“One trait shared by all true collectors,” Muensterberger warned, “is that there is simply no saturation point.” The thirst to add more is unquenchable. According to Muensterberger, there will never come a point when someone like Breitwieser feels he has enough. Brain scientists agree. Obsessive collecting, Stanford University neurologists have shown, may be caused by neurochemical imbalances that produce an impulse-control disorder—one capable of creating an unstoppable and sometimes criminal collector. The intoxicating flood of brain chemicals peaks during the pursuit, not the capture. When the quest outshines the treasure, you don’t want to stop questing. This helps explain the ceaseless nature of a collecting addiction.
— Michael Finkel, The Art Thief, Random House, 25 June 2024
When I read these words in The Art Thief, they stopped me in my tracks. I understood exactly what Finkel meant. On a deep level, I knew that collecting wasn’t about the object itself - it was about the pursuit. The joy of collecting came from finding the exact reference number in the exact configuration you sought. The joy came from chasing the next piece, not from ownership.
In my experience, Finkel and the Stanford scientists are correct. For me, the ownership experience is not the same level of dopamine hit that the chase is. Not even close.
Mindset Shift
It’s in vogue now to speak about owning less—owning fewer, better things. I was drawn to the concept in the early 2010s, when my career took me all over the U.S. I remember reading The Minimalists, who were just writing their blog, and I felt their words deeply. But it wasn’t until 2018, when I began writing about watches, that I began to understand how to apply minimalism to collecting.
By then, I had amassed a collection north of 20 watches. Maybe not a lot by some standards, but I certainly felt the mental toll. What watch do I wear today? What needs to be serviced? What am I keeping? What am I selling?
The result? You guessed it. I sold most of those watches to chase independent watchmaking - a subject that I learned about in 2012, but really had my attention at this point. Independent watchmaking became my north star.
Time to Try Something Different
Collecting, in many circles, has become about volume. We’re losing the meaning of these objects.
We talk about collecting and our collections all the time—what we might sell, what’s next on the list, what would you keep if you could keep only one, our grail watches, what we’d buy if given $100K and three watches to buy with it. What would your ideal one-, three-, five-, ten-, or twenty-watch collection look like?
What has become apparent to me is that there is a bottomless well of things to want in the watch industry. I started to wonder if I could meet my needs—and if I could be happy—with a smaller watch collection. Who would I be if I wasn’t a “collector”? Would I still be relevant or able to opine on watches and the industry?
Those are uncomfortable questions. But they forced me to confront how much I had let the industry - and the identity of being a “collector” define me.
It was time to try something different. To take a new approach to watches, the industry, and collecting altogether. It was time to take a step back and realize that I wasn’t finding joy in the possession of these objects—the joy came from chasing them down, researching, seeing them in the metal, refining, building my taste. And once money changed hands, I felt hollow. The chase was gone and the honeymoon didn’t last long.
A Limit of Three
We can all agree that any limit we set on our collections—whether it be 1, 3, 5, or 100 watches, is ultimately arbitrary. In the world of watches as an asset class, I just wonder where we’ve gone in terms of the meaning of these objects and the people who make them.
As I thought about what “less” would look like for me, I decided that three watches would represent my core collection—watches that I wanted to keep, enjoy, and wear daily or for special occasions. Three was arbitrary but easy for me—most watch rolls are for three watches, and I could grab that watch roll on my way out the door and take the entire collection with me.
That arbitrary number is a bit of a lie— The watch box my wife gave me after I finished my master’s program holds four. So my current approach is three core watches and a fourth that rotates—a “floater.” This is a space for trying something new. I might borrow it, buy it, trade it later, or fall in love and keep it.
That fourth spot lets me explore without destabilizing the whole collection. It’s a creative value-add.
A big driver of this for me is the desire to own less and experience more. Budget wise, it allowed me to focus on meaningful watches, with room left for travel. I could visit Switzerland, meet with independent watchmakers, understand the nuance of craft, understand the regional differences in approach. I could find new makers, new watches, and get off the beaten path of watchmaking—explore more than what local ADs or U.S.-based retailers had to offer. In essence, it is freedom to explore, learn, and experience.
The real lessons I took away?
The most enjoyable part of acquisition was the hunt.
The most meaningful part of my collecting journey was the people.
It was never about the watches. It was, has been, and always will be about the people—the watchmakers, the atelier, the collectors— the energy in the room. It was about how they spoke, how they made me feel, and how freely they shared their craft, their influences, and their philosophy.