This personal essay explores the author's collection of broken and orphaned earrings, examining how each piece represents a moment in her life and her evolving sense of self. From childhood yearning for a different look to the comfort of nature-inspired designs, the earrings become a tangible reflection of her experiences and desires.
I have a box of orphaned, broken earrings in my wardrobe which I cannot bring myself to discard. They represent the tantalising prospect of micro-reinvention, much like a new haircut or an Instagram filter. Novelty accessories distract from my aversion to makeup, intricate skincare or a personal grooming ritual.magazines in country Western Australia, I spent my teens longing for a heart-shaped face, huge eyes and a pixie look.
The box contains my nature era, with engraved leaves and laminated banksia seed pods. Large hoop earrings with woven tribal patterns feel homely and comforting against my neck. My brother’s ex-girlfriend gives me fluoro aqua polymer earrings, a circle with a glitter wave shape hanging off it. As a late-in-life migrant, my grandmother enjoyed Australiana – May Gibbs’ iconic depictions of gumnut babies, watercolours of chooks by little CWA ladies, Ken Done-like touches on a large, round clip-on.
At another workplace, I wear a feathered dangler in one ear which falls to my collarbone and a seahorse stud in the other, and a colleague diplomatically comments on how I’ve cultivated a “quirky barefoot persona”. Perhaps this is code for “career-limiting move”. My radical act of shoelessness in the office stems from a medical reason: relief for my bunions.
Melbourne tolerates some variance in the standard corporate attire with its generous, eclectic tastes. A friend from Canberra sends me surreptitious photos of locals spotted on Smith Street and Brunswick Street – the pyjama-quilt-look, clashing of patterns and colours, the sheer ragged normalcy, that they aren’t trying to impress anyone or go anywhere – takes her breath away.
These orphaned earrings represent my former selves. They are relics in a personal museum. They remind me of the aftermath of a relationship breakup when I wasn’t sleeping well. I hadn’t washed and I went to a bar with a friend to commiserate and felt awful that I hadn’t worn earrings to distract from the hot mess I was. Under her sympathetic gaze, I could almost feel the longed-for accessories manifesting.
Earrings Self-Expression Nostalgia Personal History Identity
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