Collecting Jewellery: Instinct, Obsession & the Ones That Got Away

An open reflection on vintage jewellery – how era, maker, instinct, and experience collide to create love affairs that endure, and the lessons learned along the way.

the beginning

I’ve spent years watching people fall in and out of love with jewellery – and at some level at least, doing exactly the same myself. My first vintage finds came early. I was a teenager, instinct-led, and blissfully unconcerned with whether a jewel was “important” or not. I bought what pulled at me – a mix of designer and unsigned pieces – and long before I could properly articulate why. They felt different in some way, visually or in the hand. They carried weight. And not just physically. You could sense they’d lived a life before finding you. At a surreal level, it was about connection.

Sparkle This Christmas with the Perfect Vintage Jewel

What fascinated me then, and still does now, is that jewellery is never just about how it looks. It carries its era in its bones: the romance of the Victorian era, the freedom yet juxtaposed restrained architectural style of the 1930s, the optimism of the post-war years and the experimentation of the 60s and 70s. Sometimes a piece carries the personality of its maker just as clearly. Even unsigned pieces tell you how someone thought jewellery should sit on the body, how bold they were prepared to be, how much trouble they were willing to go to for their creation.

That curiosity – about era, maker, and the lives bound up in an object – has shaped everything I’ve done since.

Some of you reading this are just beginning to notice that pull. Others arrive having jewelled for decades (and yes, I maintain that jewelling is a perfectly legitimate noun), no longer interested in more, but in right. And then there are those of you who insist you’re not collectors at all – though your jewellery drawer tells a different story.

In all of you, I recognise versions of myself. And after years of sourcing, collecting, refining, and occasionally second-guessing myself, one thing has become clear: the pieces that endure are never accidental – even when they’re acquired in a heartbeat.

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The First Vintage Piece Is Rarely About Collecting

Almost nobody sets out to build a collection. I certainly didn’t.

That first vintage jewel is usually chosen emotionally. Attraction comes first. Explanation follows later – if at all. Some of my earliest pieces weren’t technically perfect, but they sparked questions I couldn’t let go of. Who made this? Why does it feel so assured? What sort of woman wore it first – and did she buy it to mark something, or simply because she wanted it? That’s where collecting really begins. Not with rules, but with obsession. The good kind. The slightly magpie tendency that has you circling back to the same piece, thinking about it far more than is reasonable.

For years, mine expressed itself in heart-shaped jewels. Fine and costume, Victorian through to the 1930s. I began collecting them in my teens and continued well into my thirties. At one point, there were over a hundred. It was joyful – the hunt, the research, the learning, the quiet thrill of finding something just right. Over time, as my eye evolved and other styles began to call more loudly, I refined that group down to around a dozen. Letting go didn’t diminish it; it clarified it setting that refined edit as a part of my forever collection.

Many of the pieces featured throughout the JGJ Collection share this same pull. From early twentieth-century costume jewellery to Art Deco refinement, post-war statements and runway-era excess – they don’t demand attention. They reward it. And once you experience that, you begin to collect almost without meaning to.

Not Chosen in Haste – Except When They Are

There’s a persistent idea that the best jewellery is always chosen slowly. Often, that’s true. Living with jewellery teaches discernment, and time sharpens judgement. But then there are those moments where instinct is immediate – and absolute. I experience this when sourcing, and clients experience it too. A piece you know, instantly, you cannot leave behind. No protracted deliberation. No spreadsheets. Just a very clear internal yes. Those pieces are rarely mistakes. They’re instinct recognising experience. Of course, instinct cuts both ways. I once passed on a 1950s Chanel brooch by Maison Gripoix. The price was serious – eye-wateringly so at the time – but my reaction when I first saw it was visceral. I wanted it. Really wanted it. The brooch didn’t sell immediately, and in that window my head got involved. I talked myself out of it. A year later, while studying a very rare catalogue, I realised exactly what that brooch was. It had been owned and worn by Coco Chanel herself.

That moment stays with me. Not as regret, but as confirmation. My instinct had been right – even if I didn’t honour it. Experiences like that sharpen how I work. They teach you when to listen harder.

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Stories Start to Gather – And Sometimes Travel Further Than You Expect

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If you live with jewellery long enough, something interesting happens. Pieces begin to accumulate stories beyond your own.

Over time, patterns emerge – certain eras, techniques, styles, makers – and occasionally, a collection reaches a level where its significance extends beyond private ownership. I’ve experienced this quietly, when pieces from my collection have been loaned to museums houses for Couture exhibitions.

It’s not something you plan for, and certainly not something you chase. It happens when design, provenance, and condition align so completely that a jewel becomes part of a wider cultural conversation – when it moves from being simply wearable to genuinely reference-worthy.

Those moments reinforce something important: we’re never really owners. We’re custodians for a while.

Some jewels become anchors – within a personal collection, and occasionally within history itself. My Christian Dior by Mitchel Maer ‘Bal des Oiseaux’ demi-parure, loaned to London’s V&A for their 2019 ‘Dior: Designer of Dreams Exhibition’, now bequeathed to the museum – the ultimate forever place for this piece.

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Quality – And Rarity – Reveal Themselves Over Time

True quality rarely announces itself. And rarity is even more complex.

Some of the finest pieces I’ve handled were understated, unsigned, or initially overlooked. Their brilliance revealed itself slowly – through balance, construction, ingenuity and the way they aged. And sometimes, despite experience, you don’t fully grasp just how rare a piece will become.

I once made the decision to part with one of two Dior musical box brooches I owned. At the time, I knew how scarce they were. What I couldn’t predict was quite how stratospheric their future would be. Today, when one appears – which is almost never – the interest is extraordinary, and prices reflect provenance rather than materials. Brass and glass valued like solid gold.

That’s part of working in a field that spans over a century of production. You’re always learning. Always recalibrating.

Editing Is Not Failure – It’s Practice

Refining a collection is rarely linear. Sometimes you let go of pieces you later wish you’d kept. Sometimes you pass on something that turns out to be exceptional. Early on, those moments sting. Over time, they become part of the education.

I’ve learned that editing isn’t about being right every time – it’s about staying engaged enough to keep learning. Clients often tell me the same. Letting go isn’t loss; it’s refinement, even when it’s imperfect.

Our current collection reflects this approach: instinct-led, carefully considered, and informed by decades of experience. To assist you in your journey we’ve curated pieces by collections – you might have a preferred place to begin or you may wander and take it all in.

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When Jewellery Becomes Stewardship

At a certain point, jewellery stops being about ownership.

You begin to think about care, longevity, and future lives. How something should be preserved. What should remain untouched. Who might wear it next. Jewellery becomes a dialogue – between maker and wearer, past and future.

And perhaps that’s the real love affair. Not just the object itself, but the fact that it has endured – and that, for a while, it chooses you. Magical!

A Few Closing Thoughts

Most people don’t plan to become collectors. I didn’t.

But if you’re curious, attentive, and willing to trust both instinct and experience and take the time for this, something meaningful forms. The difference between accumulation and collecting isn’t education, budget, or status. It’s awareness – and a willingness to stay slightly obsessed.

That’s where the best collections are made.

Enjoy exploring the current JGJ collection through my lens of decades of thoughtful collecting.