We wrap the body in transparent plastic—an everyday material elevated to ceremonial importance.
It’s cheap, fragile, disposable—yet we drape it with reverence, as if it were sacred garb.
Over these constrictions, we wear jewelry—adornments not of submission, but of satire.
This is not mere fashion; it’s theater.
Even in binding, we choose to dazzle.
Even in performance, we inject truth.
Let the plastic suffocate, but let the spirit roar.
The stage is set. The costumes are ironic. And the players? Unapologetically alive.
Pharaoh Ring
A cylinder. No jewels. No shine. Only presence.
Cast in brass—an unprecious metal for an overstated title.
Worn not to celebrate power, but to question it.
The ring is heavy, stripped of ceremony, and yet it echoes like a crown.
It is not for rulers, but for those who remember what ruling costs.
This is not jewelry. This is a prop. This is resistance, worn on the hand.
