The Grime And Grit Behind New York's Gold

In a rapidly changing city, New York’s old-school jewelers have weathered the storms of gentrification and rising rents. Their charm lies in their grit, resilience, and the offer of something raw and real.

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“My parents got married with a rubber band. But if you get a gift, make sure it’s gold.”


— Harold, a gold buyer and seller from the Diamond District.




New York City pawn shops have a seedy reputation, you end up there when you’re in trouble, you need a quick buck, or you watched too many old movies. As if guilty by association, even the shops selling new jewelry lining Canal Street, the Garment District, and the Diamond District have the same grittiness about them. The beauty of these shops is found in their juxtapositions, their clear decision to sell precious goods in an unprecious atmosphere. This “anti-aesthetic” is exactly why New York City jewelry shops continue to hold their own against the Bulgari’s and Merjuri’s of the world. It’s where your money goes to the product, not the calculated luxury of the place itself.


Recently, jewelry stores of this “OG” sub-genre have received a well-deserved redemption arc. In a New York that’s becoming palpably curated, Instagrammable, and honestly a bit soft, OG shops are proudly the antithesis of this in attitude and design. The humble jewelry shop has been reimagined as something other than a place of last resort. They’re earning spots in the background of Nike campaigns, feature films (most notably Uncut Gems), magazine editorials, and music videos. Aside from an OG shop’s looks, the appeal runs deeper than surface level. They’re a trusted main attraction for obtaining jewelry with a story behind it, a good deal, and a source for custom-made designs for tastemakers ranging from neighborhood locals, the hip-hop community, plus talent plucked from the depths of the entertainment industry’s A to C lists.


A good NYC jewelry shop, the kind I want to sing praises of, has flashing neon signs, a name like “Dream Gems,” laminated pictures of rappers smiling alongside the store's owners, and rows of locked glass cases with jewelry piled on top of each other. These shops are full of professionalism and splendor, albeit a kind that is a bit worn in and, at times, greasy (there are many fingerprint marks on the glass cases from overzealous customers eyeing a piece, showing trails of who came before you). Somehow, it’s still seductive.

Love for these shops exists and endures, despite competition from more gentrifying forces (in Chinatown specifically), because they aren’t perfect, because they get to the point, and because the staff (comprised of generations of family members actual or honorary) tells it to you straight. Two seconds after arriving as a customer in the Diamond District, the greeting is “Are you buying or selling?” and if you’re buying, make it fast.


Thousand-dollar chains in the windows sit pretty next to bejeweled Jesus pieces, hamsas, and dharma wheels, all under the glare of unforgiving fluorescent lighting. Some pieces are so distinct (for example, a pendant dedicated to a Destiny or a Chantelle) that they’re waiting for a hyper-specific person to snatch them up.


I expected it to be difficult to get insights out of the street hawkers and jewelers within these shops, whether it be Popular Jewelry, Avianne & Co., or Trax NYC, stores with a steady set of loyal customers and recent worldwide renown due to their social media presence (check out Trax’s Instagram reels especially). They’re known to be strictly business in a charming way. Instead, people talked… and talked a lot.

“This “anti-aesthetic” is exactly why New York City jewelry shops continue to hold their own against the Bulgari’s and Merjuri’s of the world.”

Before I walked into Popular Jewelry at 255 Canal St, I was hesitant; it was bustling inside, and it didn’t seem like the ideal time to be inquisitive–after all, there was money to be made on a Saturday morning. The faded paper signs of their illustrious clientele, including Kim Jones, Drake, and Jude Law, only added to apprehension. I got the courage after a nearby street vendor (I didn’t catch his name) selling “I <3 NY” mock license plates and keychains asked me if “I wanted to speak to the boss,” he added that she’s kind to everyone, then he opened the door and coaxed me to go in.


The boss in question is Popular Jewelry’s A$AP Eva (born Chiok Va Sam), a Chinatown icon. She gained the namesake from A$AP Rocky, a frequent customer (who featured the store in his music video for “Fukk Sleep”). The “A$AP” refers to ASAP Mob’s affinity for the store and the fact that custom orders from Eva are made “as fast as humanely possible,” according to Popular’s website. In reality, it takes a day for simpler pieces and 1-3 months for more complex concoctions. Eva wasn’t present that morning.


However, the answers started flowing while I sifted through silver hoop earrings under the wing of Helen, one of Popular’s youngest associates. She told me that every design at their store is original. Their renown started with rappers, first Cappadonna from Wu-Tang Clan, and then, as legend has it, more artists followed suit. Helen explained she’d give me a good deal because I was an early bird and one of her first customers that Saturday. Popular Jewelry is open from 9:30 am to 7 pm and has only been closed six days in its over 30 years of operation. I bought the earrings.

My next stop was in the Diamond district on 47th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues, which was surprisingly desolate that day. Still, within two minutes of walking down 6th, three people shimmied alongside me in wrinkled dress shirts and sports jackets, asking me “If I wanted to buy or sell” while making some very firm eye contact. The touts took the liberty of ushering me inside their shops with a slickness that made me consider buying a second pair of earrings within the same day.


The Diamond District is one of the oldest jewelry-focused neighborhoods in the US. Many of its early vendors were Hasidic Jewish immigrants from Central Europe who were limited to diamond trading, amongst other scant options, due to restrictions barring them from owning land or working in specific areas. They escaped persecution in the 1940s and continued their livelihoods in the US. The area gained more attention because of the Safdie brother’s 2019 film Uncut Gems, loosely inspired by the co-owner of Avianne, Izzy Aranbayev. There’s a framed portrait of Mr. Sandler outside Avianne’s window as a homage. The same anxiety-inducing urgency to secure a deal found in the film is experienced IRL; there are people outside every shop imploring you to step inside and decide quickly.


We ran into Harold, who has been working for multiple stores in the area for over a decade while admiring a crowded window display of diamond necklaces. I was interested in what he had to say about the precious metal and gem business and why he stayed in the game for so long. Harold talked about his experiences as a “Black Jewish man of Ethiopian descent,” saying, contrary to rumor, there were a lot of communities aside from Hasidic and Southeast Asian groups who had gained success and a solid reputation in the district, establishing their businesses and dedicated set of clientele.

Throughout history, the only commodity that retained consistent value is gold, mused Harold. Its preciousness moves across cultures, economic crashes, and trends. Aside from practical reasons guaranteeing gold’s value, such as durability or scarcity, its covetedness appeals to our irrational side. Human nature has an inexplicable attraction toward signifiers of power and things that shimmer. By wearing something valuable, we become treated as valuable by society at large. In a chaotic world, you can rely on precious metals more than anything else – people included. On my way out, he squeezed my shoulder for emphasis while giving me a solemn look and ended with, “My parents got married with a rubber band, but if you get a gift, make sure it’s gold.”


The certain je ne sais quoi of NYC jewelry shops is found in the urgency and spectacle of the buying experience. The contrast of such costly items in an environment that is decrepidly flashy, rough around the edges, and yet somehow familiar creates a special kind of beauty seldom found outside these establishments. It’s about the frankness of the employees and the owners who, through blood, sweat, and tears, hang on to their businesses despite soaring rent prices. It’s about these shops being open to anyone walking in, treating you like an equal, and allowing you to become the most luxe version of yourself with few questions asked.

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