“I would love to buy myself a beautiful piece of jewelry, but…”

…and then comes the but. But it feels a bit much. Maybe I should wait for a special occasion. Maybe someone will gift it to me one day. And do I really need it?

Which is, of course, a very dangerous question. Because if we start asking whether we really need fine jewelry, the answer is probably no. In the same way that we do not technically need a new designer handbag, a weekend away, or the weekly manicure that somehow makes us feel like we have our life together.

And yet, these things matter. Not because they are necessary. But because they make us feel special. Appreciated. A little bit or a lot like self-care.

The Old Script

For a long time, gifting especially with jewelry followed a fairly familiar script. A man walked into a jewelry store, often slightly nervous, probably overthinking everything, and bought something for a woman.

An engagement ring. An anniversary gift. A birthday present. A piece of jewelry to say: I see you. I love you. This moment matters.

And please do not get me wrong. I love this script.

I am absolutely not here to start a campaign against being gifted jewelry. That would be a rather questionable business strategy and, frankly, not very romantic. This might, in fact, be a subtle message to my husband to buy me more diamonds. I can arrange a good price.

The New Script

But what I find interesting is that another script is becoming more visible. The one where a woman walks into the store herself. Or opens the website herself. And says: I want to mark this moment.

Not because someone else has chosen me. But because I chose myself.

The other day I read in the latest De Beers Diamond Report, self-purchase now represents 31 % of natural diamond demand value in the US. Gifting is still the largest channel, and bridal jewelry is of course important, but the bigger story is this: diamonds are no longer reserved for one single life event. In fact, non-bridal purchases now make up three quarters of natural diamond demand.

That means diamonds are increasingly being bought for many different kinds of moments. Romantic moments, yes. But also personal ones. A promotion. A new job. A birthday. A difficult year survived. A chapter closed. A new one started. Or simply because a woman wanted something beautiful and decided that was reason enough.

And I can relate to that, believe me. As a jewelry brand owner, I look for reasons to buy something for myself almost every day.

Buying something for yourself sounds simple. But in reality, for most of us women, it is not.

The Internal Audit

There is something surprisingly uncomfortable about buying yourself something meaningful. We can spend money on others with impressive emotional efficiency. A thoughtful birthday gift for a friend? Of course. A dinner for someone we love? Absolutely. But when it comes to ourselves, suddenly an entire internal audit starts.

One part of us checks the budget. Another part questions whether the money would be better spent on something more reasonable. Then guilt enters the room, usually uninvited. And somewhere in the back, there is that very annoying little voice asking whether we couldn’t just be happy with what we already have.

I know this feeling too well.

Even though I now work in jewelry, even though I founded a fine jewelry brand, or especially because of it, I still do the audit myself. I still understand that tiny hesitation.

That moment of thinking: Is this allowed? And maybe that is what self-purchase is really about. Not only the purchase itself.

But the moment we give ourselves permission.

To say that something mattered, even if nobody else saw it. To celebrate the woman we had to become to get here. To buy something that is not practical, not urgent, not strictly necessary – but still deeply meaningful.

Quiet Milestones Deserve to Be Celebrated

Yes, some milestones are quiet. They do not come with speeches or a room full of people clapping.

No one celebrates you for finally leaving the job you were no longer in alignment with. No one sends flowers because you rebuilt your confidence after a difficult season. And the moment you stop waiting for external validation and start trusting yourself a little more often happens silently, without anyone noticing.

Sometimes, perhaps, we want something tangible for those moments.

This is where jewelry becomes interesting to me. Not as decoration or status. But as memory. As a way of carrying our own story.

And my point is: People are buying natural diamonds to celebrate achievements, to build collections, or simply “as a treat.” It does sound small, almost frivolous. But often, there is more underneath.

For me, such a moment was years ago when I got my first leadership role heading up a small team. We went engagement ring shopping with friends, and in a room full of diamonds and jewelry, I decided I wanted to treat myself for this new position.

I probably should not be sharing this with you…but I am going to be honest, because I want to make two points out of it: I bought a pair of lab-grown studs. Looking back, while I still appreciate the gesture to myself, I do regret the lab-grown purchase and how much I overpaid, now that I know the wholesale price and the non-existent resale value…and the second point is this: the amount I spent was roughly €2,000. Looking at the market, this sits right around the upper comfort zone for many women buying jewelry for themselves. Now I ask myself: why did I not go for smaller stones, the same budget, but natural diamonds?

I think back then I underestimated how meaningful it can be to buy something for yourself that lasts, holds value, and can one day be passed on to future generations – carrying both personal meaning and lasting value. Especially when it is a natural diamond.

By now, I have realized that the beauty of a natural diamond is not only in its brilliance. It is in the fact that it was formed long before us and will exist long after us. It carries time, rarity, origin and a story that cannot simply be repeated.

And when a woman chooses such a piece for herself, the question changes. It is no longer only: Is it beautiful? It becomes: What does it stand for? Where does it come from? What moment am I marking? And what version of myself do I want to remember when I wear it?

This is also why origin matters so much to me now. Maybe I had to learn my own lesson to come to that point.

Another Kind of Self-Love

Self-purchase and self-love play in the same league. It is simply a different kind. The first is a more expressive one, maybe.

Sometimes we all just need to be reminded that we are allowed to treat ourselves, no matter how big or small the occasion. The romance of marking your own life, not only the moments society has already approved as worthy of celebration.

I kept thinking about all the moments that pass quietly:

The first job. The promotion. The bonus. The new beginning. The decision that took courage. The year that looked polished from the outside but was emotionally exhausting on the inside.

These moments may not always come with a celebration.

But maybe they deserve a marker. Something chosen with intention. Something that stays. Something that reminds us not only of what happened, but of who we were becoming when it happened.

I do not believe self-purchase means we no longer want to receive gifts. I still think being gifted something thoughtful is beautiful and romantic.

But I also believe the script change of self-purchase is something to be embraced. So maybe this is your sign to buy the jewelry, the watch or the handbag – and treat yourself.

Not hard in the “I have a lot of emails” kind of way. More hard in the “I am slowly shedding an old skin and trying to grow a new one” kind of way.

Finding a new identity, almost.

For those who are new here: last year, after spending 15 years in corporate communications for multinational companies across different parts of the world, I left corporate life behind and started my own fine jewelry company, CAREDIAMONDS. Even after almost a year of no longer being in that world, it is still part of my DNA.

The way I think. The way I structure things. The way I prepare.

And then, every now and then, old colleagues call me or send me a voice memo – you know I love that so much.

After another meeting that ended with no decision. After another restructuring conversation. After another moment where they worked incredibly hard, while someone else took the credit.

And I smile. Not because it is funny. But because I remember it so well.

The politics. The frustration. The endless meetings. The very specific kind of tiredness that comes from discussing a decision for three weeks and still not making it.

And at the same time, I feel deeply thankful for where I am standing now.

Because in many ways, I always wanted to become an entrepreneur. Maybe because I grew up around entrepreneurship. My parents had independent fashion stores and I grew up listening to conversations about buying, selling, choosing, risking, reading trends and setting them.

So when I started my first corporate job, they looked at me a little like I had done something wrong. Fair question, honestly. But the truth is, I loved many parts of corporate life. For 15 years, I was lucky enough to work in roles where I could still act like an entrepreneur for a good part of my time. Maybe 70 percent entrepreneur, 30 percent rule-follower.

I built things from scratch. I (mostly) had bosses who trusted me and gave me space. I worked with brilliant people. I learned how to think strategically, communicate clearly and get things done in environments where nothing moves unless many people agree that it should move.

So yes, I would say I was a corporate entrepreneur. Until I wasn’t anymore.

Now being a real entrepreneur feels different. Very different.

There is no system behind you. No established brand to open doors for you. No team waiting in the next meeting room. No IT department. No HR. No finance controller. No assistant. No internal announcement when you launch something new.

Just you. Your idea. Your discipline. Your fear. Your belief. Your 100 open browser tabs.

Reflections from the messy middle

I am not writing this from the mountain top, looking back with perfect clarity and a neatly packaged seven-step framework.

I am writing this from the messy middle.

The part where you have already started, but not everything is figured out. The part where some days feel exciting and aligned, and other days ask more courage from you than you expected.

So these are not lessons from someone who has it all perfectly mapped out. They are reflections from where I am right now – somewhere between who I was, what I am building, and who I am slowly becoming.

1. It takes time to own the new role

I underestimated this. I thought that once I had founded the company, built the website, created the collection and launched the brand, I would simply feel like a founder. Turns out, identity takes longer than paperwork.

It takes time to shed the old skin. To fully own this new role. To feel confident, natural and completely yourself in it.

Some days, I feel strong and clear. Other days, I feel like the new person in the room again. The one who does not know all the answers, but still has to make all the decisions. And maybe that is one of the biggest shifts.

In corporate life, not knowing the answer can be uncomfortable. As a founder, not knowing the answer is basically the job description. You still have to decide. You still have to move. You still have to trust that clarity often comes after action, not before it.

I am learning that. Slowly. Sometimes elegantly. Sometimes by not so much.

2. Wearing all the hats is exhausting and wonderful at the same time

CEO. CMO. CFO. COO. Intern. Sometimes all before lunch.

That is the reality of early-stage entrepreneurship. One moment I am thinking about brand positioning. The next I am checking invoices. Then I am reviewing designs, answering messages, packing something, writing copy, speaking to suppliers, updating the website, thinking about content, chasing production timelines and wondering why Shopify suddenly decided to test my nervous system.

It is a lot. But it is also one of the most fulfilling parts. Because I am learning every single day. Not in theory, but by doing. Sometimes by doing it badly first. But still doing it.

I have grown more in this past six month than I expected. And I appreciate that deeply. There is something powerful about realizing how much you can figure out when there is no one else to hand it to.

3. I miss the team energy

I have always been a team player.

I love being surrounded by colleagues, ideas, humour, shared energy. I love brainstorming. I love the casual conversations between meetings that somehow turn into the best ideas. I love asking someone, “Can I quickly show you something?” and getting instant feedback.

Now, a lot of that is gone.

There is no team sitting next to me. No spontaneous coffee chat. No colleague to laugh with when something goes wrong. No one to turn around to and say, “Am I overthinking this?” Although, to be fair, I still ask myself that question several times a day.

Adapting to a new way of working has been a bigger change than I expected. Not because I do not enjoy the freedom. I do. Very much.

But freedom can be quiet. And sometimes, building alone can feel lonely. But I am a solution-oriented girl, so of course I am already thinking about how to change that. Not by going back to the old structures, but by finding new ways to build around people, ideas and shared energy again. More on that soon.

4. Finding clients is harder than I assumed

There. I said it. Finding clients in the beginning is hard. Especially when you are building something in the luxury space, where desire matters, trust matters and emotional connection matters.

And what does not necessarily make it easier:

I do not just want to sell jewelry. My ambition is to build a brand.

To create a place for people who are interested in the world of diamonds, not only the finished product. People who look more closely. Who want to understand where something comes from. Why it matters. What makes it rare. What makes it meaningful.

Maybe I am an early adopter in the field of traceability. But I believe in it. So yes, I am building a brand with purpose. Not just selling jewelry.

In the beginning, your warm network carries you. Friends, former colleagues, family, people who believe in your idea, want to support you and buy from you. And that is beautiful. But at some point, that circle is exhausted.

And then comes the real work. You have to get up, become creative, become proactive and find ways to reach people who do not already know you.

And yes, of course I am doing the things. Free social media content, paid content, SEO, SEA, PR and probably all the other seven ways of finding customers that you apparently have to go through seven times before one person actually becomes a client.

A very humbling process, let me tell you.

I finally relate to the sales people I used to work with in corporate. And honestly, I have a whole new appreciation for their jobs…

Sales is still something that brings me out of my comfort zone. Because part of me keeps thinking: luxury is sold through desire, not through knocking on people’s doors. Which is true. But also not the full truth.

Because desire does not appear out of nowhere. Trust does not build itself. Visibility is not a personality trait. It is work. And sometimes very uncomfortable work.

So if you have been in business for a while and still remember what your golden key was in the beginning, I would genuinely love to hear it. Please share.

5. My network is my superpower

Here is the funny thing. I had industry relationships before I had a single client.

Maybe because I am a people person. Maybe because relationships have always been at the core of how I work. I like building long-term connections. I like understanding who is good at what. I like knowing the person behind the business.

Starting from scratch in a new industry sounded intimidating at first. But somehow, connection came naturally. Over time, one conversation led to another. One introduction opened another door.

And now, when a client asks for something specific, I know exactly who to call. Big carats. Small carats. Exceptional quality. Coloured diamonds. Special cuts. Certain origins. Very particular requests. Even rough diamonds.

And if I do not know a person, I usually know someone who knows someone. This has been one of the biggest reminders for me:

A business is not built only on strategy.
It is built on trust.
And trust is built between people.

6. Certainty comes before proof

This one is big for me. Because in the beginning, there is not always a lot of external proof.

No huge audience yet.
No long customer list yet.
No big sales numbers yet.
No established name yet.

And still, you have to believe. You have to trust the universe. You have to trust yourself, your work and your dedication before the outside world confirms it.

I do believe that desire often points us somewhere for a reason. If you feel strongly pulled towards something, it might be because some version of that future already exists. Maybe not in a perfectly planned, perfectly packaged way. But as a possibility. As a path. At least, that is what I choose to believe.

Some things that were once just notes on my vision board have already become real. By far not all of them. Not overnight. And definitely not in the perfectly linear way. But enough to remind me that things can move.

That doors can open. That people can appear. That what is meant for me may find me – as long as I keep showing up for it and give it my all.

7. Purpose-led work is the real reward

Purposeful work has always been one of my core values. I need to feel that what I spend my time on matters. That I am building something with meaning. That I have the responsibility and the freedom to shape it, drive it forward and watch it grow. This is what I have now with CAREDIAMONDS.

Not every day is a building day. Not every week feels glamorous. But the work feels like mine. And that changes everything. Because when you are building something you truly believe in, work does not feel like work in the same way.

It is still work. Let’s not romanticize it too much. But it is driven by passion, purpose and curiosity. And maybe that is what I was looking for all along.

Not an easier life. Not more freedom without responsibility. Not a perfect founder fairytale. But work that feels aligned.

Work that asks more of me, but also gives more back. A life where I get to build the thing I could not stop thinking about.

And yes, I am still shedding the old skin. This may be part of my journey from corporate to carat.

I already knew back then that, for me, it all started with the diamond. Not the ring design. Which is slightly funny, because of course I had still saved about 100+ ring designs on Pinterest. But deep down, I knew: first the stone, then the setting.

So we went to the diamond capital in Europe: Antwerp

At the time, I had no industry connections. No diamond dealers on speed dial. No little black book of trusted suppliers. Nothing. So we did what we thought was the closest thing to buying a diamond separately from a ring at a more attractive price: we walked into Vestingstraat the consumer-facing side of Antwerp’s Diamond District.

And if I am being honest, we were a little overwhelmed. The street can feel quite rough around the edges when you do not know it. It is not the romantic, softly lit jewelry experience many people imagine when they think about engagement rings. It is busy. Direct. Commercial. A little intimidating.

But we went into one of the shops and ended up spending four hours there. Four hours. The man showed us at least five different diamonds. Different qualities, different sizes, different prices. He explained the 4Cs back and forth. He encouraged us to look through the loupe. Obviously, as amateurs, we saw absolutely nothing. At least I thought I saw nothing.

Side note: Recently, when I was halfway through gemology school and finally understood what one can actually see in an SI2 diamond, I had a small moment of retrospective horror. Let’s just say: the loupe is not decorative.

But back then, I was fascinated.

The man in the shop could answer almost every question in great detail. Cut, colour, clarity, carat, certification, price differences, proportions. He knew his inventory. He knew how to sell. He knew how to explain diamonds in a way that felt accessible.

Until I asked one question.

“Where does this diamond come from?”

He answered immediately.

“I get them from local diamond traders here in Antwerp.”

And I said,

“No, I mean where does it actually come from? Which country?”

He looked puzzled. Not annoyed. Not defensive. Just genuinely puzzled. As if I had asked a question that did not quite belong in the conversation.

And that moment stayed with me.

I did not know it then, but it was a small lightbulb moment

One of those quiet questions that does not make a lot of noise at first, but somehow never fully leaves you.

Where does a diamond actually come from?

Not who sold it. Not which trading office handled it. Not where it was certified. But where did its story begin?

Years later, when I founded CAREDIAMONDS, I realized that maybe I had been trying to answer that question for myself all along.

I am one of those “go, see, share” people.

I need to see things with my own eyes. Meet the people. Walk through the places. Feel the context. A Power Point is nice. A report is useful. But for me, something becomes real when I have experienced it physically. And when I am convinced by what I have seen, I can talk about it with my whole heart.

So when I heard about a trip to Botswana, one of the major diamond producing countries, organized by House of Botswana and Renu from The Diamond Talk – I knew I wanted to go. It almost sounded too good to be true.

A four-day program with jewelers, diamond traders and industry people from around the world. A visit to Jwaneng Mine, often called the “King of Mines.” A visit to Okavango Diamond Company. Meetings with government representatives. Diamond cutting and polishing facilities. A hospital connected to the mine. And yes, even a short safari.

When we arrived in Botswana, the mine visit was the part everyone was most excited about. But before we went to the mine, we visited the diamond trading centres. And looking back, I am so glad we did.

Because one thing many people outside the industry do not realize is this: diamond trading in Botswana is not some chaotic, mysterious backroom business. It is highly structured. Highly regulated. And much more organized than many people would expect.

On the first day, we visited Okavango Diamond Company, often called ODC. It is a company owned by the government of Botswana and gives the country a direct commercial route to sell part of its diamond production independently. ODC works through an auction system and also sells directly to international customers.

Then we visited Diamond Trading Company (DTC) Botswana, a 50/50 joint venture between De Beers and the government of Botswana. This is where rough diamonds from Botswana’s and other De Beers’ major mines are sorted and valued before moving further through the global diamond pipeline.

In very simple terms: diamonds are mined in Botswana, then sorted and allocated through highly controlled channels. A portion goes to Okavango Diamond Company. Another significant part goes through De Beers’ Global Sightholder Sales, meaning a selected group of approved clients who are allowed to buy rough diamonds directly from De Beers.

So no, it is not the Wild West

It is not random people walking around with bags of diamonds, trading them for questionable things in dark corners, as certain movies have made us imagine. The reality we saw was regulated, formal and structured.

And I think that context matters.

Because when people talk about diamonds, they often jump straight to assumptions. Some of them understandable. Some of them outdated. Some shaped by movies, headlines or things we have heard over the years but never really questioned.

I was not in Botswana to romanticize anything blindly. I was there to understand.

The next day, we visited Jwaneng Mine. And honestly, it is hard to describe the scale of it until you stand there. An open pit around 500 meters deep, roughly 1,4 long kilometres wide and 2.5 kilometres long. Enormous trucks moving through the mine like tiny toys. Layers of earth opened up in front of you, showing just how much work, technology, structure and human expertise sits behind something as small as a polished diamond. It was impressive.

But what stayed with me most was not the mine itself. It was what diamonds have meant for Botswana.

Botswana’s diamond industry is still relatively young. The country gained independence in 1966, and diamonds became one of the most important drivers of its development.

We heard again and again how diamond revenues helped fund education, healthcare and infrastructure. How a natural resource, managed with long-term national interest, helped transform a country.

60 years ago Botswana had only around 10 kilometers of paved roads. Today, it has more than 32,000 kilometers of road infrastructure. Education is heavily supported. Healthcare is accessible. And we visited a hospital connected to Jwaneng Mine where people in the surrounding area receive medical care for free. I have to say, the hospital surprised me. It was warm. Calm. Human. Inviting. I have seen hospitals in Europe that felt colder and less comforting.

This is where the facts stopped being just facts.

Because when you are there, when you speak to people, when you see the infrastructure, the schools, the hospital, the pride, the professionalism, you start to understand that diamonds are not just products moving through an industry.

For many people, they are deeply connected to livelihood, progress and national identity. I know that sounds big. Maybe even a little dramatic. But it did not feel dramatic when I was there. It felt very real.

And it made me think back to that moment in Antwerp years ago.

That one question. Where does this diamond come from? At the time, I thought I was asking something simple. Now I know it is anything but simple.

Because origin is not just a geographical detail. It is not just a nice add-on for a certificate or a line on a website. Origin can change the way we understand value. It can turn a diamond from something beautiful into something meaningful. And perhaps that is what I care about most today.

I do not want to sell diamonds as anonymous objects that simply sparkle. I want to know where they come from. I want to understand the story behind them. And I want my clients to feel that their diamond is not only beautiful, but connected to something bigger than the moment of purchase.

Because yes, a diamond can surely be about love. It can be about celebration. It can be about taste, beauty, commitment, self-expression or a milestone.

But it can also carry a story of origin, people, land, infrastructure, education, healthcare and progress.

A story you can be proud to tell.

And maybe that is why the question never left me. Because sometimes the simplest questions are the ones that end up changing everything.

Where does it come from? I think we should be able to answer that.

We debate whether coffee tastes better from Ethiopia, Colombia or Brazil. Wine lovers can spend hours discussing Burgundy versus Bordeaux. Champagne is Champagne because it comes from Champagne. A rosé from Provence somehow feels different from a rosé from anywhere else. And some people even want to know where the tomatoes in their soup were grown.

Sometimes it is about quality. Sometimes it is about taste. Sometimes it is simply about the story. But origin matters.

And yet, the moment we talk about diamonds, something interesting happens. People are often willing to spend thousands – or tens of thousands – of euros on a diamond without ever asking where it came from.

I find that fascinating.

How did we become more curious about the origin of a €15 bottle of wine than the origin of a diamond that may mark one of the most important moments of our lives?

Is it because the sparkle captures all our attention? Is it because an engagement, a wedding or an anniversary makes everything around the stone feel secondary? Or have we simply never been taught that origin is something worth asking about?

Because the truth is: a diamond is not just a diamond. It has a story.

Before it was polished, brilliant and perfectly set into a piece of jewelry, it had already spent billions of years underground. It already had a story. It already had a place it called home. And those places are fascinating.

Take South Africa.

The modern diamond industry was born there after the discovery of diamonds near the Orange River in the late 1800s. What followed was one of the greatest mineral rushes in history and ultimately the rise of De Beers, a company that would shape the diamond world for generations.

Or Botswana.

Just sixty years ago, Botswana was one of the poorest countries in the world. Today, diamonds are deeply woven into the country’s development story and have helped transform it into one of Africa’s greatest economic success stories.

Then there is Namibia.

Perhaps one of the most fascinating origins of all. Millions of years ago, diamonds formed deep within the Earth’s mantle and were carried to the surface by volcanic eruptions. Over time, rivers transported them westward until they eventually reached the Atlantic Ocean. Today, they are recovered from the seabed off the country’s coast: our famous ocean diamonds.

Canada tells a different story.

Its diamond industry is relatively young, with the first major discoveries made only in the 1990s. Yet Canadian diamonds quickly became known for their traceability and transparent supply chains long before traceability became a broader industry conversation.

And then there is India.

Long before diamonds were discovered anywhere else, India was the world’s original source of diamonds. For centuries, nearly every famous diamond in history could trace its roots back to Indian soil.

The more I learn about diamonds, the more I realize that every producing country has its own chapter in the story.

And in some ways, those stories remind me of wine regions and their specific grapes.

Not because diamonds have flavours. But because they have identities.

As gemologists we can often identify clues about a diamond’s origin before it is polished. The colour of the rough crystal. The way it was formed. Its growth markings. Some of the most beautiful rough diamonds I have ever seen came from Russia’s Mir Mine, with remarkably sharp crystal faces and striking growth patterns - see below.

Canada is known for rough diamonds that often appear coated on the outside while hiding extraordinary beauty beneath the surface. Australia became legendary for producing the world’s most famous pink diamonds from the Argyle mine. Every deposit leaves its fingerprints.

We talk about origin all the time when it comes to rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Collectors often obsess over whether a ruby comes from Myanmar or Mozambique, or whether an emerald originated in Colombia or Zambia.

Yet for diamonds, we rarely have the same conversation around origin.

Why? Maybe because once diamonds are polished, many of them look surprisingly similar to the untrained eye. Maybe because consumers have never been encouraged to ask. Or perhaps because many jewelers simply do not know the answer themselves. That may sound surprising, but it is not uncommon. For decades, diamonds travelled through a global supply chain where origin information often disappeared somewhere along the way.

Today, however, things are changing.

Traceability systems are becoming more sophisticated. Technology is making it possible to follow a diamond’s journey from mine to market. There is probably an entire future Substack article hiding in that topic alone. But perhaps the bigger question is this:

Why are we not telling these stories more often?

Because they are fascinating. They create emotional connections. They give long-overdue recognition to the countries that have shaped this industry. And because they make a diamond feel even more personal.

Imagine being able to say: “The diamond in my engagement ring comes from Botswana.” Or Namibia. Or Canada. Or South Africa.

Suddenly it is not just a diamond anymore. It has a birthplace. A history. A journey. An identity. And now it becomes part of your own story.

In India, where jewelry culture runs deep, I have personally experienced how interested consumers are in provenance, craftsmanship and origin. They ask questions. They want to know more. In Europe, I feel we are only at the beginning of that curve.

I think that is a missed opportunity.

Because diamond-producing countries have incredible stories to tell. Stories every bit as rich as the vineyards of Burgundy, the Champagne houses of France or the coffee farms of Ethiopia.

The difference is that very few people have heard them yet. Maybe it is time we changed that.

Next, I will take you with me to Botswana, where I visited Jwaneng Mine – one of the most important diamond mines ever discovered – and where I saw firsthand how a diamond’s story begins.

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Not in theory. In real life.

Now my reality consists of Instagram posts I overthink, trying to make them feel personal rather than corporate, reels that are somehow supposed to please the algorithm, LinkedIn articles that feel much safer than speaking into a camera, and a growing respect for every founder who manages to show up online without looking like they are having a minor identity crisis…

To be honest, the strange thing about visibility is that from the outside, it often looks confident. From the inside especially at the beginning it can feel awkward, slow and surprisingly personal. I am building my brand CAREDIAMONDS, a fine jewelry brand focused on natural diamonds and traceable origin. I know exactly what I want the brand to stand for. But knowing what you want and getting people to actually hear it are two VERY different things.

Lately, I have been asking myself a lot of questions: How does a small brand become visible in a world full of polished influencers, endless content formats and high advertising budgets? Do you have to become louder? Do you have to dance on TikTok?

At the moment, I would say TikTok is not exactly my natural habitat. But entrepreneurship has already taught me to be careful with “never” statements, so let’s leave a very small door open. Instagram feels closer to me and the brand. It is visual, aesthetic and naturally connected to jewelry. But growing there can feel like a very hard fight. There is so much competition and so little time to explain what you actually stand for. You are supposed to be entertaining, educational, personal and beautiful – preferably within 45 seconds.

That is not always easy when your topics are diamonds, origin, traceability and trust. Some things need nuance. Some stories need space.

Then let’s talk about followers.

For me personally, it does make a difference whether I post a reel that took me three hours to create for an audience of 50 people or 500. Some people say follower count is no longer what matters and that reach is the real metric today. And maybe they are right. But if I am being honest, when I discover a new account, one of the first things I still look at is the number of followers. It creates a certain sense of trust, credibility and establishment – even if it may not actually reflect the success or quality behind the brand.

So as a founder, I would lie to say I do not care about followers at all. Of course I do. When I reached 500 followers on Instagram, I was genuinely excited. At 1,000 followers, I properly celebrated it. It feels like someone showed up for me. I still look at every one of my followers and genuinely appreciate every single one of them.

In a world where people casually talk about audiences of 100k or even millions of followers, my audience may sound small. But when you are building something from scratch, it does not feel small at all.

The irony is that I come from communication

The slightly ironic part is that I should know how all of this works. I come from a communications background. Professionally speaking, this world should feel familiar to me. For years, I worked on messaging for global companies. I wrote talking points for CEOs, video scripts for executives and strategic narratives supported by rather large budgets, experienced teams and strong brands.

And then I start my own company. Suddenly, nobody knows who I am. It feels very much like starting from zero again. I no longer write for the CEO of a well-known company. I am writing for myself. I am not briefing a PR agency to knock on journalists’ doors. I am the one knocking. Visibility feels very different when my own name, face and story are attached to it. It is one thing to understand communication from behind the scenes. It is another thing to become the person in front.

There is also this funny expectation around building a jewelry brand. People imagine beautiful stones, atelier visits, elegant appointments and sparkling behind-the-scenes moments. And yes, those moments do exist occasionally. But the everyday reality of a new founder is often much less cinematic. It is admin, planning, supplier conversations, growth strategy, website updates, spreadsheets and constantly trying to understand what actually moves the business forward instead of just diamonds and bubbles.

So it can sometimes be a challenge not only to find the right tone, but also the right visuals to share – especially if you do not want AI to completely take over your content and still keep it real.

Visibility is mostly surviving being ignored

It is not a sprint. It is a marathon. I am well aware of that logic. I know visibility does not come from one perfect post. It comes from repetition, clarity, consistency and showing up long enough for people to start connecting your name with a certain topic and brand.

Technically, visibility is not that hard. If you post every day for a year, there is a good chance you will not remain completely invisible.

Bur recognition rarely arrives dramatically. It often happens quietly, through familiarity. People start seeing your name more often. They begin to remember what you talk about, what you stand for and what kind of perspective you bring to a topic. At some point, you become part of their mental landscape around it. That is not magic. That is repetition.

But understanding that intellectually does not make the emotional part less uncomfortable. Because when you build something from scratch, there is a phase where you are speaking before people are really listening.

And that is the awkward phase.

It is posting something and hearing very little back. It is trying not to interpret silence as rejection, which sounds very mature and reasonable until it is your own post sitting there with eleven likes.

I am starting to think that the real work of becoming visible is learning how to cope with the feeling of not being heard – and eventually even accepting it as part of the journey. In my experience visibility at the beginning is mostly about surviving being ignored.

And once we get past that, it is just about getting one percent better every day. Not because it sounds nice in James Clear’s book “Atomic Habits”, but because that is how most meaningful things are built. One slightly better post. One clearer reel. One stronger article. Small improvements repeated over time.

It rarely feels impressive while you are doing it, but it compounds over time.

Nobody wants to be seen trying

Yes, there is the discomfort of being seen at the beginning. Especially when, in our own minds, we are not a beginner. We have experience. We have opinions. We have built expertise over years. But when we enter a new space, the outside world does not automatically carry over our internal résumé.

I think this is where many of us struggle. We do not compare ourselves to someone else’s first ten posts. We compare our beginning to somebody else’s year five. Their confidence. Their audience. Their polished videos. Their community that already seems to care.

Nobody really wants to be seen figuring things out in public. We want to arrive already impressive. Especially as adults and particularly if we come from professional environments, where competence was a big part of our identity - the beginner phase can often feel humiliating.

I noticed that the moment I stopped comparing myself to people who are already years ahead in their journey, visibility started feeling a little less performative and a little more personal.

Easier said than done, but probably still true: the only real advantage any of us have is being ourselves. Because only you can be number one at being you.

So maybe this is why I am here

As matter of fact I do want to become more visible. But I am still figuring out which format feels right for me and for the brand I am building. And for me, the challenge behind visibility is not only where the right audience is. It is where I can show up as myself and still feel comfortable doing it.

I want more people to understand what CAREDIAMONDS stands for. I want to talk about diamonds, entrepreneurship, growth, uncertainty and all the strange little moments that happen when you build something from scratch. But I do not want to squeeze myself into a version of social media that does not feel right for me or for the brand.

I do not have a grand conclusion yet. I am still figuring this out. But I am starting to believe that visibility is much less about becoming louder and much more about being yourself and staying present long enough to be remembered.

And perhaps this is why I am trying Substack.

Because I love writing. And I miss depth. Thoughts that are not finished after one caption. Reflections that need more than 45 seconds. I want to show up, but I do not want to perform visibility just because the internet decided that everyone now has to become a content creator.

So let’s try this.

A place I can write things the way I actually think them. A place I can share the journey while I am still in it, not only once everything looks polished from the outside.

The people we admire today probably also posted into silence once.

We just never saw that part.