On Religious Jewelry in 2025

I started wearing a pentacle again earlier this year.

Not always, and not at work. Sometimes, often when running weekend errands, or during work from home days when I know I’ll be at the laundromat during my breaks.

It was both a decision and not a decision. Last year, I bought a stainless steel Hestia symbol necklace from Blessed Be Magick, which I love. It lives up to the “minimalist” line in the shop’s marketing. It was part of a Goddess line that included many other deities, most of which have been sunsetted in favor of more witchy things. I love the way it sits on its chain, and I love how easy it is to pace it back and forth with my fingers along the chain. I love how easy it was to destroy the adjustable part once I knew the length I wanted so it wouldn’t bother the back of my neck.

I most frequently wear Hestia’s symbol because most of the Apollon jewelry out there is, quite frankly, not a great representation of the who-ness of the God. And while I’d love a dainty disc-stamped silver dodecagram with a dainty opening flower at its center to symbolize what is discussed in the Phaedrus and other places in Plato, with the bonus of it already being strongly associated with modern Hellenic Gods’ worship (even if I’m just a polytheist and not siloing myself), nobody has done that. There aren’t pendants of the Gods’ altar constellation, Ara, either, which I think is another fitting symbol for following the Gods — especially considering the Platonic exegetical contrast of what is Titanic. And then there’s the key symbol that most people think is only for Hekate but which was really a symbol of being a priestess in antiquity. So. Hestia, the anchor of all, who is in each of the Gods in that special, anchoring way, is a good choice.

A decision and not a decision.

Based on my experience with loving the pendant from them, I got my mom a Hekate’s Wheel in the same style. The triple Goddess moon pentacle was an impulse purchase because I loved the beauty in it.

It stayed mostly in the box at first while I sorted out a lot of feelings.

I’m not Wiccan. I do not do magic. I had a lot of misgivings and concerns that wearing one would be a false advertisement, a concession along the lines of my resigned acceptance of the pagan label because that’s what scholars will use for us no matter what we say.

Also, why a pentacle and not something like a mjolnir? I’m not in the Northern tradition even though I worship some Goddesses in it, so it would also be false advertising, but at least people would get the praxis sphere (polytheism) correct more frequently?

So.

One, I grew up in mainstream Neopaganism, so if people start asking me questions about ritual praxis in non-initiatory Wicca, I will be able to hold a conversation, which is not something I could do if I were to choose a different high-recognition symbol.

Two, the pentacle is immediately recognizable as a non-Christian symbol, unlike wearing an arrow or lyre or laurel necklace. Religious literacy is too low for most people to even register that deity necklaces are deity necklaces, especially with the pop occulture phenomenon and people wearing deity necklaces for nonspiritual inspiration — which is why I prefer to wear either the silver Hestia symbol necklace or the gold-toned Hestia medallion with her name spelled out in Greek while at work. The pentacle is definitely a mixed bag, of course, because people in the current presidential administration are attempting to start a new Satanic Panic, and I’m sure they’d love talking about “agents of the Devil” infiltrating higher education (I work in it) if given the chance.

Three, it wasn’t exactly a pentacle. It was the triple Goddess symbol with the full moon replaced by a pentacle. It reminded me of the chants and the rituals when I was a child, and it gave a sublunary vibe, and somehow the Goddess focus of it made things a bit better.

Four, it does have some Pythagorean associations, so it’s not all about modern paganism, even if I’m not a Neo-Pythagorean.

Along the way, I also found a simple dodecagram. It’s much larger than the pentacle (about the size of a quarter), lightweight, and layers nicely with a Hestia necklace. Again, I do like the symbolism of the twelve Gods because it makes me think of the Phaedrus. It also now reminds me of certain elements of the Odyssey’s narrative. So. I have some options.

My reasons for wearing flashier polytheistic jewelry in public — not just sticking to the Hestia necklaces or rotating in another deity necklace, as I have ones for Eir and Athene and Hermes — are ultimately related to the power grab of Christian nationalists in America. It’s a way, during a time when reactionary Christianity is moving us in a very Late Antiquity Version II direction, of digging my heels in the sand. I smiled a bit when I held the dodecagram for the first time when the thought, the bigger their crosses are, the bigger my stars, a reference to something from a New York Times article about the conservative cross jewelry boom and its influences, before zeroing out the thought.

That’s another reason why I had a lot of feelings. It unsettles me to leverage religious symbols as the theological equivalent of those interlinked-arm human walls. Protests give me a lot of anxiety. They are chaotic and unpredictable. My nervous system is built for candlelight vigils, which are, interestingly, conducted as interfaith prayer events.

Maybe choosing to wear certain symbols instead or alongside the deity pendants is a form of silent, flameless vigil in and of itself.