Glenn Spiro takes us inside the rarified world of extraordinary gemstones and reveals how trusting his instinct and following his passion have paid off
Words by Juliet Herd
To meet Glenn Spiro, jeweller extraordinaire, is rather like being granted an audience with a bona fide old-fashioned movie star. He certainly looks the part; tanned and trim, he’s as light on his feet as a Fred Astaire and as debonair as a Cary Grant in his tailored grey trousers and black polo neck sweater.
He is on the phone when MilliOnAir is ushered into his suitably sumptuous, chandeliered office in his glass and mirror-lined Mayfair atelier, once the domain of legendary fashion designer Norman Hartnell. It’s like stepping into another era – when style, good taste and enduring quality were what counted. It’s no surprise to learn that this elegant space is where the late Queen was fitted by Hartnell for her wedding dress and coronation robe.
With its high ceilings and original architectural features, the room is the perfect showcase for Spiro’s collection of antique Cartier silverware and eclectic artwork and furniture, including a vintage Wurlitzer jukebox he picked up in Dallas and, in true fashion, promptly upgraded in the most luxe of materials, lapis lazuli and malachite. “I just pootle around; like Steptoe and Son, I keep buying,” he jokes.
Client call finished, Spiro, 62, takes a seat behind his beautifully restored 1940s burl wood desk and announces that he hasn’t read the list of questions sent to him in advance. It’s more honest that way,” he declares, an observation that even his PR, present for our interview, admits is refreshing.
As he, himself, says, he prefers to “shoot from the hip”, which he then proceeds to do for the next hour or so as he takes us on a rollercoaster journey through his colourful and unconventional career.
Spiro’s eponymous brand, known simply as G, is considered one of the most sought-after private high jewellery houses in the world, quietly patronised by discerning international collectors for its one-of-a-kind pieces, crafted from rare and exquisite gemstones. A natural innovator, he often combines unusual materials, such as titanium and carbon, with timeless precious and semi-precious gems to create unexpected, cutting-edge designs. He only makes something when he finds the right stones.
Apart from the flagship by-appointment London atelier, there are now satellite salons in Los Angeles and Saint Tropez, and a new permanent boutique in Saint Barthelemy. Spiro’s work can also be found in the Victoria & Albert Museum – his iconic Papillon ring, featuring titanium wings encrusted with green tsavorites, was donated to the museum by one of his most famous clients, singer Beyoncé, in 2018. “It’s very nice to see my little ring in the V&A,” he quips.
For the jeweller, “it is, and always has been, about the stones”, sourced from around the world and chosen for their character and history. He specialises in “old stones”, with some dating as far back as ancient Mesopotamia. His extraordinary “Materials of the Old World” collection includes such audacious and dazzling pieces as the G Cuff, featuring a Tibetan Dzi bead, made of agate and once prized as a protective amulet, and a pair of earrings crafted from ancient Bactrian flat square beaded agate tiles from the 2nd and 3rd millennium. Another highlight is a turquoise and diamond pendant set with 3000-year-old Egyptian ceramics.
Although he’s not superstitious or into New Age mysticism, he admits to an almost cosmic connection with his esoteric gems. “Some stones have good energy and some don’t,” he says simply. “Some stones come in and you go, ‘It’s not a happy stone’. I’m not really into crystals and stuff but in a weird way, these are grown-up crystals that have good energy, and when you open a box and see one, you think: ‘Woah, they have a story’. There is something sexy about that as well; their journey and how they end up on my desk.” He tells the story of a beautiful brooch he once bought and instinctively held on to, even though he didn’t know its provenance. “I loved it and didn’t want to sell it,” he says. After some sleuthing in the archives at Christie’s years later, he discovered the piece had been designed by Queen Mary and had once been part of her private collection.
“I would have liked to have gone into entertainment in some manner. I love that world, it’s cool and fun and interesting but I chose the art world and it’s given me a lifelong career”
Spiro didn’t set out to become a jewellery designer. As he puts it, “I started off to get a job, which happened to be in the jewellery business, to put a few dollars in my bank so I could buy things.” “Without blowing my own trumpet, I think I could have gone into anything and done okay,” he continues. “I would have liked to have gone into entertainment in some manner. I love that world, it’s cool and fun and interesting, but I chose the art world, and I can’t be anything but respectful and honourable about it because it’s given me a lifelong career.”
He has certainly come a long way from his days as a truant schoolboy in Bethnal Green in London’s East End. The eldest son of a door-to-door salesman or “tallyman”, as he describes him, and housewife mother, he grew up in a loving but cash-strapped household. “I’ve a good mum and dad; it was tough, though,” he reflects. “Dad comes home with a few quid and by the time you’ve paid all the bills, there wasn’t much left.” Young Glenn’s education was patchy, to say the least. “I did go to school, but I tended sometimes to forget where it was,” he laughs. “I wasn’t taken there by my parents, it wasn’t that type of thing. It was a rough school but it was alright, we found our way.”
After leaving school at 14 and working variously as a shoeshine boy, hair-washer and market trader, he was taken on aged 15 as an apprentice at English Art Works, Cartier’s London workshop, and it was there that he was introduced to the heady world of high jewellery. He clearly showed an aptitude for design and by the age of 21, was running his own business with a workshop in London and a reputation for creating unusual pieces.
“I’m not someone who conforms,” he reiterates. “So, I kept knocking on doors I shouldn’t have and seeing things I shouldn’t see and then testing things and being argumentative, and I suppose eventually you end up somewhere if you are persistent enough. I love the art of buying things that most people don’t want to buy, but then I buy them and they like them. I’m a bit of a leader that way. I think I’ve got the courage of my convictions; I’ve got my own mindset, which makes you somewhat individual.”
As an odd-jobbing teenager, he had caught the eye of Christopher Davidge, then an ambitious young employee of auction house Christie’s, later to become its managing director and finally, CEO. “I used to wash his cars,” says Spiro. “He was someone who liked me, and when I went into jewellery, I made his wife bits and pieces. He introduced me to his world, which was really exciting. I had no idea.”
He recalls being taken by Davidge to the 1987 auction of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, which sold for a record £22.5million. “He sat me in the front for my 25th birthday, three seats away from the guy who bought it,” he says. “[The price] was like [the GDP of] a country!”
At the age of 29, Spiro made the decision to close his workshop and take up Davidge’s long-standing offer to join Christie’s London in order to expand his horizons, a move he describes as “going backwards again to go forwards” – one of his many trusty life hacks. “The truth is, I worked in a five-square-mile [radius] – I had a little place in Farringdon Road and then a South Molton Street atelier. I thought, there’s a lot of interesting people out there and I can’t get to them. I wanted to let the world know that Glenn was here.” Concerned not to sound immodest, he jokingly adds: “Not that I’ve got much to give, but whatever I’ve got, I want to give it!”
In 1992, by then a senior director at Christie’s, Spiro moved to the US with his first wife and baby son Joe to launch the auction house in Los Angeles.
“The truth is, your worst of times end up being your best of times. I had terrible daily fear that it can all break down, so you’re careful and respectful of what you’ve got and achieved”
During nearly a decade living there, he oversaw a series of key jewellery auctions, the first of their kind in California, and gained the international experience he craved. “It was an amazing experience, really fantastic,” he says. “There was a clear blue sky every single day, and a man came every night to clean my car. I never saw that car dirty in eight years.”
But after the breakdown of his marriage, he was ready for a change. “I came back and started again, and all of a sudden, I started seeing the world more clearly,” he says. “It was a risk for me, it was humiliating, and my ego was hurt a little bit, but I decided to do it because if I kept going down the same path, I would have ended up not where I am now. You know what? I took a risk, and it paid off.”
He uses the analogy of a boxer who repeatedly gets hit in the head in the ring before learning how to protect himself from his opponent’s blows. “I’m frightened of that guy punching me, but I’ve learned how to duck,” he laughs. “You know something? I call life Snakes and Ladders; you get a six, and you’re all excited, and then you go, ‘I’m right down the bottom again’. But the truth is, your worst of times end up being your best of times. I had terrible daily fear that it can all break down, so you’re careful and respectful of what you’ve got and achieved.”
Discreetly and steadily, he began building his reputation as one of a small band of international dealers known for their ability to conjure up the most elusive of precious gems. He sourced and created one-off couture items for famous high jewellery brands, with price tags upwards of $100,000, while growing his private client base, largely through whispered word-of-mouth in the jet-set haunts of the super-rich. Looking for the perfect D-flawless 10 carat diamond?Chances are, Spiro had it. Where another jeweller might be able to boast a single, rare pigeon blood Burma ruby, he would produce a handful – all steadily acquired over time to be transformed into a show-stopping necklace.
But while Spiro’s designs might be bold and original, he makes a point of creating pieces that are ultimately wearable. “When I look – without mentioning names – at some designers making things that are extraordinary,[such as] a brooch half your body size, [I ask], who buys that? I try and create things that are beautiful but also commercially viable, that people can wear and enjoy.”
Would he call them investment pieces? “I never use that word ‘investment’,” he shudders. “Because it’s a return every year of a certain percentage, and as we’ve seen in life, not everything improves that way. Some things are great, some are not great; you buy these things because they are beautiful and have intrinsic value. Do I think they are investments as such? I think that’s a harsh word. We’re not investment bankers, we are jewellers and we have gems.”
Equally, he’s learnt the hard way not to be lured by false economy when making a purchase. “Do you know what, whenever I’ve bought for money it’s always gone wrong,” he admits. “Every time I’ve bought cheap, I’m stuck with it; I don’t like it and nine times out of ten, I don’t sell it. Because I’d be lying if I told someone I like it, and I won’t lie. It’s all emotional. If you don’t have emotion or passion, you are in the wrong business.”
In 2014, he launched the G by Glenn Spiro collection at Harrods, the first under his own name, and two years later, opened his salon at 26 Bruton St, Mayfair, the former Hartnell atelier. The story of how he came to occupy the palatial Art Moderne building of the Queen’s dressmaker is the stuff of a Hollywood rags-to-riches script. He was a callow apprentice when he first entered its hallowed doors, having been entrusted to accompany a Cartier client to a fashion show being held there. “I sat in the corner and I remember looking up at all the glass and thinking how beautiful it was,” he recalls.
The chance to lease the Gerald Lacoste-designed Grade II-listed property arose when he noticed that the lights were always off on the first floor. He made some enquiries, found out it was owned by members of the Abu Dhabi royal family, and declared his interest, despite being told it wasn’t available. As luck would have it, one of the princesses was a fan of Spiro’s work and a deal was duly struck. “I didn’t even come and have a look,” he grins. “He [the estate agent] said, ‘You can’t sign the lease without seeing it’, and I went, ‘Yes, I will’. He said, ‘Why are you doing this?’, and I said, ‘It’s exciting when you don’t know. It’s like a blind date.’ It’s got a good vibe. I am very lucky.”
In keeping with the original style, which mixed the old and the new, Spiro worked with London-based interiors company Korner Interiors to restore original features such as the early 1900s’ chandeliers, and introduce furniture that covered the various époques represented in his collections. Stand-out pieces in this oasis of hushed opulence include a pair of Marco Zanuso senior chairs upholstered in La Closerie des Lilas fabrics by Misia and Rubelli; a pair of 1970’s Italian black resin lamps with lucite details on Herve van der Straeten tabourets; an Ai Weiwei sculpture and a 1952 Florence Knoll daybed sofa.
So, who is the Spiro client, fortunate enough to feast first-hand on the extravagant pieces on display in the salon, including a pair of titanium earrings set with 1842 Brilliant-cut diamonds and a bangle mounted in 18k yellow gold and bronze and set with emeralds and two lion-carved garnets? “The G girl,” he explains, “is a woman who is confident in herself, enjoys the finer things in life – not collecting money but nice things around her – and someone who travels a lot. She also has a good sense of humour and doesn’t take herself too seriously.”
He never lends to celebrities because he doesn’t seek brand recognition. “If I make a necklace for half a million and you came in and said, ‘I’ve seen someone [else] wearing it’, then it becomes second hand,” he reasons. “You don’t really want to wear second hand because you want to be the lady to wear it – you are rich enough and confident enough to know what you want to buy and when you want to wear it.”
As if on cue, he breaks off our conversation to engage in a text exchange with a visiting A-list Hollywood actor client, eager to see some new pieces. Spiro suggests that rather than meeting at the star’s hotel, he pays a visit to the atelier. “He said he’ll come by today,” he tells us, smiling. “He’s bought some very nice things. Nice fellow.”
Spiro is clearly at home among the global glitterati – and is very much a part of that crowd himself, with a holiday villa in St Tropez and a schedule that sees him spending months at a time travelling between his bases in LA, Paris, the South of France and now, St Barts, where he strolls to work in his shorts. With his natural charm, jokey manner and egalitarian outlook (which he says he inherited from his father), it’s easy to see why he fits so well into this rarified world. “I am [over] 60 now; I have a bus pass,” he says proudly. “I like speaking to loads of people; I like people. I think that’s my hobby.”
He continues reflecting on his good fortune: “I know who I am today, and I am blessed: my family and my kids are great, and I have amazing friends. I am shocked that they are my friends; they are proper good people -successful, wise, caring, and intelligent. If I gave advice to a younger person, [it would be to say] it’s a blessing to put people in your corner who are better than you because that brings your game up. I definitely like myself more today than I did when I was younger.”
If his initial drive to succeed stemmed from a basic need to survive – “we had no money, and we needed to get out there and do it” –then the secret of his continued success relies on the careful management of his business.
“I want to make sure I have no bills, that my parents are okay and my kids are alright, and I have stuff in there that I don’t have to panic to sell. We don’t borrow money. This business does not work if you treat it as a business [by] borrowing money. If you’re behind the eight ball, it’s very hard to hit the right ball when it’s your turn. We are in a very strong position and I am proud of that. We have stuck to that philosophy.”
He lives with his second wife Arabella and their two teenage daughters, Sienna and Skyla, in London. His son Joe, 30, who has joined him in the family business, and eldest daughter, Talia, 25, are regular visitors. He is devoted to his own parents Sheila, 85, and Malcolm, 87, and takes great pride in the fact that he is able to look after his father, now in a nursing home following a stroke. “He has given me the biggest gift to look after him, so it’s my job and I’ve loved it. I tease him and we joke all the time.”
His parents must be proud of him? “Uncomfortably,” he agrees, laughing. “They think I am like a film star. They don’t come from this world; they think I live this ridiculous life. The truth is, I do in a way. You forget; maybe [one is] out of touch with what it used to be [like], a little bit. I’m blessed. I really am, I moan every day but I am still blessed.”
He was on the selection committee of last year’s PAD London art and design fair, charged with reviewing new applications according to the criteria of ethics, quality and aesthetics. He has some cautionary advice for aspiring next generation Spiros and points out there are very few at his level – he cites JAR in Paris, Bhagat in India and possibly Taffin in the US – mainly because there isn’t room for anyone else.
“I don’t think too many should be doing this, if you want to know the truth,” he says. “Because they won’t all be able to eat and I’d rather they didn’t go hungry. It takes much more than just sitting down drawing a picture and making a piece of jewellery – that’s the easy part!The hard part is selling it and the even harder part is getting paid for it. In the mid to lower end, I think many people are coming through, but they’ve got to mix it in with some commercial sense, because there are as many hungry jewellers as there are artists. They talk a good game but it’s very hard to put a pound in the pocket.”
He’s equally sceptical about the move into high jewellery by some of the big fashion brands. “Look at all the big fashion houses merging into jewellery. I find it amazing that not one jeweller has made a pair of shoes or trousers, but every fashion brand is making jewellery. Why are they doing it? Because they have the customer and think they can make some good money. I get it but do I think it is good business? No. I don’t think any of them are making any money. It’s not easy.”
Still, he’s not complaining. “At the moment, life is pretty damn good,” says this inveterate hip-shooter, bidding us farewell as he prepares to welcome his Hollywood high-roller.