Bling Makes a Bid For the Big Time

"It's all about creating that larger-than-life image," says Alia Varsano, head of contemporary jewelry at Phillips de Pury, who organized the auction.

When the pieces were worn by the performers, intellectually one knew that the gems were real. Would Missy Elliott wear cubic zirconium? Of course not. But the pieces are so large and eccentric that it was sometimes difficult to believe they weren't fake. Seeing them up close, their authenticity can't be denied. And removed from the bravado of the concert stage, video set or photo shoot, they become miniature works of art exuding the humor, power or aggression of contemporary sculpture, painting or other collectibles. If there is a market for Claes Oldenburg's "Soft Toilet" or Andres Serrano's "Piss Christ," then surely there is one for a battery-powered, diamond-encrusted spinning globe pendant that reads "Killa Cam Harlem World."

By bringing hip-hop jewelry into the world of the auction house, Phillips de Pury suggests that it's worth parsing for cultural relevance. Varsano expects the auction audience to include looky-loo fans of the music as well as collectors from the United States and abroad, particularly Japan, where hip-hop has had a significant impact on the visual arts.

The jewelry elicits the same range of responses as the music, from a chuckle to open-mouthed awe to distress.

Several pieces delight in childlike silliness, such as the multicolored diamond link necklace worn by Pharrell Williams, which comes with matching upper and lower grilles. It's impossible to admire that necklace or pick up the teeth guards (mercifully disinfected) and not chuckle. This suite of jewels blends thug with comic book villain. Serious gemstones have been manipulated to convey the impishness of a wafer-candy necklace.

The turntable ring that belonged to Elliott has moving parts and looks like a prize from an extraordinary box of Cracker Jack. The same is true of the diamond-studded cassette pendant worn by Biz Markie. It could almost pass for a trinket picked up from a vendor on 125th Street, Harlem's main drag.

Success is celebrated with unembarrassed glee. The music brought the young stars awesome wealth, and they are commemorating their giddy delight in diamonds. It's a quintessential expression of new money: bigger, flashier and, most important to hip-hop, personal.

These performers didn't thrill at purchasing the largest, most flawless single diamond in the display case or buying an acclaimed piece of jewelry that belonged to someone else. The performer and the jeweler worked together to create something unique that spoke to the performer's personality and worldview. Hip-hop's practitioners focus on making money, but they're equally obsessed with standing out. One could almost guess that the black Jesus pendant with decorative diamonds would belong to Kanye West, whose relationship with God is woven throughout his work.

In a few cases, the pieces themselves are not especially dynamic. The gold and diamond M.O.B. ring that belonged to Shakur, for instance, does not have much sparkle. The design is mundane. It resembles something that might have come from a mid-priced jeweler like Kay or Zales. But it's among the most memorable pieces in the auction. Its importance? The initials, which stand for "Member of Bloods." Or "Money Over . . . [rhymes with witches]." Varsano notes that the ring was given to Shakur by Suge Knight when the rapper signed with Death Row Records. It's the "pact-with-the-devil ring," symbolic of that violence-filled relationship.

The ring speaks to a particular chapter in hip-hop's evolution and reflects the violent world out of which one genre of rap -- gangsta -- was born. It stirs up images of the dark side of hip-hop: the politics, the rivalry, the blood sport. As a cultural artifact, the ring connects hip-hop to the American tradition of wealth gained through illicit means, methods that have been mythologized and, over time, romanticized. The ring places hip-hop into the context of bootleggers, mob bosses, corporate raiders, "The Godfather," "The Sopranos" and "Wall Street."

Hip-hop upended the prevailing social hierarchy by creating millionaires and moguls who brought a new aesthetic into fashion, into the corporate corner office and to the Hamptons. The auction illustrates that change with a diamond star pendant that hangs from a chain also set with diamonds, each more than one carat. Jay-Z wore the pendant when he was photographed for the cover of L'Uomo Vogue, says Varsano.

The performers' tastes have also influenced the contemporary jewelry market, Varsano argues. Is the trend of giant pendant necklaces for women traceable to that "Crunk Ain't Dead" pendant, which was made by Jason Arasheben, better known as Jason of Beverly Hills? Or is the desire of seemingly every teenage boy to have a M&M-size stud in his ear a direct result of performers like 50 Cent? Perhaps so.

Yet even as men such as Sean Combs and Shawn "Jay-Z" Carter move up the corporate ladder, their style has become more understated. They have transformed into fancy-suit-wearing bigwigs -- the jewelry left for the cameras, for when they need to restate their performing credibility.

Their hip-hop jewelry remains an outsider's proclamation of wealth and status. Most likely, it will never become as unremarkable as a pair of expensive cufflinks or a saucer-size Panerai watch. There's still something inelegant about the jewelry, something self-involved. Through its flamboyance, it makes a relentless, bragging announcement of success. It will not shut up.

It keeps reminding us that while we might like to define the American success story as primarily about family, health and community, the truth is that an essential part of that dream is the competition to accumulate the biggest pile of dough.