I have a confession. Despite working for 25 years in Vogue House, the former home to Condé Nast’s London operations, I found fashion, well … a tad monotonous. Jewelry was the subject that captivated me. I’m a firm believer in a saying by Diana Vreeland, who edited Vogue during the 60s: “Anyone who thinks jewelry isn’t important is nuts.” But post-Vreeland, Condé Nast relegated jewelry to accessories, beneath even the lingerie and shoes covered by reluctant fashion editors. I had to create my own dream job. I became the first jewelry editor at Tatler magazine, and then later at British Vogue, and from there I sent glittering commentaries across the Atlantic and wrote for other Condé Nast properties such as Vanity Fair and American Vogue.
The whirligig of jewels was never boring, but neither was it all glitz and glamour. Sure, there were spoiling, five-star foreign adventures with big brands and the thrill of holding a magnificent jewel that only five people in the world could afford, but jewelry didn’t command the big budgets of fashion magazines, so I’d be tasked with photographing priceless jewels in studios in areas with soaring crime rates, hoping the neighbors didn’t figure out what was being delivered in the stream of black limos.
