The Horological Identity Crisis: What Makes a Watch Collector Tick?

Unravelling the paradox of collector identity through horological thought experiments and philosophical quandaries

Jul 27, 2024

When you call yourself a watch collector, you probably feel pretty clear about what that means. It’s one of the things you’re most certain about - something you’ve understood since you first felt your pulse quicken at the sight of an epic watch. You might be pondering questions like “Am I a vintage or modern collector?” or “Do I prefer complications or time-only pieces?” Sure, but the fundamental identity of being a collector? That’s as clear as day. It’s just you. Simple.

The thing is, when you stop and actually think about it for a minute - about what being a watch collector really means at its core - things start to get more complex than Bremont’s fabricated backstory. Let’s jump off that bridge see where we land.

“I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.”

― Mark Twain

Wrist Check Theory

Let’s start with the most obvious aspect of being a collector: the watches you wear. The Wrist Check Theory posits that what makes you a collector is the watch adorning your wrist at any given moment. It seems logical, doesn’t it? If your wrist is perpetually bare, can you really call yourself a collector? Some might. If Charles suddenly starts wearing a smartwatch exclusively, and his watch nerd friends say, “He’s changed - he’s just not the same collector he used to be,” they don’t literally mean Charles isn’t a collector. Yes, he’s changed, but he’s still Charles, because what Charles wears on his wrist defines his collector identity, regardless of what’s in his watch box at home or in a safe.

Collectors believe they’re so much more than the sum of their wrist shots, but in the end, this is the point; a bee is defined by the flower it’s currently pollinating, a chef by the dish they’re presently cooking, and a watch collector by what’s on their wrist right now. This is the Wrist Check Theory - let’s put it through its paces:

What happens when you take off your watch for the night? You’re changing your wrist status, removing the very thing that defines you as a collector. Does that mean you’re not a collector when you sleep? Surely not - you’re obviously still a collector.

How about if you switch from your beloved Urwerk to a G-Shock for a beach day? Bigger change than just taking a watch off for the night, but still a collector, right?

What if you develop a severe nickel allergy and need to replace all your metal watches with hypoallergenic plastic models, but after the switch, you’re fine and can continue your horological life normally. Would your watch buddies say that you had ceased being a collector because your wrist candy had completely changed? No, they wouldn’t. You’d still be a collector. The specific watch on your wrist isn’t needed for you to be you.

Okay, maybe it’s your style of watch? Perhaps that’s the core thing which makes you, you as a collector, and none of these wrist changes matter because your remaining pieces all still reflect your style, and that’s what maintains “you” as a collector. Also consider how you might have a colleague who has an identical style in watches, but they’re not the same collector as you. You are you, and your style doppelgänger is most certainly not you. Watch style is definitely not the answer.

For now, the Wrist Check Theory sounds stupid. You’re free to change what’s on your wrist, and you will continue to be you as a collector.

Now, how about your horological expertise?

The Loupe Theory

Imagine, despite the insanity of it all, that an eccentric watchmaker captures both you and Tim Mosso then locks the two of you up in a room.

The watchmaker puts you both through a weird procedure, and in doing so, safely extracts each of your horological knowledge and switches it into the other’s brain. You look down at your wrist and you’re still wearing your trusty Daytona, but with Tim Mosso’s encyclopedic knowledge of watches. Across the room, you see Tim Mosso - sporting a Sinn Tegiment … but with your level of watch knowledge.

At this point, are you still you as a collector? Objectively speaking, you’re obviously you, because you still have your exact personality and all your non-watch memories; Of course, you’re a walking horological encyclopedia now. You’d go find your watch buddies to explain what happened:

“Guys, it’s still me! I know I sound like I swallowed ‘Watchmaking’ by George Daniels, but I swear it’s still me!”

Unlike whatever is on your wrist, which can be changed without altering your collector identity, when you swapped horological knowledge, it wasn’t a knowledge transplant - it was more like a collector transplant. You’d still feel like you, just with different watch knowledge.

Meanwhile, Tim Mosso would not be you as a collector - he would be Tim Mosso with your level of watch knowledge. So what makes you, you as a collector, must be your horological expertise. The Loupe Theory says that wherever the watch knowledge goes, you as a collector go - even if it goes into someone else’s skull.

That seems a daft theory, for now. Stay with me though.

The Passion Theory

Let’s go back to the eccentric watchmaker. After capturing you and Tim Mosso, he doesn’t swap your physical brains or knowledge. Instead, he hooks up a finely tuned gizmo to each of your hearts, measures every single bit of passion and emotion you feel for watches, resets both of your enthusiasm to zero, and copies each of your watch passion data onto the other person’s heart1.

Now, you both wake up, both with your own physical bodies intact, but you’re not feeling like yourself as a collector - you’re feeling Tim Mosso’s level of enthusiasm for horology. After all, your heart now beats with all of Tim’s apparent excitement, joy, and fervour for watches. You would still run out and go freak out about this to your watch buddies. And again, after a significant amount of convincing, they would indeed accept that you were still a collector, just with Tim’s level of passion.

This theory, call it The Passion Theory, says what makes you, you as a collector, is your passion for watches - your enthusiasm and emotional connection to horology.

This seems to have some merit, but perhaps it’s worth stress-testing these theories.

The Limited-Edition Dilemma

Scenario 1

We’re back once again with our eccentric watchmaker. Just like before, he kidnaps you and Tim Mosso, switches your watch passion with Tim’s, and says, “I will now proceed to destroy one of your limited-edition pieces - choose one for me to smash.”

Your gut reaction might be to point at any one of your own limited editions - for which you no longer feel any passion - and mutter without hesitation: “Pick one, I don’t care.” I know I wouldn’t care. If I believe in the Passion Theory, then its a logical choice. My watch passion is in Tim’s body, which really means me as a collector is in Tim’s body, so why would I care about my old limited editions anymore?

Sure, maybe we both generally don’t want to see any watch get destroyed, but given we’re deciding between my watches and Tim’s, I’m choosing mine because I officially don’t care about them anymore.

Scenario 2

This time the eccentric watchmaker doesn’t do anything to you. He comes over to the normal version of you with your standard heart and watch passion, and asks a series of questions. It goes along these lines:

Eccentric Watchmaker (EW): Listen. I’m gonna destroy one of your limited edition pieces. Which one should I smash?

You: His.

EW: Umm, I forgot to mention something - before I destroy whichever watch I destroy, I’m going to reset both of your hearts to zero watch-related passion, so when the destruction is happening, neither of you will remember why these watches were special to you. Do you want to change your choice?

You: Nah I’m good. Smash his.

EW: Oh yes - before the destruction happens, not only am I going to reset your hearts to zero watch enthusiasm, but I’m also going to reprogram your heart to beat with the same passion as Tim’s. By the time I’m done, you’ll think you’re Tim Mosso and you’ll have all of his horological knowledge and his full passion for watches. I’ll do the same thing to him, giving him your level of enthusiasm. Now do you want to amend your choice?

You: Eh, no. Regardless of whose passion is ticking in my chest and no matter who I think I am, I don’t want to see my limited edition destroyed. Even apathetic people still feel loss. Go ahead and smash his watch not mine.

In the first scenario, you’d probably choose to have your own limited edition destroyed and in the second, you’d choose Tim’s limited edition, right? Except, they’re the exact same example! In both cases, before any destruction happens, Tim’s heart ends up with all your passion and your heart has his - the difference is: What point in the process you were asked to decide.

In both cases, your goal is for your limited edition not to be destroyed, but in the first scenario, you felt that after the passion swap, you were in Tim’s body as a collector, with all of your horological fervour there with you. In the second situation, assuming we’re aligned, you didn’t care what was going to happen with the two hearts’ passion data, and you believed you would remain with your physical body, and collection, either way.

If you choose your own limited edition to be the one destroyed in the first scenario, this is an argument for The Passion Theory, where you believe your watch passion dictates how you as a collector must choose. Choosing Tim’s limited edition to be destroyed in the second scenario is an argument for The Loupe Theory, because in your opinion, regardless of your watch passion, you will continue to be in your own body as a collector, because that’s where your horological knowledge resides.

Consider expanding on this a little. If the eccentric watchmaker told you he was also going to switch your physical collections, what changes? Well, if you still choose Tim’s limited edition (over destroying your own limited edition) then you believe in The Wrist Check Theory - the watch defines the collector, so you do not wish to have your watch destroyed regardless of the setup in the experiment.

Not sure about you, but I’m finishing this experiment with my mind jumbled. Let’s try another.

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The Horology House Experiment

Now, let’s turn to something you might be familiar with, from the work of Derek Parfit in his 1984 book Reasons and Persons. I’m talking about the Teletransportation Paradox2.

We find ourselves in the year 22103. Humanity has invented incredible things, and AI hasn’t killed us all. One of these inventions is The Horology House4 - the ability to transport yourself and your entire watch collection to distant watch fairs instantaneously.

The way it works is as follows: You go into a Departure Room which is about the size of a walk-in watch safe, and you’re surrounded by your precious watches. Here, you can set your destination. Suppose you’re in New York and your destination is Watches & Wonders in Geneva; as soon as you’re ready to depart, you push the crown-shaped button on the wall.

The walls of this room will scan your entire body along with every watch in your collection, and upload the exact molecular makeup - this means every atom that makes up every part of you and your watches - and as it scans, it disassembles everything, meaning every cell in your body along with every component of your watches, is taken apart by the scanner as it goes. Everything basically goes *poof*

First Particle Successfully Quantum Teleported Into Space; Are Transporters Next?

When it’s finished (the Departure Room is now empty after disassembling all of your cells and watches), this information is beamed across to the Arrival Room in Geneva, which has all the necessary atoms waiting there ready to reconstruct everything. The Arrival Room uses the data to reassemble your entire body and watch collection with its storage of atoms, and when it’s finished you walk out of the room in Geneva looking and feeling exactly how you did back in New York. As a matter of fact, you’re still tired from having a poor sleep last night, you have the same headache you did when you walked into the Departure Room, and you even have the same scratch on your watch you got that morning. Of course, the rest of your watches are all lying there as if nothing happened.

The entire affair, from the time you pushed the crown in the Departure Room to the moment you walk out of the Arrival Room in Geneva, takes only few minutes. You hit the button, things briefly go dark, and now you’re standing in Geneva, surrounded by your beloved collection. Dope.

Remember, this is common technology here in 2210. All the collectors you know, travel using The Horology House. Apart from being rapid, it’s free and incredibly safe. Being the nerd you are, you also note that no collector or watch has ever been harmed using this service.

So it’s time for Geneva Watch Days 2210, and just like you always do, you head into the Departure Room in New York for your normal trip to Watches & Wonders, push the big crown-shaped button on the wall, and you hear the scanner turn on. This time, it doesn’t seem to have worked.

The usual blackout never occurs, ans as you walk out of the room, you’re not surprised to see you’re still in New York. You head to the concierge and tell the manager the Departure Room is malfunctioning. You request to use another room, and express the need for urgency since you have an early meeting with Rexhep Rexhepi’s great great grandson and don’t want to be late.

The manager looks down at a holographic display and says, “Oh dear, it appears the scan was successful, data gathering worked perfectly, but the disassembler which usually works in conjunction with the scanner, appears to have malfunctioned.”

Bamboozled at this incompetence, you patiently respond, “Well, it obviously didn’t work. I am literally here in front of your eyes, with all my watches. Also, I am really late for this meeting, so please just set me up in a new Departure Room!”

She pulls up a holographic video and shows it to you, “No, it did work - see? There you are in Geneva with your collection - it looks like you’re gonna be right on time for your meeting.” You literally see yourself walking through the lobby of The Horology House in Geneva, proudly wearing your Piece Unique from Atelier Akrivia.

Now you’re perplexed. “B…B…B…But that can’t be me, because I’m still here with my watches.”

Now the supervisor walks in to explain everything is fine. The scanner worked as intended and you’re in Geneva as planned with perfect replicas of your watches. The only thing that didn’t work properly was the disassembler in the Departure Room. “It’s not a problem at all, we will just set you up in another room and activate the disassembler which will complete the operation.”

Of course, this is something which you’re used to doing all the time. This is pretty normal. Still, you’re completely numb at the prospect of going through with this insanity. “You' must be insane brother. I ain’t doing that. I will be dead for sure, and my watches will never make it!”

The supervisor laughs with amusement:

“Sir, please do not be alarmed, this is not uncommon. You will not die, and your watches will be just fine. You literally just saw yourself and your collection in Geneva - you’re already there and everything is functioning perfectly.”

“Well that’s definitely not me, and those aren’t my watches - because I’m here, and this is the real me. Those are just copies of me, and I will not allow you to disassemble me or my watches!”

The two staff exchange awkward looks and the supervisor then says with a stern tone:

“I am sorry sir, by law you are obliged to surrender yourself for disassembly, noting you have already arrived safely, we cannot allow two versions of you to remain active!”

After nearly wetting yourself at the prospect of being deleted from earth, you run for the door clutching onto your watch case. Several guards pounce on you and drag you kicking and screaming towards a disassembly room with your precious watches.

Jeepers. If we’re anything alike, you started off thinking this Horology House sounded awesome, and by the end, you had sweaty palms just thinking about the prospect of such a nightmare.

The point of this experiment? “Is the Horology House a form of travelling? Or is it a form of ceasing to exist and having your watches disassembled, and then having a new replica of you and your watches created somewhere else?”

Beyond Boundaries: Navigating the Teletransportation Paradox in a Project Management Odyssey

At first, this might have seemed pretty normal and safe when you first started reading about it. By the end, however, it certainly felt much more like a form of ceasing to exist and losing your real watches. This means that every time you transport to Geneva from New York, you’re disassembled by the scanner, your watches are taken apart, and replicas of you and your collection are created. After the first time, it’s just replicas roaming around.

As far as anyone you know is concerned, everyone survives the Horology House just fine, the same way your watch buddy seems just fine when he arrives at Geneva to meet you after his own transportation, talking about his latest acquisition and discussing plans for the next auction. As we’re coming to realise, it is also possible your buddy died that day, and the person you’re shaking hands with now, as well as his seemingly identical watches, are a replica created only a few minutes prior.

We’re back to the primary question, what are you as a collector? If you subscribe to The Passion Theory you will submit the Geneva you is you, just as much as New York you. You will also conclude The Horology House is perfectly survivable for both you and your watches. Having said that, I’m pretty sure we all relate to New York you’s fear at the end there. How is anyone supposed to be cool with being disassembled and having his watches taken apart just because his collector data and watch specs are safe and alive over in Geneva?

This stuff appears to be scoring points for Wrist Check Theory and Loupe Theory, but we’re not done yet.

The Split Collection Experiment

Imagine that watch collections can be divided, with each half maintaining its own identity and value. Now say you have a fellow collector named Kevin who loses his entire collection in a freak accident. You decide to save his collector identity by giving him half of your collection (and all that part of you, which is imbued in that half of your collection). When you wake up the next day, you feel normal and like yourself as a collector. Kevin wakes up with half of your exact collection and, crucially, all the knowledge and passion that comes with it.

As the reality of this situation dawns on you, the anxiety is palpable. Kevin now knows all your deepest darkest thoughts about watches; the stuff you bought to flip, your secret auction strategies, everything. Then it hits you: you don’t need to worry at all! This isn’t Kevin anymore - this is you as a collector. He is equally motivated to keep all your horological secrets, because they’re as much his secrets as they are yours.

There you are, standing across from Kevin - good ol’ Kevin, who just yesterday couldn’t tell a repeater from a remontoire. Now? He’s got that wild-eyed look of a man who’s just discovered the universe is made of hairsprings and escapements. All because you, in a fit of collector’s magnanimity, split your precious hoard right down the middle.

But seriously, why are you still... well, you? Shouldn’t your consciousness be pirouetting between two bodies? What about that slice of your collector’s soul now residing in Kevin’s head? Has it gone AWOL, leaving you high and dry in your singular existence?

The theories - oh, the theories! Loupe Theory is sweating like a fat kid on a hike right now - it makes no sense. If collectors are supposed to go wherever their horological knowledge goes, what happens when that knowledge is in two places at once?

Passion Theory is still nursing its wounds from that Horology House snafu. But Wrist Check Theory, which was laughed out of the picture at the start of this exercise, is suddenly preening like a peacock.

“My dear horologist,” it seems to crow. “The watch on your wrist is exactly what makes you, you as a collector. Everything else - knowledge, passion – these are just complications in the overall movement that is your identity. Kevin will never be you, because he is Kevin. Now he’s a Kevin with half your watches and the enthusiasm which comes with them.”

A compelling argument, sure; Except it doesn’t quite explain the nagging feeling you got from the Horology House experiment. You know, the one where your atomic doppelganger stepped out in Switzerland, identical down to the last lubricant molecule in your watch’s movement. Something was lost in that quantum leap across the pond, something that made you uniquely you as a collector.

So, what gives? Wrist Check Theory and Loupe Theory imply the only difference between New York you and Geneva you, is each person is made up of different atoms. Is it really just about specific individual atoms? Let’s do some more testing!

The Watch Component Replacement Test

Have you heard Theseus’s Paradox5? What if I replace the hairspring in your vintage Patek Philippe with an identical, but modern hairspring. Are you not you as a collector anymore? At first this may seem like a daft question - of course you are. Now, what happens if I replace 1% of your watch components with replicas? Or maybe 10% of components? 20%? 40%? 60%?

Turns out, the Geneva version of you was composed of 100% replacement atoms, and we decided that was not you, correct? So when exactly is this proverbial line drawn? What percentage of your watch components must be substituted with replicas before you as a collector no longer exists, and the remaining you is considered your replica?

This doesn’t quite land as cleanly as I’d like it to. In the end, the components being replaced are literally identical to those removed. If a watchmaker was observing this happen, they’d never be able to notice anything change about your watches. It is therefore implausible that you’d ever cease to exist as a collector during this process, even if we 100% of your watch components were swapped for replicas. Except, if all your watches are eventually replicas, how are you any different from Geneva you? Is it just the body we’re concerned with?

The Atomic Scramble Test

Imagine you are able to step into an atomic scrambler that turns you and your precious collection into a horological smoothie. Minutes later, it reassembles every atom, and you strut out feeling like the same watch-obsessed lunatic you’ve always been.

Are you still you, the collector? Or did your identity evaporate when the Pateks became particles, only to be reborn as a doppelganger? It feels nonsensical to claim this reassembled you is authentic while your Geneva clone (from the Horology House) is a fake. The only difference here, is your atoms stayed put while Geneva-you got new ones. Given atoms are as interchangeable as sh*t watches from Kickstarter, does this even matter? A steel atom in your Rolex is identical to one in Geneva. So, if we’re calling BS on Geneva-you being the real deal, we must apply the same logic to reassembled-you.

First off, these experiments prove your identity as a collector is not tied to the physical presence of your actual watch parts. The Watch Component Replacement Test above, shows you can swap out your entire collection bit by bit and still be you. The Atomic Scramble Test suggests that even if you keep all your original atoms, a total reshuffle leaves you as much “you” as your Geneva twin. Not looking great for Wrist Check Theory anymore.

Secondly, we’re clearly alluding to continuity. The Watch Component Replacement Test might keep you intact because it’s a slow burn, changing your collection one tiny piece at a time. The Atomic Scramble on the other hand, is a collector equivalent of a hard reboot. This would explain why The Horology House is essentially an identity shredder; Geneva you has no continuity with your previous life as a collector.

So, have we been barking up the wrong tree this whole time? Is it plausible that any time you zap your entire collection to a new location, scramble your watch atoms, or download your watch knowledge into a new brain, you’re essentially hitting the delete button on your collector identity? Well, sure! It would be because you’re not defined by any single aspect of collecting. You’re the sum of your unbroken, continuous existence as a collector.

Continuity

Let me paint you a picture. A buddy of mine pushing 80, eyes failing but wrist game still strong, points to a dusty photo. It’s him, decades ago, sporting his first Seiko. “That's baby collector me,” he chuckles.

Sad Man Looking At The Picture Frame · Free Stock Photo — Random old guy I found on Google Images

He’s not wrong, but let’s be real. The gap between the kid with the Seiko and this haute horlogerie hoarder is wider than the one between Jeff Bezos’s rocket budget and his warehouse workers’ salaries. Their watch knowledge? Night and day. Their collections? Please. That Seiko is probably powering a landfill now. Hell, any random old-timer at a watch fair has more in common with my friend than his past self.

Except, it’s less about being similar, and more about the continuous journey. If being alike was the benchmark, New York You and Geneva You would be horological twins. What links my friend to his Seiko-wearing past self is a decades-long, unbroken chain of watch obsession. It’s like tracing the history of a tech giant - the 80-year-old CEO might not remember coding in his garage, but he recalls his actions at 75, which were informed by his choices at 70, and so on, all the way back to that first line of code.

Think of it like a software update. iOS 1.0 might be unrecognisable compared to iOS 18.0, but each iteration built on the last. My friend at 50 knew exactly what made his 45-year-old self tick, just as his 20-year-old self was the world’s leading expert on his teenage Seiko fixation.

It’s the Ship of Theseus; horological edition! You’ve got this ancient table clock. Over time, you’ve replaced every single component. Is it still the same clock? If you dubbed it ‘Big Ben Junior’ on day one, would you rename it now? Of course not. It remains, Big Ben Junior, with a decades-long update log.

Your identity as a collector isn’t a static entity - it’s a narrative, a progression, a theme. You’re not a watch box; you’re the curator of an ever-evolving exhibition. You’re not a data set; you’re a learning algorithm, constantly training and updating the underlying data.

What about this nebulous “collector’s spirit” everyone bangs on about? It’s not some mystical force or a fancy way to justify dropping five or six figures on a watch. It is basically the thread which connects every version of you - from Seiko newbie to Journe connoisseur.

After dissecting the watch collector psyche from every angle, maybe we’ve been overthinking it. The Collector’s Spirit Theory isn’t some ethereal concept - it’s the cumulative effect of every decision, every purchase, every trade and every mistake that has shaped your horological journey. It’s not about what’s on your wrist right now; it is about the path that led you to place it there.

In the end, being a collector isn’t about the watches you own. It is about the story you’re writing, one second at a time.

Look, I’d love to wrap this up with a nice bow and call it a day, but I can’t buy into this “collector’s soul” BS any more than I can believe in the long-term value of Hublot watches.

After a week of mental gymnastics, my thoughts are more twisted than Aurel Bacs financials. We’ve clone-swapped collectors, merged horological brain trusts, and contemplated whether flipping your entire collection is the watch world equivalent of faking your own death. If you’re hunting for closure, you might as well hit up a RedBar meetup, because I'm as lost as a Swiss movement in a smartwatch factory.

You’re probably wondering, “What's the endgame here? Why put watch nerds through this existential wringer?” Well, I stumbled upon this gem:

“Much of the anxiety in a watch collector’s life resulted from the false view of self as a collector.”

Okay, I’m lying - I made up that quote. But it might as well be true. I’ll take the credit, thanks.

The next time you’re having a meltdown over whether offloading your Daytona makes you less of a purist, or if servicing and polishing grandpa’s Longines somehow severs your horological bloodline, take a step back and laugh at the absurdity. It’s like worrying that selling your BlackBerry stock in 2008 made you less of a tech investor.

Here’s the reality: We live in a world where time is displayed on every smartwatch and smartphone, which makes it particularly marvellous to consider our collective obsession with mechanical anachronisms steadfastly ticking away on our wrists, blissfully unaware of their own obsolescence - much like us collectors, ourselves.

I’ll end with a quote from a dear friend:

You’re a watch collector because of your attitude.
Not what you have on.
Not what know.
Purely your intent.

Can’t argue with that.

In the end, most readers will agree, a huge part of being a watch collector isn’t even in the watches themselves, but in the friends we annoyed along the way with our incessant watch talk.

Now that’s something worth collecting.