The classic pearl necklace was a Barbara Bush staple. New designs, and freshwater varieties, are making the look anything but stuffy.
3 min
It takes marine pearls about two years to develop in their shells. It took Bonnie Fraker about two seconds to declare why she wouldn’t wear them around her neck. “A pearl necklace makes me look dated,” said the retired Manhattan teacher, 73. “Perhaps there’s such a thing as ‘too classic.’”
Still, pearls persist. Ask Leigh Batnick Plessner, chief creative officer at Catbird, the Brooklyn fine-jewellery label that counts Meghan Markle and Taylor Swift as fans. “Pearl necklaces are still in demand,” she said. “But the appetite has really changed from traditional necklaces to more surprising takes.”
The traditional strand has long signified opulence and power. Julius Caesar commanded that only aristocrats could wear the gem during his reign. Figures as diverse as Marie Antoinette and the Yongzheng Emperor of the Qing Dynasty coveted the strands. In the 20th century, stateswomen like Queen Elizabeth II and Mamie Eisenhower wore them to official events. By the 1980s, punks paired pearls with their spiked collars to subvert yuppie style. Still, pearls were most associated with formidable women like Margaret Thatcher and Barbara Bush, along with the preppy clique in the 1988 film “Heathers.”
Instead of stringing the old-school pearl necklace along, many of today’s brands make pearl chokers, sometimes with smaller “baby” pearls that sit at mid-neck instead of resting on clavicles. Dior’s Couture runway in Paris featured pearl chokers; California designer Sophie Buhai makes hers with a black satin-cotton cord and single central pearl. The style “looks more modern,” said June Ambrose, a creative director and costume designer for stars like Mary J. Blige and Ciara. Ambrose wears pearls from both thrift stores and Valentino.
Also popular: freshwater pearls, uniquely shaped instead of uniformly round. Once considered the messy stepsister of marine pearls, the gems look like smeared blobs of ivory glitter—in other words, odd enough for the fashion world to swoon. “I like the individualism of them,” said Simone Rocha, the designer whose recent couture line for Jean Paul Gaultier included gowns that subbed in strands of iridescent baroque pearls for typical satin straps. Off the runway, some women flaunt them as a way to look sophisticated but not uptight. “They feel a bit more rebellious,” noted Taffy Msipa, 28, an interior creative director in Bath, U.K., who wears her Monica Vinader freshwater pearl necklace with slouchy suits. “I like how they let me look elegant, but elegant in my way.”
There’s also the “half-and-half,” an industry term for a necklace that’s half pearls and half something else. On the recent Cannes red carpet, actress Michelle Yeoh, 69, wore Mikimoto’s version with cultured pearls on one side and a spray of diamonds, inlaid with white gold, on the other.
After Yeoh’s appearance, Instagram fans lauded the look with comments like “Not your grandmama’s pearls!” and “weird but amazing,” while searches for “half and half necklace” spiked 30% on Google Trends. A gold-and-pearl version of the style popped up in the “Mean Girls” movie remake, while pop star Dua Lipa has sported Vivienne Westwood’s pearl-and-rhinestone collar.
Don’t want to part with your classic strand of marine pearls? Dallas-based therapist Katie-Beth Crumrine, 23, had her vintage double-loop necklace shortened to a collar-length one. She wears it with linen Madewell tops and jeans. “It helps elevate my look,” she said. “But isn’t snobby.” Mixing pearls with casual pieces like ceramic beads can also keep them current. Meanwhile, the creative director Ambrose tells famous clientele to pair pearls with minimal makeup, because “a pearl necklace and a bare face is chic; a pearl necklace, a full face of makeup and a red lip is really trying.”
Some modern pearl looks eschew necks altogether. See the pearl-strung friendship bracelets by Vinader, and Rocha’s irregular pearl earrings. (“I like it when they’re kind of odd and not matching,” she said.) According to jewellery designer Plessner, varied interpretations have become the point. “Pearls are kind of like a Rorschach test for your fashion personality,” she explained. “You want to be weird or ethereal or powerful? There’s a pearl look for that.”
“They’re more classy than old-fashioned. They remind me of Jackie O. But would I wear them right now? No. Maybe when I’m older.” —Brittany Bower, 29, Hospital Nurse
“No! I wear my pearls a lot, actually. I really like the weight of how they feel on my neck.” —Tara Rubin, 69, Casting Director
“Yes, but in a nice way. They remind me of my great grandmother, Nita. She used to wear them. She used to let me play with them, which I loved. I don’t think I’d wear them now, though.” —Sydney Willard, 29, Barista
“Nothing’s old-fashioned in 2024! I would wear pearls today, but, like, with a sweatshirt.” —Asia Harris, 24, Student
“I used to think they were kind of old-fashioned, like in ‘The Crown’, and then I started wearing them to the gym with a black workout tank. I have never felt more like a cool New York girl.” —Tara Strahl, 42, Library Consultant
Copyright 2020, Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved Worldwide. LEARN MORE
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Randy Boyagoda’s new novel, “Lords of Serendipity,” delivers a biting satire of cheating, politics and dysfunction across modern universities.
5 min
Administrative cowardice. Rampant cheating. The soaking and scamming of undergrads and grad students. Performative wokeism. Intensifying competition for international tuition dollars from an expansive China.
These are either the latest dire headlines about American higher ed or the myriad subplots of “Lords of Serendipity,” an ambitious new novel by Randy Boyagoda. Unlike most campus fiction, its scope extends well beyond the cloister of the liberal arts classroom to whammy the entire university system, from its financial model to its function within a globalized economy. Along the way, it skewers its lightning-rod targets with a precision too sharp to be considered entirely fictional.
That its author is not only well-versed in satire, having written four other novels in the genre, but is also a professor of English at the University of Toronto and an experienced college administrator, further blurs the lines between comic fiction and brutal fact. It’s the kind of no-holds-barred book only a consummate insider would know to write—but only one who is also conveniently outside the American university system could get away with writing.
“This is someone who’s got the inside dope on what can go on at universities, especially with international students, and what kind of con games are going on,” said Margaret Atwood, a friend and fellow Torontonian.
The novel, like Boyagoda himself, is often very funny—even as the dilemmas its characters face read as tragedy. Its cast includes the bickering members of a Sri Lankan hotel cleaner’s family, insecure American freshmen, dead-end third-tier college professors and their highflying Ivy League counterparts and dispirited university functionaries. An old-fashioned Dickensian tale, it sweeps across continents and campuses, from a classic liberal-arts college to a stand-in for Harvard University to an urban technical school to the dilapidated buildings of a state-run university in Sri Lanka.
“I’m a joyful person,” Boyagoda said in an interview, though he prefers to see his outlook on academia as “hopeful” rather than optimistic. He smiles and laughs frequently. He bikes everywhere. He derives energy from his students and from his four daughters, ages 14 to 20. They help him and his American wife, Anna, also an educator, care for Boyagoda’s father, an immigrant from Sri Lanka who has dementia and lives with the family.
The germ of the novel came to Boyagoda during the pandemic, when he was serving as a vice-dean. An urban legend was circulating about a statistics grad student selling passing grades to international students. The cheating scheme itself may well have been apocryphal, but it felt tantalizingly plausible.
“As a novelist, it stayed with me,” Boyagoda said. “Who would sell grades for a stats course? Why would someone buy grades? What’s motivating them? Why wouldn’t the university be doing something about it?” What he didn’t want to do, he explained, was write “another novel about a creative writing professor and his drama with students.”
In addition to writing novels—the first of which was a finalist for Canada’s prestigious Giller Prize; he’s written eight books in total—Boyagoda teaches literature full-time. For his students next semester, kids raised in a purportedly “post-literature era,” he’s assigning three 700-page novels, he noted mischievously, books by George Eliot, Ralph Ellison and Kiran Desai.
On RateMyProfessors, students remark on Boyagoda’s heavy assignments, tough grading and distaste for cellphones, but also hail his “comedy.” When alerted to these reviews, Boyagoda laughed. “Guilty as charged,” he said.
“Randy’s one of those people in academia who is very well educated but doesn’t have an ounce of superiority about him,” said John Irving, who frequently guest lectures in Boyagoda’s classroom. “It’s amazing to see how willing students are to talk in his classrooms, how little afraid they feel of being mocked or put down—he gets complete candor out of them.”
Negotiating competing interests seems to come naturally to him. Like many college campuses, after the Oct. 7 Hamas attack on Israel, the University of Toronto was embroiled in protests, encampments and discord; part of the school’s response was to convene a working group on civil discourse. Boyagoda was put in charge, serving for two years. It’s the kind of thankless task many professors would flee from, but Boyagoda relished the prospect and thinks the group, which is ongoing, made progress.
He has since pivoted to another formidable academic concern: the waning prestige of the humanities. In July, Boyagoda became the director of the Jackman Humanities Institute and special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science. This fall, he is starting a series of gatherings he calls the Dead Book Club. (Dead writers feature heavily among his favorites: St. Augustine, Dante, William Faulkner, Evelyn Waugh, Saul Bellow.)
“The goal is to encourage students to read for its own sake and have conversation for its own sake,” Boyagoda said. “The importance of the humanities will be revealed to those who participate.”
“Lords of Serendipity,” which publishes next week, reflects Boyagoda’s commitment to the pursuit of knowledge: “I’m supposed to say I learn more from my students than they do from me, but no,” Boyagoda said. “I enjoy sharing my excitement and joy about literature and ideas. There are these moments when you are teaching and you can see someone’s face change because they didn’t know something and then they did. That moment when you’re actually watch someone enlarge themselves is deeply satisfying.”
In literary circles, Boyagoda is often referred to as a Catholic novelist, a description he embraces. “A novelist willing to give shape and voice to contemporary religious experience is needed,” Boyagoda said. “I understand myself as a Catholic novelist, provided that I’m not only a Catholic novelist, I’m also a South Asian novelist and I’m a Canadian novelist. I don’t want to be captive to one label.”
His characters, he said, are subjected to what he calls “Graham Greene character situations.”
“They are trying to do good in a fallen world and realize the most they can do is less harm than someone else would do in that same role,” he explained. “They have to accept they are complicit in something that provides some good thing to others. It’s a very Graham Greene way of thinking about sacrifice.”
The campus green they inhabit is a febrile zone in which lofty ideals and cynicism regularly collide. It’s a place where a traditional holiday college celebration is now an occasion for political protest. Kids freely police one another inside and out of the classroom with social media their constant, ready weapon of choice. International students, knowing their family’s financial futures hinge on their degrees, operate in terror of failure and deportation.
Early readers of the book include Gary Shteyngart and Junot Diaz, both of whom have taught at universities and written comic novels. They each contacted Boyagoda midway through to say, in essence, “You nailed it.”
As biting as “Lords of Serendipity” can be, Boyagoda’s faith in higher education remains undaunted.
“It’s absurd that we live in societies that make the decision to take people between the ages of 18 and 22, when they are most physically capable of contributing to our nations and communities, and tell them, ‘Go away for four years, and read and learn and have conversations,’” he said. “I want students to be aware of what an incredible privilege that is.”
Corrections & Amplifications
Randy Boyagoda is a special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science at the University of Toronto. An earlier version of this article incorrectly said he is a special adviser to the dean of humanities. (Corrected on Sept. 2)
