This article is taken from the August-September 2025 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Right now we’re offering five issues for just £25.
Have we always needed talismans? Why, yes, reader, we have. Until recently, the earliest known expression of this craving wasn’t even human, but Neanderthal: beads crafted from bijou seashells dating from 115,000 years back, discovered in a Spanish cave.
Then, lo, something similar cropped up in the Moroccan desert that was the work of homo sap and put at between 142,000 and 150,000 years ago. Conclusion: rocks are, like, totally our rocks — always have been, always will be.
The contemporary incarnation of this urge is the #neckmess: a faux insouciant assembly of danglers to convey one’s state of being. Consider it a bauble-based means of addressing the questions: who am I? who was I? who might I become? — and what coruscating witchery will it take to get me there?
Besides, come summer, the real estate that is one’s exposed bosom sits waiting to be filled — the décolleté allowing a contained nod to the boho trend without going full earth mother.
Clearly, one will be amassing said trinkets over a lifetime. But what if one wants to fast-track the process without succumbing to bankruptcy: ready-made heirlooms, instant treasures? The answer is via the diamond dolls that are Kirstie Le Marque.
KLM was set up in 2017 over a kitchen table, its name an amalgam of founders Kirstie Beecroft and Claire Le Marquand. The pair bonded over vintage bijoux, before realising that the jewels of their dreams could be created at an affordable price if they used pavé diamonds — minuscule stones set winningly together — which they source from a family firm in Jaipur. “Happy diamonds”, as Kirstie puts it, rather than the utterly sad blood variety.
I ran across Kirstie at the Royal Opera House as we were rocking the same frock. (Do not for one moment imagine that this column doesn’t involve investigative reporting.) Immediately, I swooned over her Diamond Crystal Ball Necklace (from £325, kirstielemarque.com).
“Thanks,” said Kirst. “I made it.” Obviously, I arranged to crash her studio on your behalves. Although, in fact, anyone can do this, KLM positively encouraging appointment-booking for those seeking to curate their own totemic neck, ear and wrist zones.
The girls feared that lockdown might finish them; instead they sold up a storm, all of us looking for amulets to cling to. These days, the brand is available at Liberty, Dover Street Market and sundry Bamford outlets, in addition to online.
The breakaway pop hits are stars (from £75), angel wings (from £395) and — of late — KLM’s beachtastic, diamond-scaled fish (from £325). Their designs have been much copied, and by some shamefully prominent designers. Still, in the flesh/metal, one is struck — indeed, moved — by their sheer, scintillating beauty, not a quality that can be reproduced.
Pagan that I am, St Christophers are a no. I had imagined I would be drawn to a twinkling KLM egg (from £525). In fact, the Diamond Good Fortune Locket (£450) proved irresistible, an exquisite, gold-plated oval with a pavé star, bedecked by an emerald and a constellation of rubies. Once on, I couldn’t take it off.
Curiously, having been repelled by the new-ageiness of the thinking behind the Angie Smith X KLM Diamond Intention Setter Choker (£475), I became besotted IRL, even if I have to think of it as a “pledge jewel”.
A horizontal, diamond-adorned gold capsule, it unscrews to reveal a scroll on which one can write a promise, a name, a spell. Finally, naturally, I required a crystal ball for full Dr Dee mojo. The reaction from all who have viewed them: hysterical collective adulation.
KLM rockage is designed to lend necessary glamour to daily existence. If your piece eventually loses its lustre, it can be restored using the KLM Sparkle Service (£80). Whilst the question “Gold or silver?” should be answered, “Gold and silver!”
I sport my KLM edit on its own, with pearls, rubies, my beloved Hoops & Chains Cunt Chain (£35, hoopsandchains.com), and/or with a £2.99 diamanté B necklace acquired on Vinted.
Betts summer #neckcandy also includes a Venus Pearl Trap Crossbody Phone Strap by String Ting (£90, stringting.com) that leaves my pearl-festooned mobile dangling in my crotch Elizabeth I-style. I have a Moderne Monocle (£59, modmonocle.com), aka my “meno monocle,” a midlife reading-aid that can be fished out of my bosom in place of specs. Whilst I yearn for an (alas, sold-out) Anya Hindmarch Priority Baggage Travel Phone Case with Lanyard (£295, anyahindmarch.com). For, if I am nothing else in this world, I am a priority baggage. Happy hols.
