In a small studio where sunlight filters through bamboo blinds, Old Chen sits at a wooden table, his hands moving like they’ve done for 30 years. Today, he’s sorting ceramic beads—each one a tiny work of art, fired in his family’s kiln just outside the village. “These aren’t just beads,” he says, picking up a sky-blue piece swirled with white, “they’re memories.”
He starts with the cord: natural cotton, dyed in soft earth tones, because “Boho jewelry should feel like the world itself—warm, unpolished.” Then, the tedious part: threading each bead. The ceramic ones, he sanded himself, their edges smooth as river stones. The wooden beads, from aged pear trees, carry the faint scent of resin. “You can’t rush weaving,” he mutters, tying a tight square knot between a peach-pink bead and a emerald one. “Each knot holds a wish. That’s why we call them lucky beads.”
Three hours later, the bracelet lies coiled on the table: 54cm of color and texture, ready to wrap three times around a wrist. The galaxy blue beads glint like distant stars; the snow mountain white ones look like they’ve just fallen from the sky. Old Chen runs a finger over the weave—firm, but not rigid. “Bohemian accessories need to move with you,” he says. “Not fight against your pulse.”
This isn’t mass-produced. Every bracelet has a quirk: a slightly lopsided ceramic bead here, a knot that sits a little higher there. “That’s the point,” Old Chen smiles. “You’re not wearing something made by a machine. You’re wearing a story—of a man who still believes in slow, careful work.”
Boho bracelets are about freedom, and this one fits that spirit perfectly. Men layer it over leather; women stack it with silver. And when you wear it, you’re not just wearing jewelry. You’re carrying a piece of Old Chen’s studio, a kiln’s warmth, and a whole lot of quiet luck—woven, bead by bead, just for you.
Boho Ceramic Handmade Multi-wrap Bracelet
In a small studio where sunlight filters through bamboo blinds, Old Chen sits at a wooden table, his hands moving like they’ve done for 30 years. Today, he’s sorting ceramic beads—each one a tiny work of art, fired in his family’s kiln just outside the village. “These aren’t just beads,” he says, picking up a sky-blue piece swirled with white, “they’re memories.”
He starts with the cord: natural cotton, dyed in soft earth tones, because “Boho jewelry should feel like the world itself—warm, unpolished.” Then, the tedious part: threading each bead. The ceramic ones, he sanded himself, their edges smooth as river stones. The wooden beads, from aged pear trees, carry the faint scent of resin. “You can’t rush weaving,” he mutters, tying a tight square knot between a peach-pink bead and a emerald one. “Each knot holds a wish. That’s why we call them lucky beads.”
Three hours later, the bracelet lies coiled on the table: 54cm of color and texture, ready to wrap three times around a wrist. The galaxy blue beads glint like distant stars; the snow mountain white ones look like they’ve just fallen from the sky. Old Chen runs a finger over the weave—firm, but not rigid. “Bohemian accessories need to move with you,” he says. “Not fight against your pulse.”
This isn’t mass-produced. Every bracelet has a quirk: a slightly lopsided ceramic bead here, a knot that sits a little higher there. “That’s the point,” Old Chen smiles. “You’re not wearing something made by a machine. You’re wearing a story—of a man who still believes in slow, careful work.”
Boho bracelets are about freedom, and this one fits that spirit perfectly. Men layer it over leather; women stack it with silver. And when you wear it, you’re not just wearing jewelry. You’re carrying a piece of Old Chen’s studio, a kiln’s warmth, and a whole lot of quiet luck—woven, bead by bead, just for you.