Inside Cartier’s New High Jewelry Collection in London
Inside Cartier’s New High Jewelry Collection in London
What do you want to see in your fancy room at the Rosewood London after a two-hour schlep in from Heathrow airport during rush hour? Tea and crumpets waiting for you, the first flourish of Cartier’s lavish London jaunt, 48 hours crammed with festivities: viewing high jewelry! Celebrating the newly renovated Cartier boutique on Bond Street! Lunching at a Michelin-starred pub! (Not the usual toad-in-the-hole holes I frequent.)
You might think that after gorging on two-and-a-half crumpets (well, there were three on the plate, you left some), you would not be hungry for lunch at Annabel’s. You would be wrong. Everything about this private club in Mayfair is enchanting. Room after room is decorated in a style that might be described as English country home meets Ken Russell, and even the hall carpet is strewn with monkeys. (The other patrons, grave despite the surroundings, are, one imagines, discussing Brexit in hushed tones over their port.) But wait, better than all this, is the ladies’ room: a gilt-bedecked, flower-besotted aerie—there are even blossoms dripping from the ceiling—so sumptuous you want to have your lunch sent up here, though everyone at the table downstairs would worry what became of you. So back to the dining room you go, where another editor on the trip tells you the mens’ room is even better—it has a fireplace! It has owl statues!—and he has the pictures to prove it.
We get our heads out of the loo, polish off our desserts, and head off to the Strand where 500-odd examples of Cartier high jewelry are on display for our delectation. The stars of the show hail from Cartier’s new Magnitude collection; other pieces are veterans of earlier collections, but no less stunning for it. The most recent creations include a wild necklace that employs rutilated quartz, a rough stone that almost dares you to transform it into fine jewelry as Cartier has done, swathing it in pink gold and surrounding it with diamonds.
No matter how sophisticated you are, you find yourself sinking into the old childhood game: If I could have one thing, what would it be? (You suspect the other editors, looking all serious as they peer into the vitrines, are silently playing it too.) Do I want seven Colombian emeralds sunk into rock crystal frames? Or maybe an insanely elaborate necklace that shows off a spectrum of diamonds, gradually darkening from saffron? Some baubles are so over-the-top they would never fit into my humble lifestyle—that 77-carat opal on my wrist would certainly turn heads at the Hollywood Diner on Sixth Avenue—but a confection comprised of diamonds and cabochon rubies that devolves into a swinging tassel and might have belonged to Lady Mary Crawley is something I could flaunt, oh, practically any place, even over the Simone Rocha frock I am planning to wear tonight.
So besotted am I with this flapper-ish tassel that when I see Letitia Wright wearing a version in sapphires at the pre-gala cocktail, I feel like going up to her, putting my hands around her dainty neck, and saying—excuse me, but I think that’s supposed to be . . . mine? (I am a grown-up now, sadly, so I don’t do this.) The festivities are taking place at Shoreditch Town Hall, a fine old Victorian pile that once hosted louche music hall acts and boxing matches. Tonight, it’s decked out for a lavish supper, and the guest list includes someone who is almost a royal: Claire Foy, resplendent in a yellow-gold dress, a shimmering homage to the maison responsible for this splendor.
Just when you think that you will collapse from pure exhaustion—less than 24 hours ago you were in New York City!—here comes another transplant from the new world. It’s Beth Ditto, gorgeous in a caftan with her hair piled high, like a splendid refugee from a road company production of Valley of the Dolls. When Ditto sings “You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman,” and the crowd, tipsy and elated, sings along, for a moment you almost want to shout: ”You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Diamond! Ruby! Emerald!” But then you snap out of it and come to your senses. You give one more longing glance in the direction of Letitia’s neck, take a final gulp of Cartier Champagne—it’ll help you sleep!—and set off into the stormy Shoreditch night.
Originally Appeared on Vogue
