Do you brace as though for traumatic impact when your male partner buys you jewellery? I am one of those harpies, wielding scathing judgement like an emasculating scythe. But it's hardly an autogenic condition now, is it? The taste-based selection of highly personal items is just one of those fields of specific masculine incompetence that chafe me like underwear with nasty lace. It is what it is.
I love amber. This cube of Cretaceous goodness was chosen with care and glows like flakes of shellac encased in golden syrup; the flanged mount is secured with an internal post which is amazingly invisible except in dramatic backlight, so the square appears to perch inside the claws.
The tapered band is kewlness too, never catching on anything even though it sits so high on the finger. That's what good design is all about; the shit that works so well it's hardly ever noticed. We both love this piece. I'm glad I was overruled.