The Story of The Supreme Woman
From Necklace to Icon
When did the supreme woman come into the world?
It began in 2021, with a sketch and a feeling. Lissa wanted a pendant that could sit exactly at the throat chakra—a place of voice and truth—and wear like modern armor. Mixed-metal by design, diamond by intention, it had to do two things at once: gleam with substance and still be attainable. She priced it so a woman could buy it for herself—no occasion required, no permission asked. A declaration you clasped, not one you waited for.
In the earliest weeks she wore the prototype everywhere. In carpool lines and buyer meetings. On good days and stormy ones. When the air thinned, she reached for it—thumb to metal, breath to center—and the piece answered back with its quiet weight. That gesture became the ritual. Hold for courage. Release for power. Speak.
Then the signal went public.
A woman who knew something about standing at a podium—former White House Press Secretary Jen Psaki—chose the pendant. She wore it the way it was meant to be worn: from everyday to red carpet, on-air and off-duty, styled with suiting and silk. Screens lit up. Who made that necklace? A Reddit thread spun itself into a modern treasure hunt. A few jewelers tried to stake a claim; the internet, as it does, had opinions. But the story found its source: a small D.C. studio with a big idea and a piece called the Supreme Woman. Momentum did what momentum does.
What started as Lissa’s ritual became a chorus. Women began to recognize each other by the glint at the throat—the shared signal that said, I’m here, I’m speaking, I’m not shrinking. The Supreme Woman wasn’t just beautiful; it was legible. In hearing rooms and book parties, start-ups and state dinners, it read like a password: power, presence, permission. Minimalist. Magnetic. Unapologetically iconic.
Today, the Supreme Woman is the signature of the House of Lissa Gail and a symbol with a life of its own. It’s the must-have in Washington, D.C.—spotted on founders, press, policy minds, and creatives who prefer their statements subtle and their messages unmistakable. Some call it a talisman. Others call it their tell. Many just call it the piece they never take off.
Because that was always the point. A necklace you buy for yourself; a story you write in your own voice. Touch it when you need steadiness. Let it flash when you’re ready to lead. And when you see it on someone else, you’ll know: Supreme woman, say it—and wear your power.
