“Is This Too Grown-Up For Me?” — A Dialogue on Permission, Symbols, and the Fear of Getting It Wrong
You see it online, or in a quiet corner of a shop. It’s not like the other jewelry you own—the fun, colorful, obviously ‘teen’ stuff. This one is… quieter. More deliberate. The lines are clean, the stone is a deep, serious blue. You feel a pull towards it, an immediate sense of “I like that.” And then, almost instantly, the second thought: But is it for me?
The hesitation isn’t about money, not really. It’s about something vaguer, harder to name. A question of fit, of authenticity. A fear of putting on a costume that doesn’t belong to you yet. Of being seen as trying too hard, or worse, of seeing yourself that way in the mirror.
This dialogue lives in that space. Not to give you an answer, but to sit with the question.
Is it the marketers who define ‘teen’ as bright, trendy, and temporary? Is it the well-meaning relative who still buys you cartoon-themed socks? Or is it the subtle pressure of peers, where wearing something ‘meaningful’ might feel too vulnerable, too earnest in a culture that prizes irony?
The earring doesn’t know how old you are. The geometry doesn’t care. The lapis lazuli was formed millions of years before the concept of ‘adolescence’ was invented. The question of appropriateness is a human one, layered over the object. It’s worth asking where that layer came from, and if you want to be the one who keeps it there.
Perhaps the hesitation is less about the object being “too grown-up,” and more about a fear of claiming a kind of quiet, self-aware maturity that you’re not sure you’ve earned. But what if wearing it isn’t about claiming you’ve arrived? What if it’s about acknowledging the journey itself—the fact that you’re thinking about these things at all?
There’s a worry that if you wear a geometric shape, or a stone with history, you should be able to recite its “meaning.” That you’re a fraud if you just like how it looks and how it makes you feel. But when did appreciation require a thesis?
Maybe the initial draw—the clean line, the cool weight, the deep blue that somehow feels calming—is the most honest part. The intellectual meaning can come later, or not at all. The relationship with the object can be intuitive first. You can grow into the understanding, just as you might grow into the feeling it gives you.
Wearing it could be the beginning of the understanding, not the final exam after it.
The Object in Question
The Geometric Drop Earrings with Lapis Lazuli exist in this space of quiet intention. They are not loud declarations, but subtle propositions. They ask, gently, if you’re ready for a companion that speaks in forms and depths rather than words and trends.
View the Jewelry Piece →Is it that people will think you’re pretentious? Or is it that you’re afraid you might be pretending—to be more sure, more centered, more “together” than you feel? This is the tender spot. The object, with its clean lines and deep blue, projects a certain composed clarity. It’s okay if you feel that’s an aspiration, not a current reality.
What if wearing it isn’t misrepresentation, but a form of gentle encouragement? A small, physical nudge towards that inner state. A reminder that clarity and depth are possibilities within you, even on days they feel out of reach.
The fear is real. But it might be pointing not to a mistake, but to a genuine desire: the desire to be someone who values substance, who seeks quiet anchors, who is in the process of becoming more themselves.
So the question hangs there. “Is this too grown-up for me?”
Maybe flip it. Not “Am I enough for this?” but “Does this feel like it companions a part of me that’s already there, even if it’s just a seedling?”
Try it on. Feel the cool metal, the surprising weight of the stone. Look in the mirror. Don’t look for a “grown-up.” Look for a flicker of recognition. Does it feel like a foreign costume, or like a piece of a language you’re just beginning to learn how to speak?
There’s no test to pass. No authority to grant permission except the one you’re slowly, quietly, learning to become. The hesitation itself is a sign of respect—for the object, and for the significance of the step you’re considering. That’s not a reason to stop. It might be the very reason to lean in, gently, and see what the silence of a blue stone and a clean line has to say to you, over time.




