The room itself was choreographed like a still life: polished leather goods, sculptural art, and hand-poured candles arrayed with studied nonchalance. Each piece gestured toward something larger than design — a reorientation of values, a fidelity to provenance, and a reclamation of the artisanal from the industrial.

Among the exhibitors, the sentiment was not merely patriotic, but existential. For Nimmi Chaianani, founder of Scentille Candles, “Made in America” is less a label than a lived ethic.

“America’s a country I chose to come to,” she said with quiet conviction. “I’ve become more myself here than I ever felt back in my country of origin.”

Her hand-poured candles — aromatic and architectural — embodied a cross-cultural gratitude that lent the room an unexpected warmth.

From Ilaria Lanzoni, an Italian émigré whose namesake jewelry line is entirely U.S.-produced, the message was even more distilled:

“This is all made in the U.S. The thing is, I live in the United States, and I like to have things made where I live. America has given a lot to me in my work. I love the craftsmanship. My brand is very personal, and my relationship with my jeweler and the American market is so important. Building relationships with the beautiful people of this country—that’s what being ‘Made in the USA’ is all about.”

Her work — sleek, emotive, deeply personal — reflects a designer grounded not just in geography, but in intimacy and intention.

Across the room, Boxer Studio’s Christian Valencia presented an austere yet androgynous collection, incorporating moss agate and military-inspired silhouettes.

“I’m not even American — I was born in Venezuela,” he noted, his voice unbothered by any irony. “But ‘Made in America’ is about the people who work. Even if the stones are from elsewhere, the making happens here … It’s about a bunch of cultures coming together to make beautiful things.”

His sentiment, echoing through dog-tag chains and camo abstractions, served as a quiet indictment of cultural monoliths: American isn’t a place, but a process.

Free Maison’s Jesse and Tay occupied a more conceptual realm, presenting chainmail as both medium and metaphor. Their pieces — part armor, part adornment — blurred binaries of form and function.

“It takes time-some pieces take days to complete-but the craftsmanship is what’s important to us as Americans,” they explained. “Materials sourced here, made here. That’s the vision.”

Their practice resisted industrialization through meticulous slowness — a kind of aesthetic resistance.

Anchoring the legacy narrative was American Optical, eyewear purveyor to presidents and astronauts alike. Their continued manufacturing in Illinois (a region more often associated with obsolescence than opulence) reminded attendees that innovation need not be noisy.

“It’s quality, tradition, and a commitment to making things the right way, right here,” noted their brand representative Scott, with the cool remove of someone who’s said it before — and will state the same again.

Even the hors d’oeuvres struck a clever balance between irreverence and intention: Coca-Cola floats, pigs in blankets, and an artfully ironic snack table offered Americana at its most distille — nostalgia elevated through curation.

The Accessories Council’s event didn’t pander to excess or spectacle. Instead, it posited a subtler thesis: that American luxury, long defined by external validation, is being rewritten by those who live within its contradictions.

Americana luxe is not just about geography, but gesture. Not only origin, but outcome.

Words by Joshua Colón; all photography courtesy of PR and respective designers.