Diamond rings are performative. I Want Something Real.

I’ve never been fascinated by diamond rings. Or fancy jewelry.

To me, they don’t represent love. They don’t have any real value.

They’re just expensive shiny objects people feel obligated to care about because the media told them to.

I Grew Up in a Jewelry Polishing Factory

Maybe it’s because I grew up in a jewelry polishing factory, in the middle of Bangkok.

Diamond necklaces. Bracelets. Rings. Gems. Gold. Whatever you can name — I’ve seen them all.

I remember running around in a room full of chemical bottles — the kind used to polish gold and clean metal settings.

I remember piles of gold rings that my mom had to finish under tight deadlines.

I remember how upset she was when she couldn’t make it to her best friend’s son’s wedding — because someone else’s wedding jewelry had to be finished first.

I also remember when my dog tripped over a bottle of acid and I had to frantically hop onto my uncle’s motorcycle (yes, with a dog on my lap) and rush her to the vet.

That’s what shiny, spotless, perfectly polished, expensive jewelry reminds me of.

Not glamour. Not elegance.

Just pressure. Labor. Stress.

Luxury never seduced me. It never touched me. I don’t want to wear it. I don’t want to look at it.

I feel nothing.

Why Are We Still Measuring Love by the Size of a Rock?

Meanwhile, I watch the world continue to measure love by the size of a diamond.

Like if it sparkles hard enough, it must be real.

But who decided that a diamond ring equals love?

Why does something only two people need to agree on suddenly require a price tag, a perfect moment, and a public display?

Diamond rings. Public proposals.

It’s all gotten so theatrical.

Public Proposals Are So Bizarre (Sorry)

Look. I get wanting your friends and family there to celebrate with you.

But a packed concert stadium? A packed sports arena? A packed whatever else?

Why?

Why does something so intimate need to be witnessed by strangers?

Who is it really for?

Love doesn’t get more real just because more people saw it.

The “3-Month Salary” Rule

I don’t know if people still believe this, but there’s that absurd notion that an engagement ring should cost two to three months’ salary. Jewelry stores call it a ‘common guide'.

But that wasn’t tradition. That was a marketing campaign — created by De Beers in the 1930s during the Great Depression.

They wanted to sell more diamonds.

So they launched a campaign that literally told men, “The more you spend, the more you love her.”

Go figure.

It was never sacred. It was sales.

Greedy bastards.

This is where marketing became an acceptable form of brainwashing. A useless form of thought leadership that benefits no one but corporations.

So now you’ve got everyday men being told that if they don’t drop thousands of dollars on a ring, their love isn’t real enough. And then women being taught to gauge their worth by the cut and carat.

This is messed up. Why are we torturing people like this?

Trying to survive life is hard enough.

Can we please stop adding fake milestones and overpriced symbols just to prove what should already be felt without any external objects in the first place?

When the Ring Means “You’re Finally Worth Something”

And then there’s something else …

It's how women are conditioned to feel chosen the moment a diamond ring slides onto their finger.

Like now — finally — they’re lovable. Valuable. Worthy.

That tiny round object becomes a symbol of arrival, a public announcement that says,

“Someone picked me. I did it right. I’m enough.”

It’s heartbreaking how deeply that idea has been baked into us.

We’re taught to equate our worth with being wanted. And being wanted with being claimed. And being claimed with being given a ring.

So no wonder the ring means everything to some people.

It’s not just a diamond.

It’s decades of messaging that says this is how a woman knows she matters.

But that kind of worth? It’s fragile.

Because if your value is based on being chosen, it can just as easily be taken away.

Who Are These Traditions Actually For?

Wedding rings. Engagement rings. Fancy weddings.

We treat them like requirements. Like romantic checkpoints we’re all expected to hit.

But… says who?

Who actually benefits from all this?

Because it sure as hell isn’t the couple trying to build a healthy relationship.

It’s the wedding industry.

The venues. The photographers. The planners. The jewelers. The dressmakers. The ring designers. The florists. The Pinterest boards that make you feel like your love story isn’t good enough unless it looks like a styled shoot.

This isn’t just about tradition.

It’s about a multi-billion dollar industry convincing people that love has a specific look — and you need to pay for it.

If you don’t have the ring, the photos, the champagne tower, the handwritten vows framed in gold foil, you’re somehow less married.

But that’s not love. That’s marketing.

You don’t need a ring to be committed. You don’t need a wedding to love someone.

Cavemen didn’t need these things.

And somehow, humanity still evolved — without monogrammed cocktail napkins.

Why a Ring at All?

Why a ring?

Why a finger?

Why does marriage need a physical object to make it feel real?

Why do we need to publicly display that we’re “taken”?

Isn’t knowing you’re committed enough? Do you really need a piece of metal to remind you of it?

Or is it for other people — so they know to back off? So they know you’re claimed? So you can signal your status without saying a word?

I don’t know. It’s just… bizarre. What’s the actual benefit of it?

When I see a ring on someone’s finger, I know what it means — but I don’t know why I need to know it.

It’s this passive signal being broadcast into the world. I didn’t ask for it, but now I have it.

If you don’t have a ring, does that mean you love each other less? Is the love not real without it?

Why do humans need to claim each other at all?

Why does love have to be proven to anyone?

We’ve normalized broadcasting our relationships like possessions — as if love means less unless it’s witnessed, ringed, photographed, and socially approved.

Love gets blasted on social media like a status report: Look at me, I am happily taken. Look how cute we are.

But love isn’t made stronger by display.

It’s made stronger by presence.

Where Did the Ring Even Come From?

The tradition of wearing a wedding or engagement ring didn’t start with love.

It started with eternity. Then came ownership. Then came capitalism.

Thousands of years ago, in Ancient Egypt, rings were used as symbols of eternity — the circle representing something unending. They even believed the fourth finger on the left hand had a “vein of love” (vena amoris) that led directly to the heart. (It doesn’t, but nice try.)

Then came the Romans, who took the idea and made it transactional. Men gave women iron rings to mark them as property (eww, tf?) — part of a legal agreement. It wasn’t romance. It was control.

Later, Christianity adopted the ring into religious marriage ceremonies around the 9th century, reframing it as a spiritual symbol of unity. And by the time it spread across Western Europe, rings became more ornate — markers of wealth, class, and social status.

The ring slowly evolved from ritual to requirement. From symbol to status symbol.

And now?

We wear them like receipts. Without any questions.

To prove something to ourselves, to others, to the algorithm…

We’ve been told they mean love.

But maybe they just mean “this person is taken and publicly accounted for.”

If that still feels sacred to you, that’s okay. You do you.

But if you’ve ever quietly wondered why a piece of jewelry is expected to hold the weight of your entire relationship — you’re not alone.

What If We Chose Our Own Symbols?

I get wanting something physical to represent your love and commitment. Something that feels meaningful.

Love is in the air — you can’t touch it, so you want something you can see. Something you can hold.

It's cute. I get it.

But it doesn’t have to be a ring.

I don’t love the idea that a handful of people in Ancient Egypt or Ancient Rome decided what love should look like — and now we’re all just playing along.

Just because everyone else does it, doesn’t mean you need to do it too.

I can decide for myself what symbolizes love in my life.

We all can.

If I want to use a tree we planted together, a handmade bracelet, a Spotify playlist, a Polaroid, or a worn-out hoodie — that’s valid.

Love doesn’t need to be standardized. Let it be personal.

Give Me Something Real

To my future husband — if he even exists 🤷🏻‍♀️

Forget the ring. I want a heartfelt handwritten note.

I want laughter in the kitchen, mid-cooking.

I want someone to share a life with.

I want to feel safe — not shown off.

If you really want to give me an object, buy me some blank notebooks, a bar of milk chocolate (this one — to be super specific), and a mango smoothie.

And then just keep showing up for all the little things, especially the little things.

I'd rather have that than a thousand-carat diamond ring ✌️