Oof might be about all I can muster to describe the editorial slipstream that was Watches and Wonders last week. It once again sucked us in at about 200 miles per hour as every major watch publication labored to create as many introduction articles as they could possibly cram on their landing pages. Not a real complaint, I promise; the waves of new releases are exciting, and we definitely need comprehensive coverage from our personal outlets of choice. It’s just a horological firehose the likes of which I personally lack the processing power to absorb. Precious few, like industry professionals and the independently wealthy, possess both the prerequisite appetite and metabolism to tackle such a task. For us mere mortals, most of the releases will likely remain Terra incognita in perpetuity.
If you are anything like me, two things have and could still be occurring. The first is the selective targeting of which articles to read with more than one brain cell. You get to know the pictures and specs at a surface level, make a shallow judgment on the watch’s right to exist, and then either move on or pore over in detail. The second? Your cranially housed gray matter might be firing those desire-driving neurons on overtime. Not every watch will speak to you – I’ve found a decent number of W&W’s novelties this year to be uninteresting – but there will likely be several survivors from your evaluation process that will at least make you go hmm. Some might even have you saying wow, to put it eloquently. Danger, Will Robinson.
It feels like as good a time as ever for me to play Johnny-come-lately and bring up the idea of intentional mindfulness in watch collecting. Yes, thoughtful introspection is admittedly less fun than dreaming about what you could add from those hot-off-the-press watches flaunting themselves at the Palexpo. However, I find it important to periodically ask yourself, “How well do I know my existing watches?” before you add another one. Why? Because there may come a day when, as a collector (or enthusiast, if you consider the c-word to be dirty, you shy minx), you ask yourself this question for the umpteenth time and realize that your thoughtful curation of horological artifacts has unintentionally devolved into the simple accumulation of things.
It isn’t to say that you haven’t been smart, artful, or even plain ole’ picky; over the course of your journey, you have probably acquired a watch or two with spiritual longevity. But eventually, the waxed canvas roll starts to look crowded; the watch box has magically doubled via osmosis; and multiple timekeepers are gathering dust on various flat surfaces. There are a lot of watches lying around, and you aren’t quite sure where they all came from. Materialism’s hunger is endless: in drinking from the gilded chalice of desire one too many times, you accidentally slipped headfirst into the pool of gluttony.
Okay, that prose was a touch dramatic. Apocalyptic, even. The stakes couldn’t be lower – they’re just watches, after all.
Still, it’s a real problem that warrants discussion. We intentionally accumulate, but subconsciously hoard, watches for a variety of reasons (rarity, condition, specs, etc.) that keep them from loosening their grip on our wrists. This is probably more of a feature than a bug. Collections expand and contract; the snake reaches maximum circumference, sheds, then grows once more. This makes up half of the fun, no doubt – the trial and error of experiencing new watches is its own reward, and how lucky we must all be to do that within our own individual means. Still, it can be confusing and expensive along the way. Your means are still your means, and with that comes a limited base of capital to tie up in watches.
Pour one out for the fallen.
I find periodically culling the chaff to be a healthy exercise; roughly every six months, I examine my collection and try to figure out for which watches the bell tolls. There isn’t any pseudo-academic rocket science at play; I sit down, scrutinize, and determine what has become incompatible. For me, two reasons usually come to the fore: either A) the watch cannot command my attention, or B) it is in such nice condition that my tendency to expose watches to reckless adventurism is fundamentally at odds with its state of existence. I conducted this exercise late last year; with an autocratic wave of my hand at the local UPS store in Venice, I sent several watches off to their theoretical forever homes. Some were small-value tickets in Category A, like my Online Ceramics x Hodinkee G-Shock and Bulova Jet Star. Others were more of a surprise in Category B, like the scarce Doxa Sub 600T ‘White Shark’ that I had labored to locate and obtain. Sometimes, you just know when to let go.
Perhaps quite obviously, exiting watches you don’t wear anymore allows for the recycling of capital. Dollars out, dollars in (perhaps not at a one-to-one ratio against the original purchase, although we can certainly dream of such consistent economics), and you are suddenly free to go hunting for Moby Dick before an ultimately much smaller whale diverts your ship off course. This is a tangible benefit and one easily appreciated, as you are financially rewarded for exercising your right to let go. It’s a good feeling.
The righteous dopamine must flow, but I’m not typing all these ten-dollar words solely to remind you that you can get your money back by begging on the internet. A bloated watch collection, one where you can’t or actively choose not to experience most of the watches you own, can be representative of a situation where your capacity to consume has exceeded your capacity to appreciate. It’s an uncomfortable realization that your collecting activity might not be as benevolent as you think.
There is some grace to be given. Sometimes you need to scratch the itch with that $50 Casio under recommended finds on eBay. Hell, I scratched the itch by adding two watches last month (and yes, one of them was a Doxa). I must also concede that flings in a collecting-based hobby often give way to greater loves: tastes can shift, and the impulse purchase of today will exist in a grey zone between transience and permanence until it doesn’t.
The way I see it, our goal isn’t to feel bad about buying new watches or to swing the collecting pendulum towards Spartan-like asceticism. No, the real goal is something else: fluency.
I define fluency as feeling connected to your watches in such a way that your usage and understanding of them are generally in line with the total financial investment you have made. It is also a mental safeguard against consumerism, which is pervasive in collecting-based hobbies. It’s not always easy to distinguish when your tastes have shifted; quite often, a shiny object is just a shiny object. Add in the social media desire algorithm, and you are almost guaranteed to fall prey to badly wanting something you haven’t properly evaluated. Fluency means being content and confident in what you own. Existing watches feel familiar, while future watches become truly exploratory instead of distractions. In the category of the former, a tenured watch might even become an extension of yourself. Comfortable, authentic, and easy to choose. Reliable.
We spend a lot of time hunting for watches that can build up to the “Old Reliable” moniker. It’s a special search; you have to look for it within your existing collection, and there can be multiple, co-existing winners ranging from the obvious to late bloomers. This archetype stands in contrast to the never-ending hypothesizing that comes with the “holy grail,” that accursedly elusive chalice that is eternally several years away from being attainable. The grail orients itself around a question of hunger: “What do I desire most?” The reliable watch, when chosen correctly, offers something more temperate: “Why should I desire more?” I liken this watch and its ethos to a coffee mug: stained as it is from years of use, consistently ready to go each morning as you start your day. It’s the one you always reach for, and it doesn’t encourage you to turn your attention elsewhere.
Despite the technological disparity, I think there are certain parallels between coffee mugs and watches. Every seasoned watch veteran knows there are multiple aspects to be taken into account: durability, quality of construction, aesthetics, etc. When you pick a watch that is consistent with how you rank those qualities, it exists in a usefully stable state. Coffee mugs and watches help to structure our day at the apex of calm, so their ability to enhance our peace of mind is paramount. They also relax our humors; when we use them, they cut through the overstimulation and remind us how good they are by virtue of their consistency. That is a valuable feeling when the turbulence of the day is still embryonic.
Me before and after subjecting the GMT to four motorcycle crashes at the Biltwell 100. Photos by Sarah Burch
Are the grail and coffee mug mutually exclusive? I think not – the Venn diagram overlaps quite well, and there is a Goldilocks zone where grail-based desire intersects with coffee mug-based affection in a person’s theoretically perfect watch. Via personal anecdote, I know this is possible because I found it in my GMT-Master II 16710. Yes, “California man yearns for Rolex” isn’t exactly the best tagline for an article praising horological footsoldiers. This watch is simply the truest personal example I can offer. It was the timekeeper I most admired when I got into this hobby, and when I finally bought it many years later, I swore I’d never hold it so precious that I could not enjoy it properly. The journey remains ongoing, but I’m confident that legitimate desire combined with self-built familiarity is a lethally effective way to ensure you spend your dollars correctly.
In my opinion, the buildup of coffee mug watches is the path to fluency. You start by buying with intentionality, sticking to the build and style qualities that you value. This creates sticky watches, ones that will last long enough for you to build time with. And when these watches multiply, it provides a rare sense of authenticity that larger, haphazardly built collections cannot tap into. Is fielding a collection of watches like this easy to do? Definitely not. But it is a goal worth pursuing.
I know what I’m asking you to do – building fluency in your collection one watch at a time – isn’t easy or cheap. Watches that feel familiar require time invested in a way that they can’t measure.
So, here is my request. Consider it a soft clarion call to mindfulness (queue grande sonnerie), because even though Watches & Wonders is behind us, everything it wrought is mentally one step ahead. Today, or tomorrow, or whenever this letter finds you: Reach for the (or a, if plural and blessed amongst our people) coffee mug in your watch collection and strap it to your wrist.
Once it is on your wrist, I’d like you to briefly but actively consider the following.
1) Remember why this watch rises to the occasion – it matches your aesthetic and personality for a reason.
2) Recall why you enjoy it so, whether the emotion be derived from the material or memories.
3) Channel that clairvoyance into the decision process – get in touch with what you truly value in a watch.
No guarantees that this will achieve anything for you – I can only promise honeyed words. My hope for you is simple: a kernel of wisdom around how intentional your watch collection is, as well as where the intentionality exists within it. With any luck, you’ll discover what you truly value, not what you temporarily want. You might disencumber money from what you don’t need and save money from what you don’t buy. And maybe, just maybe down the road, you will accelerate the purchase of something special – as authentic as the coffee mug, and as desirable as the grail. Cheers.
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