8th Wonder of the World

It was one of those times as a groom -- strike that, as a man -- when you knew instinctively that this had nothing to do with you. That nothing about today made it your day.

(And I imagine, in many ways, it was good practice for October 2nd.)

And the jeweler knew it, too. He set the black velvet ring box on the glass display case while 2E's was still recovering from the sight of her own band, sliding it toward me with an air of, Oh, and here's yours buddy. He'd been in the business long enough to know how this goes.

2E's band had been customized to fit the curve of her cocktail engagement ring, and she marveled at the precision of the arch. The Great Pyramid of Giza was constructed over a 20-year-period with the blood, sweat and tears of hundreds of thousands of Egyptians, but this had taken four days and the hands of one jewelsmith and goddamnit it was just as impressive.

We met the man behind the bend in the ring. He was a nameless man, dark-haired, 5'8" perhaps, with a gap in his teeth and a glowing aura about him. This man had inspired the tears of millions of brides and brides-to-be. This man could break hearts. Despite the whole missing teeth and broken English thing.

My band, on the other hand, came directly from the purchase catalog -- a simple, 14-carat white gold twist-on, thicker and heavier and shinier than I'd expected but, otherwise, a perfect replica of the one I'd seen in-store the week prior. It suited me perfectly, me being someone who's idea of everyday jewelry is a LiveStrong band.

 (clockwise from left) 2E's three-prong engagement ring, the 8th Wonder of the Wold, and mine

The band will certainly take some getting used to. I spent a good ten minutes in the store, striking quotidian poses (the "lean against a counter" pose, the "boy my nails are long" pose, etc.) and never felt entirely comfortable. But the shine will fade, they say, and the gold will yellow, and after October 2nd, my band will as mean as much to me as it does to her.

Hell, I bet that damn pyramid took some getting used to, too. 

You are not Lord of the Rings. You aren't Lord of anything, really.

You may be the exception. You may be that groom who actually cares about wedding rings. If that's the case, you may not find this at all helpful. If you're the groom who has browsed, bookmarked and memorized New York Magazine's Who's Who of Manhattan Jewelers, then this post may not be for you.

Rather, this post is for those men who would consider purchasing their wedding band out of the back of a van before considering Van Cleef & Arpels.

"No, I like it, I do ... I just think it sends the wrong message..."

Gentlemen: Let's start simple.

You won't be buying your bands out of the back of a van
The fruit might be alright (edible, even), but you should accept the fact that this purchase will be made with a retailer. Of wedding bands. Not fruit.

Best supporting actor
The common misconception about wedding bands is that this is a dual decision. But like that other common misconception -- that your opinion matters -- this is simply untrue. Think of your band as the appetizer to her main course ... the Pluto to her Saturn ... the boutonniere to her bouquet. You will very likely choose your ring months before she decides on hers. And yes, you'll still be responsible for accompanying her even after you've made your decision. Bring a light sandwich and cue the moral support music.

Playing the field
2E's and I have visited two jewelers thus far: one in the hectic diamond district in Downtown LA, and another in a high-rise in Beverly Hills. In both instances, I made my selections quickly and easily, tapping the display case and saying,

"Um, I like the really plain one. No -- the even more plain one right next to -- Yes, that one."

Meanwhile, 2E's had pared them down to perhaps 5 or 6 top picks at both locations, all in a moderate price range. But it's no matter. We're currently on a break from the wedding band hunt. Things got awkward. Things were said that weren't ... well, we're moving past it.

Staying calm
Be prepared for the unfamiliar, gentlemen. Words will be tossed around -- words like "pavé" and "beveled" and "appraise" -- words that they've ripped straight from the pages of Jane Austen novels. You'll be asked to differentiate Tungsten and Platinum. Don't be fooled. They are EXACTLY the same. They may even ask if you know your ring size. For god's sake, you don't even know your shoe size.

The key is to stay calm. Squeeze your 2E's hand and she'll cover you. She'll cut in with, "He's probably an 8," or, "He may actually prefer the white gold."

And when she does, the best response (as always) is a nod, followed by a smile.