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Why We Adorn Ourselves
The other day, as I was putting on earrings, I started thinking about them. And that led me to one thing, which led me to another, which took me down a rabbit hole of how is it that we came about, as humans, to adorn ourselves? Not just earrings, but necklaces and nose rings and septum piercings, clothing and hairstyles, hats and headdresses, masks, tattoos, body paint, even coloring our hair.
And it turns out we’ve been doing some version of this for a very long time.
Some of the earliest objects archaeologists identify as personal adornment are pierced shells that go back more than 100,000 years. Long before there were jewelers or fashion designers—or anything we would recognize as fashion—people were selecting shells and other objects, piercing them, coloring them and apparently wearing them on the body.
Which means that somewhere along the way somebody really may have picked up a shell and thought, Ooh, this is pretty. Then somebody put a hole in it, somebody put it on a string, and off we went.
Except it probably didn’t remain simply about being pretty for very long. As human communities developed, adornment became one of the ways people made information visible. What you wore could tell other people where you belonged, whether you were married, how old you were, what position you held, what you believed, whether you had wealth or authority, or whether you had earned the right to wear the thing you were wearing. Sometimes it could protect you or connect you with the sacred. Sometimes it honored your ancestors. And sometimes it was probably all of those things at once.
The Material Was Part of the Meaning
One of the things that’s easy to miss when we look at ancient jewelry in a museum is that the material itself could be as important as the object.
Gold wasn’t simply expensive. In ancient Egypt, its permanence and brilliance were associated with the divine, and jewelry frequently had protective and religious purposes as well as decorative ones. Amulets representing deities, scarabs and the wedjat, or Eye of Horus, were worn by the living and placed with the dead. A piece of jewelry could be beautiful and still be understood as protection. Those weren’t necessarily separate ideas.
Elsewhere, entirely different materials carried importance. For the ancient Maya, jade wasn’t simply a valuable green stone. Its color, coolness, durability and polished surface were connected with water, breath, vegetation, permanence and life. Some Maya jade earflares were far more than elaborate earrings. The ear itself could be imagined as an opening or passage, and jade earflares participated in ideas about breath, sound and sacred pathways into the body.
Which is quite a lot of meaning for something we might walk past in a museum and think, Nice earrings.
Materials could also tell you where people had been—or at least who they were connected to. Shells appear hundreds of miles from the sea, amber traveled across ancient Europe, and lapis lazuli reached Mesopotamia from distant sources in Central Asia. So sometimes a necklace isn’t just a necklace. It can also be a map, showing us that people were traveling, trading, exchanging gifts and maintaining relationships with people who lived very far away.
And materials still carry meaning now. We inherit particular stones and pieces of jewelry. We wear birthstones, religious medals, turquoise, jade, crosses, prayer beads, family rings and things that belonged to people who came before us. The meanings aren’t necessarily the same as they were thousands of years ago, but the idea that the material itself can carry something beyond its monetary value certainly hasn’t disappeared.
Earrings Weren’t Just Earrings Either
Earrings have been worn by men, women and children across cultures for thousands of years, but what they meant depended entirely on where and when you happened to be alive.
In ancient Peru, the Moche created enormous ear ornaments from gold, shell, turquoise and other precious materials. They were inserted through stretched earlobes and were conspicuous markers of power and status. Archaeologists once thought these elaborate earspools belonged only to high-ranking men, but discoveries have shown that some high-status Moche women wore them too.
Imagine these things where they actually belonged, not lying flat in a display case but attached to a living human being. Gold caught the sunlight, tiny suspended pieces moved, shell and stone added color, and pendants made sound as someone walked. The body completed the jewelry, and that’s something museum cases can make us forget.
Among the Maya, jade earflares could carry spiritual significance connected with the ear itself, while among the Moche the size, workmanship and precious materials of an ear ornament could make someone’s status immediately visible. Same body part, completely different cultural language.
And then look around now. People still deliberately stretch their earlobes and wear plugs or tunnels in them. The meaning may be completely different—personal style, identity, belonging to a particular subculture, or simply liking the way it looks—but the physical practice itself isn’t remotely new. Somebody today can look at a person with stretched ears and think, Oh my God, why would you do that? without realizing that humans have been deliberately altering the ear to hold ornaments for thousands of years, and in some cultures those altered ears carried considerable significance.
We’re still doing the thing. We’ve just changed what the thing means.
The Face Could Carry Identity and Power
Nose and septum adornment have histories every bit as complicated as earrings.
In South Asia, nose jewelry became particularly important in India, although there is no single Indian nose-ring tradition. Customs vary tremendously by region and community. The nath can range from a tiny stud to an elaborate hoop, sometimes connected by a chain to the ear or hair, and may be associated with marriage, ceremony, regional identity, family tradition or beauty.
And this isn’t simply something that belongs to the historical record. Nose jewelry remains part of wedding and ceremonial traditions in communities across South Asia today. Designs and customs have changed and continue to vary from place to place, but in many families and communities the tradition itself has continued across generations.
In the ancient Americas, nose ornaments could be considerably more dramatic. Some Moche nose ornaments were large enough to cover much of the mouth and lower face. High-ranking individuals wore them as part of elaborate regalia that included earspools, headdresses, pectorals and bracelets, and some were so personally connected to the wearer that they were buried with that individual rather than passed down.
Gold and silver could also carry cosmological meaning. In Moche thought, gold was associated with the sun and silver with the moon, extending into complementary ideas such as day and night. So the ornament wasn’t just announcing, I have wealth. It could place the wearer inside an entire understanding of the universe.
Septum adornment has also existed among particular Indigenous peoples in Australia, the Americas, New Guinea and elsewhere, made from materials including bone, shell, wood, stone and metal. Depending upon the culture, it could be associated with beauty, adulthood, ceremony, social position or belonging.
And septum rings are everywhere now. Most people wearing one today probably aren’t making the same cultural statement as someone who wore a septum ornament centuries ago, and we shouldn’t pretend that they are. But once again, something that can look thoroughly modern turns out to have a very old human history.
That’s why we have to be careful with statements like “tribal people wore nose rings.” Which people, where and when, and what did it mean to them? There is no universal Indigenous meaning for a nose ring, feather, tattoo, hairstyle or bead. Traditions belong to particular people.
Hair Has Been Talking for a Very Long Time
Hair may be one of the most complicated forms of adornment because it can communicate something without adding a single object to the body. Humans braid it, shave it, grow it, cover it, powder it, decorate it, curl it, straighten it and color it.
Apparently we’ve never been entirely convinced that whatever grew out of our heads was the final version.
Ancient Egyptians used wigs, extensions and hair ornaments, and henna has been used for thousands of years to color hair, skin and nails. Across numerous African societies, hairstyles and braiding traditions developed that could communicate age, family or ethnic identity, marital status, social position and stages of life. But again, Africa isn’t one culture, and a hairstyle meaningful among one people cannot simply be assigned the same meaning somewhere else.
Hair also became part of religious tradition. For Sikhs, kesh, the keeping of uncut hair, is part of religious practice. Various Jewish and Muslim communities developed traditions of hair covering, although the customs and interpretations vary, while Christian monastic traditions developed tonsure, deliberately shaving parts of the head as an outward expression of religious life.
Many of these traditions continue. Sikh men and women practice kesh. Jewish and Muslim women in particular communities continue traditions of hair covering. Braiding traditions continue to carry cultural identity, artistry and family knowledge from one generation to another.
And then there are the rest of us, still braiding it, shaving it, extending it, coloring it, decorating it and changing it to say something about ourselves. We may not be communicating marital status or social rank with a hairstyle, but we’re still using hair as a visible expression of identity.
Apparently that part hasn’t changed much either.
Sometimes You Have to Earn What You Wear
Clothing obviously has a practical purpose. Humans need protection from cold, heat, sun, wind and the environment. But we weren’t content to leave it there. Fabric, color, pattern and construction eventually became indicators of wealth, occupation, religion, rank and community. Some societies even regulated what people were permitted to wear, with sumptuary laws restricting particular fabrics, furs, colors or styles according to social position.
Headdresses can carry even more specific meanings. The feathered war bonnet that became a generic Hollywood symbol of “the Native American” is a particularly good example of how badly a living tradition can be misunderstood when removed from its people.
There isn’t one universal Native American headdress. The familiar feathered bonnet comes from particular Plains traditions, and within those traditions feathers and headdresses can be connected with honor, leadership, accomplishment and ceremony. They aren’t simply interesting hats, and they don’t represent the hundreds of distinct Native nations and cultures across North America.
And again, we’re not talking only about the past. Regalia continues to be made and worn within Native communities today. Beadwork, feathers, jewelry, clothing and other forms of adornment may appear at powwows, ceremonies and other cultural gatherings, with meanings particular to the nation, community, family and person wearing them. Some pieces are inherited, some are made specifically for an individual, and some represent accomplishments, relationships or responsibilities.
Adornment can also be something a person has the right to wear. It may have been earned or bestowed, or it may belong to a particular role, family, clan, ceremony or community. Put the same object on someone who has no relationship to that tradition and, physically, it’s still the same object. Culturally, it may be something completely different.
We still understand this idea, even outside those particular traditions. Military medals have to be earned. Graduation regalia represents something completed. Religious garments may identify a role or office. Even something as familiar as a wedding ring isn’t simply a decorative ring once it’s placed on someone’s finger during a marriage ceremony.
The object changes because of what we’ve agreed it means.
When the Body Itself Carries the Tradition
Not all adornment is something we can take off. Tattooing, scarification and body painting have been practiced in cultures around the world for thousands of years, and some remain living traditions today.
Māori tāmoko is a particularly important example because calling it simply “tattooing” doesn’t really explain what it is. Māori brought tattooing traditions from Eastern Polynesia to Aotearoa New Zealand and developed distinctive techniques in which specialized uhi could cut grooves into the skin before pigment was applied. Facial moko became a deeply developed art form, with motifs participating in a visual language associated with identity, role and, in some contexts, genealogy and social position.
Colonialism disrupted the practice, but it didn’t erase it. During the Māori cultural and political resurgence of the twentieth century, artists and communities actively reclaimed moko as an expression of Māori identity, and tāmoko continues today as a living cultural practice.
And of course tattooing itself is everywhere now. Again, that doesn’t make somebody’s butterfly tattoo culturally equivalent to tāmoko, because it isn’t. But the human impulse to permanently mark the body with something that says this matters to me, this is who I am, this is where I belong, this is who I remember—or simply I wanted this on my body—is still very much with us.
That’s important because “ancient tradition” can make something sound dead. It can make us think we’re looking backward at something people used to do, when sometimes we’re looking at something people are still doing for many of the same reasons their ancestors did it.
The Tradition Didn’t End
And maybe this is the part that matters most when we’re talking about Living Traditions.
Some forms of adornment disappeared. Some changed so much that their original meanings are difficult to recognize. Some were interrupted by colonization, forced assimilation, religious conversion or laws that discouraged or prohibited traditional practices, and some have since been deliberately reclaimed.
But others simply continued.
People still wear adornments that identify marriage, faith, family, ancestry, achievement and community. Wedding rings are probably one of the most familiar examples. We put a particular piece of metal on a particular finger during a ceremony, and then many of us continue wearing it every day as a visible sign of that relationship. We hardly think of that as ceremonial adornment because it’s so familiar, but that’s exactly what it is.
Family jewelry does something similar. A ring, brooch, necklace, watch, signet or other piece can move through several generations, and somewhere along the way its monetary value can become almost irrelevant compared with the fact that this belonged to my mother, or my grandfather wore this, or this has been in our family for generations.
Signet rings, family and clan symbols, heraldic emblems and other inherited forms of identification have also carried lineage visibly on the body. The details and traditions vary, but the underlying idea is remarkably familiar: this object connects me with the people who came before me.
Stones and materials continue to carry meaning too. Turquoise remains culturally and spiritually significant within a number of Native communities in the American Southwest, although its meaning and use differ among nations. Jade continues to hold cultural importance in Chinese communities and among Māori, where pounamu carries its own traditions of relationship, gifting and inheritance. Religious medals, crosses, prayer beads, protective symbols and amulets are still worn around the world because the person wearing them understands them as something more than decoration.
Ceremonial adornment certainly hasn’t disappeared either. Brides and grooms across cultures still put on things they wouldn’t ordinarily wear. Religious leaders still wear garments and objects that identify their role. Military medals are still placed on the body to represent service and accomplishment. Communities still use clothing, jewelry, hair, body marking and regalia to mark rites of passage, celebrations, mourning and sacred occasions.
The meanings aren’t always identical to what they were hundreds or thousands of years ago, and they don’t have to be. A living tradition isn’t frozen. It changes because the people carrying it are alive too.
Masks Take Adornment Somewhere Else
Masks may be where the whole idea becomes even more complicated.
A ceremonial mask isn’t necessarily meant to make the wearer look more attractive, and it may not primarily be about expressing the wearer’s individual identity at all. In traditions around the world, masks have represented ancestors, animals, spirits, gods and other beings. Their meaning can depend upon who made the mask, who is permitted to wear it, when it appears, what ceremony surrounds it and what the community understands to be taking place.
Outside the tradition, we see a carved object. Inside it, something else may be happening entirely. And that may be one of the recurring problems when we look at historical adornment: we see the thing, but we don’t always see the relationship surrounding the thing.
More Than Decoration
Maybe that’s what I hadn’t really thought about when I put those earrings on.
Adornment is obviously about beauty sometimes. Human beings apparently figured out Ooh, this is pretty a very long time ago, and I’m perfectly happy to believe that was occasionally the entire reason. But across human history, the things we put on our bodies have also carried identity, ancestry, protection, spirituality, wealth, grief, marriage, adulthood, accomplishment, authority, memory and belonging.
Some traditions have survived almost continuously, some have evolved, and some have been reclaimed after people tried very hard to make them disappear. And some of the things we think of as thoroughly modern—stretched ears, septum rings, tattoos, hair extensions, elaborate braids, coloring our hair—aren’t particularly modern at all.
The meaning may have changed. The materials may have changed. The person wearing it may be doing it for a completely different reason.
But we’re still doing it.
We still put rings on fingers when people marry, wear religious symbols around our necks, pierce ears and noses, braid, shave, cover and color our hair, and dress differently for weddings, funerals and ceremonies. We inherit jewelry and keep wearing it because it belonged to somebody we loved. We wear family symbols, cultural regalia, stones and materials that carry meaning, and things that tell other people something about who we are or where we come from.
Sometimes an earring really is just an earring. But sometimes it carries a family, a belief, an accomplishment, a marriage, an ancestor, a people or a tradition with it.
And maybe the next time we stand in front of the mirror and put on a pair, it’s worth thinking about that. Because we’re not simply looking back at something humans used to do.
We’re looking at something we’re still doing.
© Rev. Tina M. Adkins