The Arc of Collecting
Transforming Buyers Into Collectors, and the Rediscovery of Fun in Watches
When I started writing this piece, I was thinking about the transformation from consumer to collector. Who got to make that call? When did you “graduate” to the level of collector? Was this just marketing spin to soften the blow of the fact that you’d spent tens—or even hundreds—of thousands of dollars with your sales associate or a brand? Who gets to decide that you are a collector?
For me, the arc of collecting has been fascinating and frustrating. It remains a title I can’t seem to escape, no matter how much writing, filming, photography, or other work I do within the industry. It’s a hard pill to swallow, something akin to: once a collector, always a collector.
But when did we decide that consumers should be called collectors? What did this magical term really mean? And who, in particular, got to make that decision?
Let’s be real—we are buyers who place meaning onto these objects. Calling ourselves collectors allows us to rationalize, and in many cases, elevate a hobby into something more. We construct meaning around objects. But does that meaning bring us prestige? Should it? Or should watches simply bring us joy?
Early Days: Innocence and Aspiration
My own arc began innocently enough with Jaeger-LeCoultre, Panerai, Rolex. All well-known names, aspirational in their own way. They carried brand recognition and cachet. At the time, I wouldn’t have called myself a collector. I was simply a hobbyist. My mind wants to write “journeyman,” but that too elevates things to a higher status than they were.
The Prestige Phase
It wasn’t until I entered the rarified air of Patek Philippe that I began to think of myself as a collector. Suddenly, watches became less about enjoyment and more about comparison, rarity, exclusivity, insider knowledge.
At one dinner, a companion told me her husband only collected Pateks with fewer than 100 known examples. I naïvely didn’t even know that was a thing. That’s what happened in this space—being part of a circle that thrived on exclusivity. It carried with it a sense of belonging to an elite club. And yet, I wasn’t sure I was happy—or even comfortable—within it.
In some ways, it made watches stressful: memorizing reference numbers, spitting out obscure facts, feeling the pressure to acquire more. To quote McConaughey: “You gotta pump those numbers up. Those are rookie numbers in this racket.”
From Brands to People
I knew about independent watchmaking, but it wasn’t until I bought my first independent piece that I found an antidote to mass prestige. Sure, it was a smaller room, and the comparative mindset still lingered, but the relationships were different.
Instead of dealing with brands, I was building friendships with individuals, often insanely creative human beings. And if not for them, I might not be writing these words today.
Over the past decade, I’ve been immersed in the world of independents: writing about makers, creating a film about Denis Flageollet, photographing their work, and sharing their stories. No, I don’t have photos of every watch I’ve seen or every atelier I’ve visited. I don’t need them. I have the memories of conversations and the moments spent with talented, creative people. That’s enough. I have satisfied my own curiosities.
The Cost of Collecting
But immersion comes with a price. Not just the six-figure costs of most independent watches today, but the constant nagging thought of what’s next? The quick dopamine crash that follows the unboxing: Well, now I guess I own this thing.
There’s a burnout waiting in the world of independent watchmaking.
Rediscovering Joy
And yet, just as suddenly, I found a cure. There’s always another conversation to have, another watchmaker to meet, new projects to marvel at. But the real respite came in remembering why I started this journey in the first place. I wasn’t here to be a collector. I was here to have fun.
As a writer, I love to ascribe meaning to these timepieces, to wax poetic about their worth and their place as one of the last bastions of analog experience in a digital world. But really, it’s been the friendships—with both collectors and watchmakers—that have carried me through. Friends push you on your journey. They have other interests, other hobbies, and they introduce you to entirely new worlds.
The Citizen Lesson
After attending Wind Up Watch Fair in Chicago and speaking with Neall from Citizen, a friend loaned me his Citizen Promaster JP2007-17W Aqualand and told me to keep it for a while. It was a watch I’d been curious about for a long time—even before it got coverage from Watches of Espionage, but that certainly didn’t hut.
I wore that watch every damn day for three weeks straight. I was surprised how much I loved it—the quirky depth sensor, the analog/digital display, the quartz practicality. And all for the price of $450 USD.
It was a steal. A hell of a lot of watch for that amount. And there was unexpected delight in spending $450 instead of $45,000—or $450,000. Maybe the goal isn’t always up and to the right. Maybe the arc of collecting is about remembering you’re here to have fun and enjoy the watches on your wrist.
Full Circle
Maybe I am just traveling on the arc of collecting that many have traveled before me, and the joy for me is a return to simplicity. Maybe I’m realizing that I don’t need to be a collector at all. One watch can be a complete collection. The language of collecting often creates pressure. We even joke about it as a sickness or an addiction that must constantly be fed. From the top down, from brands to retailers to collectors themselves, we’ve created an expectation of endless acquisition.
But what if, instead, we made watches about enjoyment again? About fun? About the thrill of your first brand dinner, your first meeting with a watchmaker, your first trip to Switzerland?
Sooner or later, your collecting arc comes full circle. Watches are companions for daily life, carrying stories and memories of friends, travels, and occasions. They aren’t trophies. Collecting is an arc—from innocent naivete, to seeking knowledge and status, to saturation, and finally, back to freedom.
So let’s strip it back to fun. Wear what you enjoy. Wear what makes you happy. I certainly am—thank you, Citizen.
Because happiness, satisfaction with your own collection, and the joy of knowing you don’t have to be a “collector” at all to love watches… that might just be the destination.
So the next time a sales associate asks, “Oh, are you a collector?” you can smile and say, “No.”
Because this isn’t about manufactured meaning. It’s about creating real experiences—and the simple enjoyment of a watch on your wrist.
The word collector only matters until you no longer need it.
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