As a young boy raised in a deeply Catholic suburb of Philadelphia, I knew three things to be gospel: Pretzels are best in an elongated knot, a long sandwich is a hoagie, and (besides puka-shell necklaces from the Jersey Shore or a utilitarian watch) boys didn’t wear jewelry.
On the whole, the sartorial selections available to boys in my milieu were minimal. We were clad in matching sweater vests and turtlenecks in grade school, and we donned button-ups, slacks, and ties in high school. I knew that men could wear whatever they wanted beyond my world, but their jewelry was what I longed for most. I would peer at the TV or my computer screen, ogling the gold hoops and dainty chains I saw on the men on the other side, but I never crossed the threshold. I knew my place.
But then, like many men, I grew up. I rebelled, piercing my ears and nose and adorning them with whatever $15 could get me on Amazon or ASOS. I learned the hard way that bad jewelry can turn your ears black and that forcing an imprecisely sized ring can result in a trip to the fire department to get the band sawed off.
This approach tided me over during my college years and some change, but when I moved to New York, I was dazzled by the array of styles the men wore. I spotted rings gleaming from every finger, radiant studs or hoops dangling from their earlobes, and shiny silver chains hanging from their necks. The big city, combined with a job at Wirecutter (where I quickly learned the value of great over good enough) inspired me to make a bold request of my partner on my 26th birthday: a proper, high-quality chain. (Wise man that he is, he gave me his credit card and told me to hunt for it myself.)
This chunky curb chain comes in four lengths in sterling silver or one length in titanium.
This thinner, 3.8-mm curb chain comes in a variety of lengths and in sterling silver, gold vermeil, or 14-karat yellow gold.
And that is how, on a Saturday afternoon in July, I found myself at a Mejuri store in SoHo. I’d seen the company’s ads online and its earrings in person, mostly via the women in my life. Yet I was put onto its men’s offerings when I saw the sterling silver, 5-mm Curb Chain Necklace recommended by our gifts experts in our gift guide for boyfriends.
According to Mejuri’s site, the chain’s sterling silver is 92.5% pure silver, which makes it a lightweight but still highly durable material. The slightly thinner and sleeker 3.8-mm variety of the curb chain was more my style. The least expensive chain ran 16 inches long—a little short by chain standards, so it hewed close to my collarbone, but as soon as I had it on my neck, it felt as if it had already become part of my skin. I gleefully swiped my partner’s card and took it—along with a single white gold huggie hoop—home.
After almost two and a half years of near-daily wear, the chain has held up astonishingly well. I have never once had to clean or shine it, and it still looks just as good as the day I bought it. The chain has become a crucial part of my wardrobe: I don’t feel like I’m properly dressed for the coffee shop, the office, or a night out without it.
My only gripe is that I have to clasp the chain closed through a short chain of hoops at the end, which has knotted up for me considerably—so much so that staff at the same Mejuri store recently told me there was “no hope” of unknotting it. But the new chains have just one clasp to close the necklace, seemingly rendering this problem moot.
Despite the fiddly clasp, getting that chain felt like a badge of honor. It was proof that I’d grown beyond what I thought I could into something a bit closer to what young Phillip saw on the other side of those screens.
And this chain has let loose the jewelry dam for our household: I’ve gifted my partner his own pair of white gold huggie hoops—which he often bedecks with a pearl charm—and he added to my collection last year with a box-chain bracelet that I adore, especially paired with my chain. To keep the tradition going, this Christmas, I bought him this sexy onyx ring and got myself this beautiful green tiger eye bracelet.
Mejuri’s only miss for me has been the stacker ring I bought for myself between the holidays—it scratched easily in the mere month or two I wore it before it split down the middle. (Considering this experience and the ring I had to get sawed off, maybe I should stay away from rings.)
Plus, one of my partner’s hoops has a loose latch, which has made it fall out of his ear on occasion. (I did not contact Mejuri about replacing the ring, and I couldn’t make a claim under the two-year warranty on the hoop because I lost my receipt.) Despite those flaws, I still firmly endorse Mejuri—especially for anyone on the hunt for subtle yet well-made pieces that can be worn day in and day out and that are likely to hold up for a long time.
Advertising and traditional gender roles tell you that jewelry is for women, and women alone. But everyone deserves to adorn themselves however they see fit. And if they’re anything like me, that means dripping in a sensible amount of silver or gold. What can I say? Everybody deserves a bit of luxury.
This article was edited by Hannah Rimm and Maxine Builder.
