mother such joy, something that my matriarch loved so much, be the same thing that cut her so deeply when applied to me? Nonetheless, as the fable goes, Persephone stayed in Hades’ land of the dead. And so, I found myself still seeking my mother’s approval, while also seeking to determine if men were, in fact, not meant to wear pearls.

These days, youngsters are empowered to do as they wish and be who they are. Though this is something I’ve admired from my own generation, it is a mentality I struggle to apply to myself. Sometimes you really want to simply not care – to do as you wish, others be damned. But for me, the wiring is different. As much as I wanted not to care, I just couldn’t turn the feeling off. Finding historical justification for my penchant for pearls was the next best thing.

Pearls have long been the purview of men – far more than my mum let on during my bedtime stories. Back in the time of real kings and castles, pearls — as most natural ingredients, gems, and materials — had a higher meaning, symbolising the courage and purity of the wearer. In the Dark Ages they were worn by knights on the battlefield, as it was believed they would keep them safe.

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Nothing ever said men couldn’t wear pearls. Nothing except my mother’s echoing voice, forever etched in my memory. And here’s the thing: I truly believe she didn’t say it out of spite or rage. In her mind, pearls were not meant for men, and that’s just the way it was. Now, as easy as it’s said, it took many years for me to actually understand that in her universe, this was the right way to act. And so, I reached a crossroads.

Would you do something you love even when it means hurting someone you love? For many years, I floated through life admiring from afar the one gem that constituted my mother ́s crown and meant my own demise. Still, in the deepest corner of my wardrobe, hidden within layers of silver and gold, a single white pearl sat, awaiting the day it could see the sun. Nature took its course and as in every story, the time came for the prince to leave his mother’s lap and find a kingdom of his own.

As I carefully packed my not-so-many belongings, one single white droplet of magic fell onto the floor. Silence filled the room as I locked eyes with my mother, almost as if time had stopped and the one thing that could restart its course was the decision: who would reach for the pearl? With a swift but secure manner, I grabbed the gem and, without saying a word, pocketed it and continued on as if nothing had happened.

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Weeks passed and I found myself in a new story, with new characters and new plotlines. The queen now was a secondary player and there was nothing holding me back anymore. Nothing but myself. Alone, I opened a carefully packaged box that, throughout the years, had become a keeper of pearls of all shapes and sizes. Pearls that had been collected by one who always admired, yet never dared to use them.

I set the pearls onto my neck, but even then, I felt them burning on my skin. Thousands of miles away, I still felt like I was hurting my mother just by wearing a set of white silver pearls, string-knotted on golden hardware. However, this time, I wouldn’t take them off.

To this day it’s still not easy. It’s no simple fate going against what you were taught — even when you know the original message was flawed. One can always find things that in someone else’s eyes are wrong. Mistakes and errors that only exist under specific lights and scenarios. And even when logic prevails, sometimes it’s worse doing it against those who gave you life and raised you into the world.

There is no set point where one should draw the line between living for one’s self and complying to those one loves. Life, after all, is an eternal dance that one must perform with everyone who’s weaved into our existence. This was a ballad I was willing to sway to. Does it still hurt my mother that I wear pearls? Maybe, to be honest – it’s been quite a while since I last checked. Have I continued to wear pearls throughout my story? Most definitely. In my own twisted way, it keeps me close to her, it reminds me of times together and the bond we share. At the same time, it connects me to myself.

Through my pearls, someone who I fought to hide for so many years finally comes out. While I still change my necklace every time I see my parents, it comes from a place of love and understanding. This time around, it’s not hiding who I am, it’s adapting to those I love. While the queen might not always want the heir to wear the crown pearls, I still am and will always be the prince of the castle. The boy in the pearl earring.