Anyone familiar with Madonna’s trademark look of the early and mid-80s, all drenched with rubber bracelets and crucifixes as it was is also unwittingly familiar with the artistry of Maripol. As the French-American’s unique eye found its talent as an art director for Fiorucci at the beginning of the 80s, her knack for style soon intertwined quite seamlessly with the downtown culture of New York at the time, leading her to collaborate with fellow Madonna favorites Keith Haring (making a documentary called Crack is whack) and Jean-Michel Basquiat (helping to produce the now immortal Downtown 81). But it was always Madonna that provided her with her primary focus for muse.
As Madonna’s star rose, especially around the time of 1985’s The Virgin Tour, with it came the desire for her fans to dress like her–hence the coining of the term “wannabe.” This phenomenon proved quite lucrative for Maripol, who built an entire business off of re-selling what she had styled for Madonna. The problem, of course, was that Madonna would quickly become known for shedding her identities as easily as last season’s couture. Some would even say that Madonna was responsible for ruining Maripol. But then, every Leo must move on–it’s just who they are. While Maripol was later to cash in on the nostalgia trend that made the 80s shiny and new again (selling her collection of jewelry and tees in Marc by Marc Jacobs stores circa 2010), her brand would still never quite recover once Madonna changed faces.
The same is likely not to be said of Lana Bramlette, whose jewelry company was already thriving off of celebrity love before Madonna turned to her to custom design the necklace you’ll see her wearing most every day on Instagram. The tailored nameplate, which reads the word that her adopted children, Estere, Stella, Mercy and David, call her–MAMBO– in lieu of “Mom” is something Madonna clearly takes pride in. For as she has said, “mothering fulfills a need in me to be mothered.” Sure, it’s kind of a narcissistic statement, but, in truth, motherhood is a narcissistic act: creating a copy of yourself–an assured “legacy” (unless, of course your loin fruit turns out to be rotten, and then you just pretend it didn’t happen, like all unpleasant things).
Bramlette’s start in the custom jewelry making industry–a very lucrative world when you manage to attract that coveted celebrity desire–began in 2002, when Bramlette herself was looking for the perfect pair of gold hoops to buy with her paycheck. Perhaps her first error was looking for them in department stores–the most notorious source for tickety tack jewelry that might as well be sold at Claire’s. No matter, she was destined to make her own anyway. And with the birth of Lana Jewelry, the Fred Segal store eventually took notice (much to Cher Horowitz’ delight) and began selling it. From there, it was just a steamroll to success, with the brand getting picked up at other luxury stores like Saks Fifth Avenue and Neiman Marcus, and then garnering attention from Kate Hudson, Drew Barrymore and Cameron Diaz the same season the first collection of jewelry was debuted. Thus, a solid celebrity clientele not contingent solely upon Madonna as Maripol was.
Despite the transcendence into indie jewelry juggernaut, forever, like Madonna, a Midwestern girl, Bramlette continues to make her creations out of Chicago, the Windy City that blows in all her cash flow. Even all the way from Mambo herself in Portugal. And as Bramlette has stated, “I want to give my clients pieces to wear that make them feel good about themselves and that express their values.” So it is that Madonna expresses the value she places on motherhood. Now if only we could get Maripol a Bramlette ending to her own narrative of jewelry making.
