The air in the conference room at the JCK jewelry show on June 8th was thick with the familiar hum of industry discourse—a blend of cautious optimism and palpable anxiety. At the annual Rapaport Breakfast, a cornerstone event where the diamond world takes its own pulse, the atmosphere was particularly charged. On stage sat Al Cook, the CEO of De Beers, a company whose name is virtually synonymous with Diamond Origin, a titan now navigating the most treacherous waters in its history. But the moment that would crystallize the industry’s central struggle came not from the stage, but from the floor.
A figure strode to the microphone with purpose. It was Aleah Arundale, the straight-talking founder of the “Jewelers Helping Jewelers” Facebook page, a massive online community that serves as the digital town square for thousands of front-line merchants. She was not there to ask a polite, pre-vetted question. She was there to throw down a gauntlet. Fixing her gaze on Cook, she took aim at De Beers’ ambitious new marketing plan, a strategy heavily reliant on telling the story of the positive impact diamonds have on nations like Botswana.
“Do you know how often an American jeweler is asked where a diamond’s from?” Arundale’s voice cut through the room, imbued with the frustration of someone who lives and breathes the reality of the sales counter. “It’s never. It’s not once a year, it’s not twice a year. It’s never. So as much as you want consumers to care where their diamond’s from, as much as I want them to care, they don’t. So stop trying to tell the customer what they should care about.”
In that single, powerful declaration, Arundale voiced the profound disconnect between the high-level strategies of global mining corporations and the pragmatic, day-to-day reality of American retail. For the jeweler on the ground, the conversation is about the 4Cs—cut, color, clarity, and carat—and, increasingly, the fifth C: cost. It’s about financing options, setting styles, and closing a sale. The geopolitical and socio-economic narrative of a diamond’s journey from a Botswanan mine to a velvet box in Ohio feels, to many, like an academic abstraction.
Arundale’s point is viscerally, undeniably true for a vast segment of the market. And yet, to dismiss the importance of origin based solely on the absence of customer inquiries would be a critical miscalculation. It fails to account for the quiet, invisible currents that shape modern consumer behavior.
As industry analyst Edahn Golan has noted, not all concerns are voiced. In today’s hyper-aware marketplace, consumers often act as silent judges. Consider the shopper who, after watching a documentary on fast fashion’s labor practices, quietly stops patronizing a major apparel chain. She doesn’t write letters to the CEO or interrogate the sales staff about their supply chain. She simply takes her business elsewhere, her dissent registered not in words, but in a withdrawal of loyalty. The same principle applies to diamonds. The fact that a customer doesn’t explicitly ask, “Was this diamond ethically sourced?” doesn’t mean the thought hasn’t crossed their mind, seeded by a film, an article, or a latent sense of unease.
Indeed, there is concrete evidence that for a dedicated and growing segment, origin is paramount. The meteoric rise of Brilliant Earth was built almost entirely on this premise. At a time when the rest of the industry offered ambiguity, they offered answers, providing specific origin information for their mined diamonds and making it a cornerstone of their brand identity. For a time, Canadian diamonds enjoyed a surge in popularity, their “conflict-free” status serving as a powerful marketing tool that commanded a premium.
And what is the single greatest challenge facing the natural diamond industry today—the lab-grown diamond—if not a debate fundamentally centered on origin? The entire conflict is a referendum on whether it matters if a gemstone is born of immense geological pressure over a billion years or created in a high-tech factory over a few weeks. To suggest origin doesn’t matter is to ignore the very battle that is reshaping the entire landscape. Diamond demand itself is not in question; the demand for natural diamonds is. The miners and marketers of natural stones are now in the position that the lab-grown sector was in just a few years ago: they have to diligently, passionately, and convincingly make their case.
Let’s examine the playbook of the lab-grown diamond (LGD) sector, for it was a masterstroke of marketing jujitsu. LGDs had a simple, powerful advantage: price. But in the world of luxury and bridal jewelry, “cheaper” can be a liability. An engagement ring is a symbol, a public declaration of love and commitment. No one wants that symbol to be perceived as a “lesser” choice, a compromise akin to cubic zirconia.
This is where the eco-posturing became so strategically brilliant. Nearly every LGD company draped its products in the language of sustainability, branding them as “eco-friendly,” “green,” and “the ethical choice.” They did this with remarkable audacity, even after the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) explicitly warned them against making unsubstantiated environmental claims. Why? Because the pitch worked. It reframed the purchase decision. The message wasn’t just, “You’re saving money.” It was, “You’re not only saving money; you’re saving the world.” This narrative, however scientifically debatable, gave consumers the emotional permission they needed to choose the less expensive option. It transformed a budget-conscious decision into a virtuous one.
This “eco” positioning was so potent precisely because the mined diamond industry has long struggled with its public image. Few industries have had their darkest chapter immortalized in a Hollywood blockbuster like Blood Diamond. The taint of that narrative, however outdated or limited in scope, has lingered, creating a defensive crouch from which the industry has struggled to escape.
This is what makes De Beers‘ pivot to the “Botswana story” so compelling. It’s a conscious, strategic shift away from defense and toward offense. It’s not the tired, technical line about the Kimberley Process (which a quick Google search will tell any curious consumer is flawed and has significant loopholes). It doesn’t rely on the broad, and frankly debatable, claim that “99% of all natural diamonds are ethical.”
Instead, it changes the entire conversation. It isolates a specific, verifiable source and says: these diamonds are a force for good. And in Botswana, the industry has a story that is not only powerful but profoundly true. To hear Botswana’s president or its mining minister refer to themselves and their generation as “diamond babies”—raised, educated, and given a future by the revenue from these stones—is to witness a narrative that transcends marketing spin. We call it the “Botswana story,” but its potential to resonate lies in the fact that it isn’t just a story. It’s the lived reality of a nation that has transformed itself from one of the poorest countries in the world into a stable, democratic, middle-income success story, all on the back of diamonds.
Today, that success is under threat, and lab-grown diamonds are a primary cause. As demand for natural stones softens, the economic repercussions for Botswana are direct and severe. The nation’s desire to brand and promote its own diamonds isn’t just a corporate marketing initiative; it’s an act of economic self-preservation. It will be a long, expensive, and difficult road, and it may not succeed. But you cannot blame the country for trying to secure its future.
Could this Botswana-origin message actually persuade people to spend more? The “eco” message for LGDs primarily gave consumers a good reason to spend less. The Botswana message asks for the opposite: for consumers to potentially pay a premium for a product with a positive social impact. While data shows consumers often say they will pay more for ethical products, their actions at the checkout counter don’t always align. De Beers knows this. The “origin” pitch isn’t a magic bullet; it’s a vital part of a broader marketing mix, bundled within its “Origin” brand. And in the age of digital marketing, they no longer have to convince everyone. They can micro-target the message to the specific consumers who are most likely to find it compelling.
Yet, this strategy opens a new set of complex questions. At a recent World Federation of Diamond Bourses meeting, Elliot Krischer, President of the Diamond Dealers Club in New York, raised a crucial point. GIA’s plan to include origin information on grading reports could be a double-edged sword. “Russian diamonds used to be the greatest things on earth,” he argued. With sanctions now in place, a “Russia” origin on a certificate is toxic. What happens to the person who holds that stone? Botswana is a beacon of stability now, he noted, but what if, in five or ten years, its political climate changes?
Mmetla Masire, the CEO of Botswana’s state-owned Okavango Diamond Company, offered a sharp, modern retort. “You can say that about anything. Tesla three years ago was [a universally popular brand]. Now…” he trailed off, letting the implication of the brand’s recent controversies hang in the air. His point is undeniable: brands live and die on their reputations. By transforming its national identity into a primary selling point, Botswana is willingly placing itself and its most vital industry under a global microscope. This carries immense risk, as any Tesla dealer or Bud Light marketing executive can attest.
But with great risk comes great opportunity. As Al Cook pointed out back at that tense Rapaport Breakfast, the hope is that a focus on origin will create a “race to the top.” If all diamond-producing nations are required to prove their provenance, it may incentivize them to raise labor and environmental standards across the board, ultimately elevating the entire industry’s reputation. We are already seeing this ripple effect. At the same JCK show, mining executives from Angola—a country whose diamond history is fraught with conflict—were conspicuously adopting the “Botswana model,” speaking a new language of ethics, transparency, and social impact. This may not move the average jewelry shopper, but it absolutely moves the image-conscious global brands like Tiffany & Co. and Cartier, who may now feel more comfortable sourcing from Angola after years of avoidance.
The fear of the lab-grown competitor is now the guiding force behind all miner marketing. Take De Beers’ other major new initiative: the “Ombre Desert Diamonds” collection. To many, it was a head-scratcher. A major campaign focused on brown, champagne, and other off-color diamonds? The logic, again, lies in differentiation. De Beers wanted to create a new “beacon” product, but they knew that if they launched a classic three-stone ring, LGD producers would have cheaper, identical-looking versions on the market within months. De Beers would be spending millions to advertise their competitor’s product.
While the lab industry can technically produce brown stones, creating them with the specific, subtle, and varied hues of the Ombre collection, and at scale for the holiday season, is a far greater challenge. The Ombre line is a clever attempt to build a strategic moat. It even leans into a narrative that was once unthinkable, celebrating the unique “imperfections” and natural variations of earth-mined gems—a concept that has gained surprising traction in a world that increasingly values authenticity over flawless uniformity.
In the long run, many industry veterans believe the ultimate answer lies not in broad “category marketing” but in the cultivation of individual natural diamond brands, each telling its own unique story. This is precisely how the Swiss watch industry recovered from the “quartz crisis” of the 1970s. It wasn’t “Team Mechanical Watch” that won; it was Rolex, Patek Philippe, and Omega, each building a powerful brand identity that made the origin and craftsmanship of their products their greatest asset.
Looked at through that lens, both the Botswana story and the Ombre collection might seem like temporary, stop-gap solutions. But as any medic will tell you, sometimes, when you’re bleeding, what you need most is a band-aid. The natural diamond industry is fighting for its identity, its narrative, and its future. These campaigns are more than just marketing; they are the industry’s determined, high-stakes attempt to prove that in a world of perfect copies, the soul of a diamond still matters.
