Not My Best Friend
A Contribution to the Survey of Overrated Items
by Mama Redcloud
Diamonds. The hardest substance on earth, a thing of rare beauty, a symbol
of love, and a girl's best friend. How can such a thing be overrated?
Diamonds can be very useful, for drill bits, burglar tools, or writing
poems on the windows in case you are imprisoned in the Tower of London.
They are also used in targeting devices for smart bombs and cruise
missiles. But these are all rather specialized uses. Many of us could go
through life without encountering any of them.
The form in which most of us are likely to encounter diamonds is in the
engagement ring. Now, this happens to be a hot button of mine. Those who
know me know that, like Pavlov's dogs, I can be counted on to respond
predictably to certain stimuli. One of them is that De Beers commercial,
you know, "How else can two months' salary last forever?" At this point I
invariably begin to sputter, "Two months' salary? That's real money!
What's
he gonna do, take out a loan?"
The tradition, if you want to call it that, of the diamond engagement ring
was originated in the 1920s by an advertising agency hired by, you guessed
it, De Beers. De Beers, incidentally, is not a company that sells
diamonds.
It is THE company that has a monopoly on virtually all of the diamonds in
the world. Buying a diamond from De Beers is like buying oil from OPEC. De
Beers is the descendant of the company formed by Cecil Rhodes, the Rhodes
Scholarship (q.v.) guy. His career started with deceit and trickery, and
went on to dictatorship, by way of exploitation, racism, and imperialism.
It's not just in romantic fiction that the history of diamonds is a
history
of blood. And if you think that is all safely in the past, go to your
favorite Web browser and type "conflict diamonds." Be warned, though
don't do it if you don't like looking at pictures of people whose hands
have been chopped off with machetes.
Anyway, De Beers had a problem. The cachet of diamonds was based on the
fact that they were very rare. But in the late 19th century, enormous
diamond deposits were discovered in southern Africa. How to keep up the
price of something that was no longer all that rare? The traditional
czars,
emperors and so on could buy up only a small fraction of the supply.
Enter the ad agency. They had the brilliant (get it?) idea of creating a
demand for diamonds outside the traditional diamondowning classes by
convincing impressionable young people that a diamond ring was an
essential
part of the courtship ritual. So pure, so beautiful, so indestructible a
perfect symbol for your love. (And you thought you thought of that all by
yourself. Now don't you feel like a chump?)
For something so chaste and respectable, diamonds seem to keep a lot of
bad
company. There's Diamond Lil, the original "come up and see me some time"
gal, from the play of the same name by Mae West. (Her recreation of the
character on film helped bring in the Motion Picture Production Code.)
There's Diamond Jim Brady, railroad tycoon and famous eater. In addition
to
vast quantities of consumables, this looney spent his dough on such
durable
goods as a dozen goldplated bicycles. And let's not forget Legs Diamond,
racketeer and patron of the Hotsy Totsy Club.
The beauty of diamonds is, in the immortal words of F. Scott Fitzgerald, a
meretricious beauty flashy, vulgar, valued for being valued rather than
for any intrinsic worth the essence of overrated.
Remember "The Necklace," that story by Guy de Maupassant? Of course you
do.
You read it in high school French class, just like I did. If you're young
enough, you may have read it in English in middle school, around the same
time you read "The Ransom of Red Chief."
Anyway, you remember the story. An annoying, whiny woman gets invited to a
posh affair and feels that she simply cannot go without some diamonds, so
she borrows a necklace from a rich friend. At the big shindig "She danced
madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in
the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of
happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration, of the desires
she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine
heart." (Really, Guy!) But she loses the necklace and. well, I won't tell
you what happens next, except that the kidnappers try to return the kid
and. she sold her hair to buy him a. well, let's just say that she comes
to
a bad end, and winds up having to do dishes and stuff. Quel horreur!
If you want to "glitter and be gay" and who doesn't, from time to time
go for sequins, rhinestones, mylar, mirrors, Christmas tree lights, or
even
de Maupassant's "paste." (I don't think of paste as particularly sparkly,
except for glitter glue, but maybe he wasn't thinking of the kind we used
to eat in elementary school.) Something happy and sparkly and untouched by
evil. Forget Cecil Rhodes, forget De Beers, forget the gangsters and the
golddiggers and the machetes. Don't become an incitement to crime, or a
party to it. Save the two month's salary for something you really want,
like food and shelter, or a really cool vacation. Who cares whether your
sparklers are "real"? Make your own reality, and get out there and glitter
for all you are worth.
I am embarrassed to admit, after this prolonged rant, that I actually own
some, not to put too fine a point upon it, diamonds. When my grandmother
died, she left me a ring containing some small You Know What. (She once
tried to give me her diamond engagement ring, but I had to decline. I love
you, Grandma, but not that way.) I don't hold Grandma's diamonds against
her. Jewels and furs were her generation's 401(k) plan. When she had
money,
she bought overrated items, knowing she could always sell or pawn them
when times got hard. If she had just put the money aside, in the mattress
or in the bank, it would be too easy to get it out and spend it. And in
those days before FDIC, the money might have been safer in the jewelry
box,
or in the hock shop, than in the bank.
So, kids, when the time comes for you to pop the question to your sweetie,
don't go to De Beers. Come to me, Mama "Legs" Redcloud, and we can do some
business. No questions asked, but you will have to do the dishes.
Despite all this rant, IIRC, Col DeBeers was a midcarder, at best.