The Red Lipstick and the Quarry Earring I Wear at Home

When I came home from school and saw my mother wearing red lipstick, I knew something good had happened.

She didn’t wear it every day, which was probably why I noticed it so quickly. I could walk through the door, put my bag down, and know, before she had told me anything, that something was different. Maybe someone had called with good news. Maybe something she had been waiting for had finally worked out. Or maybe the day had simply given her a reason to feel a little lighter.

I never knew the whole story just by looking at her. But I had learned to recognize that particular shade of red, and I knew it meant there might be something worth asking about.

What stayed with me was not just the lipstick itself, but the way it belonged to an otherwise ordinary day. My mother didn’t have to be on her way out. She could be at home, making tea, moving things around in the kitchen, or doing all the small things that make up an afternoon. She could be wearing the same clothes she had worn all morning, with her red lips adding something unexpected to the familiar scene.

Nothing else needed to change. The house was still the house, the tea still had to be made, and there were still things to do. But the day seemed to have acquired a different quality. Her lipstick was a small, visible sign of something I couldn’t quite see.

When Getting Dressed Up Waited for an Occasion

As a child, I thought getting dressed up belonged to certain occasions. You wore your best clothes when you were going somewhere, when someone was coming over, or when there was a reason to be remembered. The things we kept for special days seemed to have their own rules. They waited in drawers and wardrobes until an occasion came along that was important enough for them.

Growing up, I began to notice how easily we carry these rules into our everyday lives. We save the perfume we love for an evening out. We keep a dress for a dinner that hasn't been planned yet. We leave our favorite earrings in their box because they feel too special for a day spent at home. Even the things that bring us pleasure can become things we postpone enjoying.

I have done this myself. I have kept pieces of jewelry for another time, as though wearing them on an ordinary Tuesday might somehow use up the feeling they were meant to give me. I have looked at a pair of earrings and thought about where I might wear them, rather than whether I wanted to wear them at all.

Choosing the Quarry Earring on a Day with Nowhere to Go

But lately, I have found myself reaching for them on days when I have nowhere to go.

These days, the one I reach for most is the Quarry earring, a faceted piece that holds green, pink and blue the way afternoon light does. Sometimes, I put on my earrings before making tea. Sometimes, I choose a necklace while deciding what to read that evening, or put on a ring without giving it much thought. I might catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror while walking from one room to another, notice how a piece of jewelry catches the light, and carry on with whatever I was doing.

There is no photograph to take, no outfit to finish for someone else's eyes, and no particular occasion to justify the choice. The jewelry simply becomes part of the day.

I like the small ritual of choosing, too. Opening a box and looking through the pieces I have collected, remembering why I first wanted a particular pair of earrings, or discovering that something I haven't worn in months feels right again. Sometimes I choose a piece because it goes with what I'm wearing. Other times, I can't explain the choice at all. I just know that this is the one I want today.

Perhaps this is what I have come to appreciate about everyday jewelry: it doesn't have to transform an ordinary day into something extraordinary. It can belong to the day exactly as it is. A quiet morning, a familiar cup of tea, an afternoon spent reading, a phone call with a friend, or an evening at home when the only plan is to see where the hours take you.

What a Piece of Jewelry Remembers

And sometimes, a piece of jewelry carries more than the pleasure of wearing it. It can remind us of a person, a place, or a version of ourselves we don't want to lose. We may choose something because of the way it looks, but keep wearing it because of everything that has gradually become attached to it. A familiar shape, a particular color, or the way a piece feels against the skin can take us somewhere else, even when we haven't left the room.

I think this is part of what draws me to jewelry in the first place. I don't always want it to make a statement. Sometimes, I want it to be something I recognize as my own, something that belongs to the way I move through the world. A small detail that doesn't need an explanation, even if it holds a story I could spend an entire evening telling.

At Rawa, I often return to the idea that the things we wear can hold reflections of who we are, including parts of ourselves that don't always have words. I think about how a familiar form can feel different when it becomes part of someone's life, and how something handmade can travel beyond the moment in which it was created, gathering new meanings along the way. A piece begins somewhere, but the life it has with the person who wears it is another story entirely.

Maybe that is why I don't think of getting dressed as something reserved for the moments when we step outside. The things we choose to wear accompany us through the hours no one else sees, too. They are there when we are thinking, remembering, waiting for news, or simply enjoying the rare pleasure of having nowhere else to be.

I still think of my mother whenever I put on my earrings at home, especially on days without plans. I imagine her moving around the kitchen with that familiar red lipstick, carrying on with the afternoon while keeping a little of her happiness visible. I wonder whether she knew I would remember it years later, or whether, for her, it was simply a small pleasure she had never needed to explain. That is what the red lipstick and the Quarry earring I wear at home have in common: a small, visible sign that an ordinary day belongs to me.

I don't think I ever asked her what had happened on those days. I remember the lipstick more clearly than the stories that might have accompanied it. Perhaps that is what small details do: they stay with us long after the circumstances around them have faded.

Now, when I choose my earrings for an ordinary day, I sometimes think about how someone else might remember me. Maybe one day, someone will walk into a room and notice that I am wearing a particular pair, or see me making tea with my favorite necklace on, and wonder whether something good has happened.

I like the thought that they might be right.

And if nothing particularly good has happened, that is all right, too. I can still put on my favorite earrings, make my tea, and let the day unfold. Not every pleasure needs a reason, and not every beautiful thing needs to wait for an occasion.

Some things are worth keeping close simply because they make an ordinary day feel a little more like our own.