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feldman I hate DeBeers. I hate them with the smoky burning nauseating passion of a deep fryer grease fire. I hate them because they deface the institution of marriage, mouthing a romantic line while casting it as some kind of bad economic exchange wherein the man pays in painfully overpriced jewelry and the woman offers the service of not being disappointed in him.
DeBeers would like you to believe that, as a married woman, I'm waiting around for my husband to finally come across with the diamonds. They want you to believe that I'm slowly dying inside, consumed with doubt about whether I made the right decision lo those years back, and that this angst can only be appeased by converting two months worth of Mr. F's paychecks into something sparkly for me to lose in a public restroom or state park. They would like you to believe that, while I may sleep with him on occasion, punctual gifts of jewelry on certain days and occasions are what foster true enthusiasm for the activity and for him.
DeBeers wants you to believe that the diamond-studded path to a woman's heart is an ancient tradition, and not a marketing ploy that began in the early 20th century. DeBeers feels that if you dress it up with WASPS and a string quartet, you're not really selling the idea of prostitution.
Fuck DeBeers.
I own two diamond rings. One is the wedding set of Mr. F's grandparents, who were together nearly fifty years. His grandfather died a few years after his grandmother, because it took that long for his broken heart to finally defeat his sturdy constitution. This had nothing to do with the lovely art nouveau style ring with the microscopic diamond chip that she wore. The other is my own grandmother's engagement ring--she gave it to me on the day I married Mr. F, and long story short, it means much more to Grandma and me in that context than in it's original use at her own long-dissolved marriage.
Love is expressed by the things people do for each other. Love is personal, individual, imbedded in context. As a married woman, I assure you, diamonds make me neither hot, nor bothered, nor sentimentally-predisposed toward my spouse. A gift of diamond jewelry would probably make me angry (cause dude, that's tuition) and concerned about possible overlooked head injuries.
You know what really turns my stomach? The one ad where, once she's been given the goods, she hugs her husband and caresses his head and whispers "I love this man, I love him." This makes me want to cry, because how can this gift of affection from her be worth anything if it has to be pried out like that? Has she never done that for him before--held him close and told him she loves him? How badly are some husbands faring in their marriages, that they're willing to fork over thousands of dollars for the chance that they'll be treated like someone who's loved?
I mean, I've gotten that emotional over Mr. F making dinner. You know why? Because I love the guy and we take care of each other, and that's a persistant miracle. It happens nearly every day that one of us lets the other know that they're appreciated and loved. And yeah, it's sappy. But it's born of two folks who realize they're lucky to have found each other, and who think that love is what you do.
And DeBeers can go to hell for trying to cheapen that just because we happen to be married.
DeBeers would like you to believe that, as a married woman, I'm waiting around for my husband to finally come across with the diamonds. They want you to believe that I'm slowly dying inside, consumed with doubt about whether I made the right decision lo those years back, and that this angst can only be appeased by converting two months worth of Mr. F's paychecks into something sparkly for me to lose in a public restroom or state park. They would like you to believe that, while I may sleep with him on occasion, punctual gifts of jewelry on certain days and occasions are what foster true enthusiasm for the activity and for him.
DeBeers wants you to believe that the diamond-studded path to a woman's heart is an ancient tradition, and not a marketing ploy that began in the early 20th century. DeBeers feels that if you dress it up with WASPS and a string quartet, you're not really selling the idea of prostitution.
Fuck DeBeers.
I own two diamond rings. One is the wedding set of Mr. F's grandparents, who were together nearly fifty years. His grandfather died a few years after his grandmother, because it took that long for his broken heart to finally defeat his sturdy constitution. This had nothing to do with the lovely art nouveau style ring with the microscopic diamond chip that she wore. The other is my own grandmother's engagement ring--she gave it to me on the day I married Mr. F, and long story short, it means much more to Grandma and me in that context than in it's original use at her own long-dissolved marriage.
Love is expressed by the things people do for each other. Love is personal, individual, imbedded in context. As a married woman, I assure you, diamonds make me neither hot, nor bothered, nor sentimentally-predisposed toward my spouse. A gift of diamond jewelry would probably make me angry (cause dude, that's tuition) and concerned about possible overlooked head injuries.
You know what really turns my stomach? The one ad where, once she's been given the goods, she hugs her husband and caresses his head and whispers "I love this man, I love him." This makes me want to cry, because how can this gift of affection from her be worth anything if it has to be pried out like that? Has she never done that for him before--held him close and told him she loves him? How badly are some husbands faring in their marriages, that they're willing to fork over thousands of dollars for the chance that they'll be treated like someone who's loved?
I mean, I've gotten that emotional over Mr. F making dinner. You know why? Because I love the guy and we take care of each other, and that's a persistant miracle. It happens nearly every day that one of us lets the other know that they're appreciated and loved. And yeah, it's sappy. But it's born of two folks who realize they're lucky to have found each other, and who think that love is what you do.
And DeBeers can go to hell for trying to cheapen that just because we happen to be married.
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Date: 2005-02-14 08:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 09:38 pm (UTC)I've heard about this recently "into Romance" or "Romantic" as code words for folks who buy into a kind of pre-packaged consumer-based gender-role game wherein the man does "little things" to show the woman she's loved. Sometimes the woman even reciprocates or pre-ciprocates these gestures (flowers, notes, blahblahblah) but if the guy doesn't 'get it' and come across with the paraphenalia the woman thinks she's not appreciated. It's so off-the-shelf and it totally disregards any kind of personal getsures the guy might do out of real affection.
My sample size is small, hence my conclusions might be biased.
She doesn't get that we don't celebrate Valentine's Day and that I specifically don't want him to buy me jewelry or flowers or candy.
Some of the women Mr. F works with have the same disbelief. Yesterday he came home with a 3-pack of my favorite kind of pens--this is far more touching than flowers because it means he not only thought of me (all on his own, not at the prompting of Hallmark), he also knows my favorite type of pens.
And more often? He knows me well enough that he can make me feel better without spending any money at all (imagine!).
He's going to go to school all day and then come home and watch Farscape with me and make me dinner. And he does that every day. I don't really need more than that. I also don't like diamonds, but that's beside the point.
I think diamonds are okay but way overpriced. I think deep colored jewels like garnets are much prettier, but I don't wear much jewelry because it feels weird. My wedding ring is the exception, a plain band that's become part of my finger.