When did we become afraid of being noticed?

“I love it. But I don't know if I could wear it.” Usually, they are holding a piece of jewellery they have already been drawn to. They like the shape. They like its scale. They like that it is different. And then something happens. They imagine themselves wearing it. Suddenly the question is no longer, Do I like this? It becomes, Can I get away with this? I've always found that fascinating. Because somewhere between seeing something we love and deciding whether it belongs to us, we begin negotiating with ourselves. Is it too bold? Will people notice? Does it suit my age? Where would I wear it? Is it really me? After nearly twenty years of designing jewellery and watching women try it on, I've started to wonder why being noticed can feel slightly dangerous. The clothes become quieter I don't think this is really about jewellery. As we get older, many of us become much more certain about what we like. We know which clothes we actually wear. We stop buying uncomfortable shoes. We know the colours that make us feel good. We care less about trends. In many ways, our taste becomes clearer. And yet there is another message running quietly alongside it. Don't try too hard. Don't look as though you want attention. Don't wear anything too young. Don't wear anything too unusual. Don't be too much. It is an odd contradiction. At precisely the age when we know ourselves better, we can also become more cautious about showing ourselves. Perhaps boldness isn't what we think it is I have never thought boldness had very much to do with being loud. Some of the most creatively dressed women I know wear very simple clothes. Black trousers. A white shirt. A beautifully cut jacket. And one extraordinary object. It might be a pair of glasses. A brooch. A wonderful bag they bought twenty years ago. A piece of jewellery. Nothing about them is shouting. But something tells you immediately that this woman knows what she likes. That, to me, is much more interesting than dressing for attention. It is quiet confidence. Then something else happens I've watched this countless times in the studio. A woman tries on a piece she thinks might be “too much”. She looks in the mirror. There is usually a tiny pause. Then her posture changes. Not dramatically. Just enough. And quite often she smiles. Later, collectors tell me something else. Someone stopped them at an exhibition. A woman in a café asked about their earrings. A stranger in a lift commented on their brooch. A conversation began. I've come to think of this as the Compliment Effect. The interesting part isn't really the compliment. It's what happens afterwards. The thing you were slightly nervous about wearing becomes the thing you reach for. The jewellery hasn't changed. You have. Maybe the better question is simpler I've been thinking about this a lot lately because I suspect we ask ourselves the wrong question. Instead of: Can I wear this? Perhaps it should simply be: Do I love this? That doesn't mean everyone needs to wear enormous jewellery or dress eccentrically. Quite the opposite. Creative self-expression is personal. For one woman, boldness might be a large sculptural brooch. For another, it might be the smallest pair of unusual earrings. Sometimes we only need to flirt with boldness. But I do think there is something wonderful about reaching the point where we stop asking for permission from an imaginary audience. To choose the painting because you can't stop looking at it. To wear the coat everyone else thinks is slightly strange. To buy the chair that makes absolutely no sense with the rest of the room. To put on the jewellery. And leave the house. Perhaps being noticed isn't the thing to be afraid of after all. Perhaps disappearing is.