Would you carry the hair of a loved one on your person?
Today, the hair that falls from our scalp lands on the floor and ends up in the trash when we do our Saturday business, if it hasn't already gone down the shower drain or been flushed down the toilet. But until recently, these same strands—ephemeral, intimate, laden with identity—could be transformed into personal treasures, crafted with precision and combined with precious materials like gold or ivory. We're talking about hair jewelry, an ancient practice that reached its zenith in the 19th century, amidst the moral and sentimental fervor of the Victorian era.
In that world where memories took on a tangible form and remembrance was passed down in lockets, hair wasn't waste: it was a domestic reliquary, a vital fragment of loved ones. But… what would lead someone to wear a necklace, brooch, or ring made from another person's hair? The answer combines love, mourning, craftsmanship, and a notion of intimacy that seems surprising to us today—and, therefore, fascinating.
Queen Victoria of England was instrumental in this trend: after the death of her husband, Prince Albert, in 1861, she initiated a very long period of public mourning that made these practices visible and socially acceptable, eventually transforming them into essential adornments for every elegant woman. One of her most cherished pieces was a small heart-shaped pendant containing a lock of Albert's hair, so precious that she stipulated that, upon her death, it should be kept in the Blue Room of Windsor Castle.
This aesthetic universe of mourning followed a strict protocol: during the first or full mourning period (one year and one day), only all-black jewelry could be worn; hair was not considered appropriate until the secondary mourning period (between six and nine months later).
These jewels, thanks to the almost immortal nature of hair, compensated for absence and evoked the physical existence of the deceased. They were a very powerful "symbolic material": an incorruptible part of the body interpreted as a fragment of immortality. They could take the form of braided bracelets or rings, large crowns, floral arrangements, flakes encapsulated in pendants, or true filigree works similar to pillowcases, in which hair replaced the thread. They often combined hair from different people and acted symbolically as a family portrait, more economical than commissioning one from a painter.
A gesture of profound intimacy
However, death wasn't always the reason for giving these items. Hair was also given among friends, family, or lovers as a symbol of affection; giving hair was a gesture of deep intimacy, a kind of "sentimental calling card." In an era before photography existed, and when resources for preserving someone's memory were scarce after death, the preservation of hair became a symbol of emotional constancy.
Over time, however, this practice declined: new ideas about hygiene, the institutionalization of death, and the popularization of photography offered other forms of remembrance. Photographs post mortemPhotographs, which depicted the deceased as if they were sleeping or integrated into a family scene, were often the last and only opportunity to preserve their image, since having a photograph was a luxury not everyone could afford, and most hadn't been able to have one taken while alive. While today we see them as macabre practices, back then they represented a way to preserve the memory of a loved one before burial. Hair jewelry wasn't a strange or chilling object, as it might seem from a present-day perspective, but rather an emotional strategy very similar to those we use today: wearing a parent's watch, keeping a scented handkerchief, or keeping the social media profile of someone who is no longer there open. All of this to cope with the same universal conflict that has accompanied us since ancient times as humanity: learning to deal with death, especially the death of someone we love.