You might not know this about me, but I used to be a jewelry metalsmith. I’ve always loved writing, but in the mid 1990s when I was in my 20s and still trying to figure out my jam, I went through a serious case of writer’s block that led me to jewelry design. 

A friend visited me in New York City and wanted to check out a bead store. While she was browsing, I ended up picking out a red scarab and random stone beads for myself and arranging them on a board—deep shades of brick, moss greens, and browns, which are colors I don’t wear together anymore. But it was the 1990s. Clashing earth tone color combinations were a thing. 

“Oooh! Should we turn that into a necklace?” she asked. 

“Show me?”

We went back to my tiny SoHo apartment, put Sam Phillips’ “Cruel Inventions” on the CD boombox, and got to work in my kitchen. She taught me how to use crimp beads to finish a necklace, and attach the jump rings and clasp with flat pliers. In something like half an hour I had my first finished piece, ironically as Sam was singing “Where the Colors Don’t Go.”

Oh, everyone’s a critic. 

But I was quite proud. Writing took forever. I could make wearable art in minutes. 

A month later I was adept at wire wrapping for earrings and multi-strand necklaces. Everyone I knew—didn’t matter if they normally wore it—got jewelry gifts. Months after that I was able to sell some pieces, although it was mostly just enough cash to purchase more supplies.  

Within a year I was taking metalsmith classes at SVA. I know. Me with a blowtorch and industrial tools. I never learned how to properly parallel park, I can barely even drive a simple nail into a 2x4, but somehow my brain understands the scale of fusing tiny silver pieces so they’ll hold together without melting first, setting stones in them, and making them shiny. 

I eventually organized my own studio. For years I didn’t mind the setup, then breakdown time, and the hours of concentration it demanded (forget “Cruel Inventions”, we’re talking at least three plays of The Clash “Sandinista”—144 minutes, 3 discs) to finish the average piece. 

At some point after a few years I stopped looking forward to metal work. It started feeling like too much physical work and problem solving, or maybe the fumes were getting to me. I began to miss writing. Brass ends made my heart grow fonder. 

Through another series of life’s twists and turns that involved, but was not limited to, a failed stint at beauty school (insert “no graduation day for me” joke here), and then wine education, I ended up where I am now.

I still regularly wear many of the pieces I made, mostly the rings from the early 2000s. One, a silver ring set with a large oval silver eye (dark green jasper with metallic stripes) stone for my left ring finger. Another showcases my very last two subway tokens from when the MTA officially switched to Metrocards. It’s inspired by an ancient Roman coin ring I spotted on display at the Met. It features two sides on a spindle between the ring shaft—either side of the coin can be worn on the outside. I remember staring at it, contorting myself in an awkward attempt to view it from all angles behind the glass so I could figure out how the joints were soldered together. 

The guard must have thought I was trying to steal it. I was reminded of this a couple of weeks ago with the Louvre heist. 

The tokens are arranged so one side can display “Good For One Fare” and the other “New York Transit Authority” (I have a whole story about selling other versions of the token ring and token pendants online back in the day, which prompted an MTA rep to call me to cease and desist because of licensing issues. He was very stodgy and officious-sounding. My joke is that you could physically hear his red bowtie over the phone). A wire runs through the bezel between the tokens and is attached with loops to the main ring shaft, which is in a braided pattern like the Roman ring. Recently one of the loops broke off. 

And the stone ring has an unusually short bezel, which I think I had designed with the idea it would give the silver eye more pop, but in recent months that’s exactly what happened. It popped all the way out. Twice. I used fine silver, which is softer than sterling because it contains no copper, and I guess decades of tension (and water, and the impact when it accidentally dropped on the floor several times) weren’t kind to that metal. Like most of us after our mid-20s it lost elasticity. I had successfully, or so I thought, set it back twice. A few weeks ago I came home from an event and the ring was stoneless for good. I doubt I can reset it with anything else because the bezel is too knackered. 

Of course, I immediately took this totality as a dramatic sign of the apocalypse. Obviously, I thought, being forced to retire a favorite piece of my daily uniform for good must signify that a door is closing. But does that mean another is opening? 

I was, however, able to get the token ring repaired. It should hold this time, but it’s fitting kind of loose. Maybe I need to grow into it again. 

So there’s been a lot to contemplate. Like the ring, I’m trying to give some new things a spin, which is why I’ve been quiet the past few weeks. Well, and also one of those coughs that’s hard to shake, but it’s finally leaving.

In the meantime, there was some cool stuff this month:

• In Industry City at Bios Apothecary, I attended an event where the aroma profiles of various Mozart chocolate liqueurs were broken down, and we made our own signature scent based on the fragrances that were highlighted. I now know what amber smells like.

• I checked out the Edward Gorey exhibit at the Society of Illustrators. I’ve been a fan ever since Mystery first aired on PBS, and in a way, he was one of my first employers. In college I interned at the Clifford Ross Company, which at the time, held the license to his art. By the early 1990s he lived in reclusion on Cape Cod, but I did speak to him on the phone. (He did not sound anything like I thought he would—instead, somewhat squeaky, with a thick combination New York and midwestern accent. I remember that I accidentally hung up on him the first time we spoke and he was very kind and patient about it. Must have been all the cats.) If you’re in the city, the show runs through January 3 and I highly recommend checking it out and strolling through the gallery with a cocktail while you do. 

  

• There was a dinner at Gage & Tollner to celebrate the launch of Lock, Stock & Barrel 25 Year rye. Fabulous dinner and wonderful opportunity to hang out with Katie Cooper, co-founder of Cooper Spirits, as well as Chad Solomon and Christy Pope, who have collaborated with me on cocktail stories many times as well as contributing to Signature Cocktails. 

• Bacardí released their 2026 Cocktail Trends Report and gathered a few of us at Clemente Bar. An overview of was presented by Colin Asare-Appiah, Lauren Mote, and Adrian Biggs. It felt like an all hands on deck strategy session to deal with Gen Z drinking habits (or lack thereof). I learned words like “rewilding” and “maximillization” while drinking things like tomato water highballs with salty alka-seltzer-like drops and a hybrid Martini and Manhattan. 

• While Lance Winters, head distiller at St. George Spirits, was in town, there was a vertical tasting at Travel Bar of the single malt “lots”, 17 to 24. We then tasted the new Lot 25 alongside Lot 5. Great whiskey, great chats! 

• Finally, Simon Brooking was on hand to introduce the new (delicious!) Bowmore whisky Sherry Oak Collection at the Baccarat. The 12 and 15 Year are available now, the 18 and 21 early next year. I recommend them all. 

All this sounds fancy, and it is. I am lucky to have these experiences! However, free whisky and a Lyft home doesn’t pay my rent. If you enjoy the read, please tell your friends, and if you haven’t already, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription. 

This Thanksgiving week, as ever, I am grateful to all of you. 

Cheers,

Amanda