One Watch, One Month

An experiment in self denial

Homo unum horologium, the rare “one watch person” is that man or woman who either forsakes other timepieces for a single one, or isn’t even aware or doesn’t care, that others exist. Once thought extinct, like the Tasmanian tiger, this species is now seen with some regularity, often with a certain white lozenge-shaped tumor on their wrists, on which they tap and swipe from time to time. But among the denizens of the countless watch enthusiast forums, blogs, and Substack newsletters, the concept of only ever wearing one watch is a fool’s errand, tantamount to blasphemy. And yet, the one watch man has long represented a sort of ideal for me, for a number of reasons, a sort of asceticism I’ve long strived for, but which has evaded me. But, as the Buddha said, it can take a thousand lifetimes before one can hope to reach Enlightenment.

There may be a handful of you who are already that “one watch” person. In fact, I know of two or three for certain. But among the typical watch enthusiast, who I know make up the majority of my readers, the idea of winnowing down a collection, or at least a wrist choice, to a single timepiece, is a silly and unnecessary exercise, a bit like an oenophile who sees his friends struggle through “Dry January.” But hear me out, because my reasons for striving go a bit deeper than self denial for its own sake. 

“The more stuff you own, the more your stuff owns you,” goes a well known phrase. I doubt anyone who has worried about getting a scratch on his new car at the mall parking ramp, stood in front of a closet brimming with clothing options, or installed an expensive security system at home to keep that new 65-inch OLED TV safe, will deny that aphorism. There is something freeing about having limited options. I say this with the full self awareness that it is a privileged position to be able to narrow down choices instead of having it forced upon me. But it’s one reason why I always enjoy backpacking or travel—living out of a single pack or suitcase for days or weeks at a time. There’s a self sufficiency and freedom to not having to choose which pants to wear on a given day. You only have one, and if you made smart packing choices, whatever you have will be versatile, comfortable, and rugged enough to endure whatever you’ve got planned. Steve Jobs famously wore only black turtlenecks, allegedly so he wouldn’t need to focus on clothing choices and his mind would be free to concentrate on more important matters. 

I believe this same logic can apply to watches. Choose wisely and the watch you wear can not only survive whatever you throw at it, but thrive in it, enhance it, be appreciated more for it, without being a mental burden to worry about, while also eliminating that indecision that comes when you face a box, roll, safe, winder, or Pelican case brimming with tempting choices. Now I say this as a person who struggles a bit with too many choices, whether that be boots in my closet, boxes of cereal in the pantry, or winter jackets. I also don’t consider myself a true “collector” in the sense that I don’t accumulate things out of a love of simply owning a complete set, a theme, or enjoy the thrill of the chase. I don’t think collecting is a bad thing. Those who do enjoy this hobby likely find it as fulfilling as woodworking, painting, or anything else that releases dopamine in the brain when we do them. But that’s not me. My ethic, if you will, has always run towards the “light and fast,” “versatile,” “grab and go,” “ready for anything” way of living. I love my house, but I’ve often said that if it burned to the ground and my wife and I managed to get out safely, I’d not miss a thing inside. Oh, and as long as I have one watch on my wrist when I climb down knotted bedsheets from the window.

I suspect these opposing ways of being—collector, and “one watch” person—have always existed. Witness the fascinating watch collecting competition between Henry Graves Jr. and James Ward Packard in the early 20th century, or the rotating wrist wear of Jacques Cousteau (a watch nerd if there ever was one), both of which ran counter to those storied explorers or military divers who just “set it and forget it” and got on with their business, not even giving a second thought to what they were wearing, aside from whether it leaked or was keeping time. It takes both kinds to make up this messy, fascinating, and diverse world in which we live. I’ve just always gravitated towards the latter type, yet have become more of the former, mostly because of how my career led me to exposure of so many watches, and the means with which to acquire them. 

Homo unum horologium (bottom)

wrote an article back in 2013 about a man I met on a press trip in the New Mexico desert, where we were covering the launch of Felix Baumgartner’s balloon, from which he’d be skydiving from the edge of space. This man was a film producer for National Geographic and on his wrist was a well used Rolex. I struck up a conversation with him and found out he’d bought it in Africa back in the 1970s and worn it ever since, through thick and thin. He was the archetypal “one watch man,” his old Rolex bearing the scars of countless adventures, triumphs, and failures around the world. I happened to be wearing a similar watch at the time, also a 1970s Rolex and we compared notes, then parted ways, me suitably inspired. That inspiration didn’t last long, I guess, as my Rolex got sold (regrettably) and I suspect his is still ticking faithfully on his wrist now nine years later.

I used to be a one watch man. This was in my early 20s, before I discovered this vast, niche world of luxury timepieces, collector forums, Instagram, and watch journalism. I was fairly impecunious, with more important things to spend money on, like rent, a car payment, school loans, and groceries. And I was happy with what I wore—first my infamous Seiko, bought in the ‘80s while I was in high school, then a Suunto Vector, then on to a Swiss Army watch. I guess it’s more accurate to call me serial one watch man, since although I always ever wore one at a time for long periods, I cycled through a number of watches. They would break, or I’d tire of them, or lose them, but I was never in the position of having a canvas roll of a dozen from which to choose on any given day.

Homo unum horologium (formerly)

So what would it take to become a one watch man again? Would it feel the same as it used to? Would it be as satisfying as I’ve imagined it? It seems like a fitting exercise, in any case, if only for fodder for my Substack, and to amuse my readers when I fail at it miserably and go crawling back to my collecting less than a week into it. Yes, I’m proposing an experiment: one month wearing only one watch, for everything—sleeping, exercising, day to day household chores, wrenching on the Land Rover. I’ll allow for strap changes, and may double wrist a Garmin for tracking my workouts, but other than that, I want to settle into one piece, keep all the others tucked away in a box somewhere, mainsprings relaxed, oils pooling, luminescent dials dark. 

When approaching such an experiment, it’s important to choose the right watch. It has to be one that is dynamic enough to keep me smiling when I see it on my wrist, rugged enough for showers, snow, the jolts and knocks of running and skiing, and accurate. I’m nothing if not spoiled for choice. I have any number of suitable candidates. A Bremont, perhaps a Rolex Submariner, CWC diver, an Aquastar perhaps. I’ve worn all of them for lengthy periods before. But lately the choice has become more clear. In fact, I’ve almost been a one watch man the past couple of months. 

The white dial Omega Seamaster Professional I acquired back in September has barely been off my wrist since, and then only for brief spells. It’s the most accurate watch I’ve owned, keeping time to within a second or two per day. Its movement is rated for 15,000 Gauss magnetic resistance, more than enough for anything I have planned. The same goes for shock resistance, which Omega tests as part of its vaunted “METAS” certification process. And with 300 meters of water resistance, it won’t break a sweat during any of my winter adventures, even if I manage to get under the ice for some diving next month (stay tuned). It works well on a number of bands. The stock rubber strap with which it came is superb, but I switched it out for a vintage steel Omega bracelet, on which it sings. NATO dresses it down suitably. And then I sourced an older style Omega rubber strap first seen on the mid-2000s Planet Ocean that is my favorite choice. It’s this latter configuration in which I’ll likely keep it for the majority of this monthlong exercise, perfect for my runs, rows, skis, and showers.

Test subject: the “Arctic Bond.”

I think beyond any sort of objective capabilities, if I’m confining myself to a single choice, it’s the intangibles that are even more important. Omega has long held a special place in the horological corner of my heart. A Planet Ocean on this same style rubber strap was my first “luxury” watch, and the one I was wearing when I got dive certified, setting my life on an entirely new course. Omega’s history in exploration appeals to my interest in brand provenance. And the tie-in, however manufactured, with James Bond, lends this watch, which I’ve dubbed the “Arctic Bond,” a certain je ne sais quois that will make every grocery run a sense of clandestine adventure. 

Do I think I can do it? Sure. Will it be easy? Compared to something like writing a novel, quitting smoking, or running for President, sure. But for someone like me who consumes watch content in a steady trickle daily, and has a nearby quiver of interesting choices always at the ready, it will be daunting. Not to mention that occasionally I receive a loaner watch to try out or review. Those will have to wait. That said, maybe I’ll come to realize that reducing the horological “noise” in my personal life is liberating and I’ll put the rest of my collection in storage. In a way, it’s a fitting month to try this out, since I also recently took up daily meditation, which is also about finding clarity and calm and focus, living in the moment. But that’s a subject for another missive.

So, here I go, on a silly, self imposed experiment in self denial, but also hopefully one of enlightenment. One watch for one month. Will I emerge a devoted one watch man come Valentine’s Day? Or will I run, weeping and repentant, back to my waiting collection of other watches, a prodigal collector? Time will tell. Along the way I’ll post some updates here of how it’s going. And if you dare join me in this frivolity, feel free to drop a note in the comments. There’s strength in numbers, even when you’re trying to get down to only one.