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Earlier this month, Managing Editor Zach Kazan shared his thoughts on “Watches We Don’t Wear.” We thought this represented a good opportunity to get our staff and Worn & Wound contributors together to find out what watches are just kind of sitting in their own watch boxes, and why. Find those stories below, and let us know in the comments if you have a watch you don’t wear, but just can’t bring yourself to part with.
Devin Pennypacker
Did you know that you can order a pack of clear acrylic watch stands on Amazon for less than $15? Well, now you do. This year, I finally decided to do something with the pair of watches that paradoxically I will not wear and yet will never get rid of. Near and dear to my heart, these two watches spring from different eras of my watch enthusiasm and, of course, my preference for collecting.
The first is a black-on-black Nixon Time Teller fitted with a rubberized genuine faux leather strap. Dead long ago, the blacked-out seconds hand sits idle which would typically bother me but for the fact that it is backdropped by black hands and a black dial making legibility all but impossible. It was never practical, but boy did I feel cool wearing it. Stemming from my angsty youth and fascination with action sports, I would frequently stop into my local skate shop to try on visually loud Nike SB Dunks, flip through the clothing racks of black hoodies and cargo pants, and of course, oggle the well-lit Nixon display case. So, when I got my first job and earned some money, I bought a pair of Nixon watches. A long time ago I broke and lost the other piece, but the Time Teller lived on attending family weddings, graduations, and other life events where I felt the need to “dress up” my appearance with a mature watch. Eventually, it died and landed in the back of a drawer. That is until a little while ago when I pulled the watch out, gave it a smiling glance, and then laid it out on my desk. Then, when that box showed up carrying a cheap pack of display stands, the Time Teller found another new home strapped around the flexible C and lovingly placed on my shelf. It will stay there as a reminder of my past self as well as a reminder not to take it all so seriously. Who knows, you may even catch me wearing it at a future meetup just to hear everyone say “Oh man, I remember when I had one of these!”
The other watch is my Seiko 5 SNK808 Automatic Stainless Steel Watch With Black Canvas Strap. You may have heard me talk about this watch before as my “first serious watch” purchased based on my very outdated preferences and no small amount of research. My parameters were simple. It had to have a black dial, be no larger than 38mm, have an automatic movement, and be under $100. I was not spoiled for choice. So when I stumbled across the Amazon listing for the steep price of $70, I saved the link and stewed on it for a few weeks. I finally pulled the trigger setting in motion a wild path I am still walking. This watch became my everyday piece throughout a lot of milestones and misadventures. At one point while working as an ironworker, I ended up snagging the watch on a steel beam leaving a gouge in the case and breaking the spring bar sending the watch flying from my wrist. I wore that watch for everything. Rock climbing, cycling, kayaking, backpacking, and so on – this watch saw a lot of abuse. That is how, on one fateful day, the rotor fell right off. Not wanting to waste money on another watch, I cracked the caseback off and tried to fix it myself to no avail. So, it too found itself in the back of my drawer leaving room on my wrist for a slew of watches to come. The Seiko now also sits on my office shelf, proudly displayed on a plastic stand as a talking piece for when other enthusiasts come over or see it on a video call.
These two watches will most likely never get any wrist time, but one can dream. I realize that the romance behind wearing them again directly goes against the purpose of this article, but how can you not think back dreamy-eyed to the early days of your collecting journey wishing you could go back to when the watches you wanted didn’t require a savings account? I am happy to see the growth in my taste and collection, but those pieces also serve as a reminder of my privileged position to even have Watches I Don’t Wear.
Nathan Schultz
If you know someone deep into a hobby, you’ve probably learned not to give them gifts related to it. With expertise in nearly every pursuit inherently linked with pickiness, your golfing obsessed friend is just as likely to use those generic golf balls from Target as your ultralight backpacking friend is to take that four pound rain jacket on their next excursion. But watches seem to be the rare exception to this rule. Sure, us self proclaimed experts are picky, but watch boxes and wrists tend to be all-inclusive when gifts are involved. If you’ve ever bought a watch for that picky horologist in your life and wonder if they wear it, I am happy to report that they do. Heck, they even share pictures of it with other nerds like me.
Like my enthusiast peers, I’m sincerely honored whenever a loved one acknowledges my obsession by gifting me a watch. I wear them all with pride, regardless of whether they fall within my particular wheelhouse. Somewhat ironically, the only watch in my collection that I don’t wear happens to be a gift that is exactly in my wheelhouse: a vintage Accutron. Aside from a personal interest in all things Bulova and a fascination with the small yet historic blip that tuning fork movements played in the evolution of accurate timekeeping, this particular Accutron is meaningful because it was gifted to me by my step dad. Prior to that, it had been worn by his dad. Along with a cracked crystal and layers of micro scratches that demonstrate decades of consistent yet loving wear, the watch is also inscribed with the date “3-22-1973” and the note “25 YRS SERVICE MICH BELL” to celebrate a quarter century of employment with the former telecommunications company. Considering staying with an employer for 25 years and company gifted watches (let alone ones that operate at 360 Hz) are largely things of the past, the watch serves dual purpose as a family heirloom and a time capsule.
Not unlike other Accutrons of the era, this particular one is non-running and would require a service from a watchmaker specialized in tuning fork movements to get it humming again. When I first received the watch I had grand plans of getting it running quickly- a task I’ve learned is easier to dream about than actually accomplish. Unwilling to put a priceless watch in the mail and so far unable to find a local watchmaker specialized in tuning fork movements, this well-worn, non-running Accutron has found a place in my collection as my most meaningful, yet most unworn, watch.
Christoph McNeill
As a collector of mostly vintage watches, I do have several watches that I don’t wear and just can’t bring myself to sell. Since vintage watches are less robust than their modern counterparts, I tend to mostly wear the few modern pieces I have so I don’t really have to worry about what is on my wrist. That said, I do wear my vintage pieces on my days off or evenings after work (can’t wear any at work since I work in MRI…). However, there are indeed a handful of watches that I simply never wear any more, yet I still love them.
I am a huge fan of Art Deco and Machine Age design aesthetics, and some of the watches from the 1920’s and 1930’s are shining examples of this zenith of design. When I started collecting watches, these gems are partly what drew me to the hobby. I’ve owned dozens of Art Deco era watches, but over the years I ended up selling most of them as they are just too dainty and fragile for regular wear for me. But, there are a few that I can’t bear to part with. I’ve kept three vintage Hamiltons, each of which is a prime example of the artistry in design from a bygone era that sadly has been lost in modern times.
The Drake is a prime example of Streamline design, with its sleek step-sided case. The white enamel dial has incredible Art Deco stylized Arabic numerals and classic blued steel leaf hands. The Nelson has the most stunning Machine Age case I’ve ever seen. The single step on the sides, and the multi-step case ends and lugs are pure poetry of design to my eyes. It reminds me of the Golden Gate bridge towers. The white dial has applied gold Arabic numerals, also styled in the Art Deco fashion. Last but definitely not least is the peak of Art Deco watch design, the Putnam. The bold, step-sided case with its slightly convex curves is simply stunning. This beauty has a white dial with the original radium numeral dial and radium filled hands. Radium is another decent reason not to wear this one! All three are prime examples of the peak of industrial design in my opinion. Even though they pretty much never grace my wrist, they are simply too beautiful to sell…and so they remain in my watch cabinet.
Meg Tocci
As a new collector, you quickly go through phases of interest. With any hobby, there is an ebb and a flow to establishing your tastes: things you craved one season are not the same things you find yourself enjoying the next. With time comes wisdom and something you loved once doesn’t always follow you into subsequent chapters of the journey. We know this to be true in both watches and in life.
This Tissot Couturier was my first mechanical watch purchase and I spent a lot of time researching exactly what I thought I wanted. The Powermatic 80 movement, the coveted “Swiss made” designation on the dial, the air of formality suitable for a young professional… it checked all of my rather meticulous boxes. It’s even gold PVD coated, which, according to my jewelry preferences, I should have loved.
I bought it as a gift to myself a couple of years ago: celebrating my birthday, finishing my master’s degree, and beginning a new job all in the same week. Though I had been given a few watches by others in the months leading up to this acquisition, I hadn’t spent over $100 on any purchase for myself, so it felt like a big deal. I wore it with zeal the first month but then came another addition: the Hamilton Khaki Field Murph 38mm. Something clicked in my brain and I realized what true watch love was supposed to feel like. Sure, the Tissot was a little dressy and the lug width was substantial (22mm lugs on a 39mm case feels excessive) but there wasn’t really anything wrong with it. It just wasn’t the one.
I keep telling myself I’m going to sell the Couturier to make room for something else and, two years later, I still haven’t. Every time I open eBay, the sentimentality of that week of celebration comes back to me. I think I’ll part with it once I have something to save up for. Until then, it will remain a quiet and classy presence in my watch box, plotting for the day I grow out of my field watch obsession. Not likely.
Brett Braley
When I got my first publishing deal for my novel Arthur (which, ahem, makes a great stocking stuffer by the way), I promised myself I’d get a Cartier Tank. Truth be told, I knew nothing about watches and just knew the name. This tracks for me, as I tend to be enamored with an idea, versus the reality, of an object. But, still, I held firm to this promise and when my book was actually published (which, ahem, you can get at all major booksellers), I bought myself a Tank Française. Unfortunately, it has since collected dust on a shelf in my home office.
The reason I don’t wear it that often is that it’s frankly just too small. I never checked the dimensions and just went for the first Tank that came up when I searched low-to-high on a resale site. While some models — like the Solo or Louis — are more rectangular, which gives even the smaller models a bit of presence on the wrist. But with my Française, it’s too square and the teensy little case just doesn’t look the best against my 7″ wrist. I’ve worn it more as a bracelet, if anything, in recent months. While it was a great present to myself, I now know that if I’m going to drop a couple thousand on a watch…well, maybe I should do a little research first. Lesson learned.
Marc Levesque
Three years ago, my youngest son and I went thrifting in Ottawa. He was 17 at the time and was really into modifying Nerf Blasters. Goodwill, the Salvation Army, and other thrift stores are the best places to find used or slightly damaged Blasters. He could buy them for just a couple of dollars, fix them, or use the parts to repair or create new ones. If you think the watch modding community is active, you should see the Nerf Blasters community. They even organize Nerf wars, sharing their designs and newest equipment while engaging in all-out battles. RedBar Members ain’t got nothing on Foam Warriors.
Ottawa is roughly the same distance from my home as downtown Montreal, taking about an hour and a half to get to either place. My son had planned out the locations he wanted to visit, and I intended to take him to some watch shops along the way. Since he was introducing me to his hobbies, I thought it would also be fair to share mine with him. I had a lot of fun hunting for Blasters in thrift shops, as they are often disorganized. You really must dig around to find interesting items. It felt like being on the show “American Pickers,” but in a store setting.
Towards the end of the day, we decided to visit The Bay, a multilevel department store like Macy’s in the U.S. They often have old toy sections where you can sometimes find great bargains on Nerf products. While walking through the watch section, I noticed they had the Timex Q watches I had only seen online, one of which was white! I asked to see it and immediately loved it, but I didn’t purchase it then. I regretted that decision all the way home. A few days later, still thinking about the watch, I saw that The Bay was having its annual “Bay Days” sale. I quickly grabbed one for 30% off!
I still love it, but I never wear it because it’s a little too small for my liking, and it does a number on my arm fuzz. So, it sits on my office desk, and I smile every time I look at it. It reminds me of the wonderful day I spent hobby hunting in our nation’s capital with my son.
Garrett Jones
Before I joined the W&W team, I think I owned a grand total of three watches: a Citizen Calendarier, a Seiko SNKN43, and a custom built Seiko mod. Of these watches, the Seiko Mod was the only watch I had that would fit on a nylon strap, so I frequently reached for it as I began to obtain more and more straps and could change up the feel of the watch and it was even on my wrist during my first podcast appearance as we wrapped up Windup SF ’24.
Over the last six months my collection has quadrupled, which is fantastic, but I’ve found myself constantly reaching for new and different pieces and passing over the modded Seiko. When Zach posed this question, I started thinking about why this piece has “fallen from grace,” and I don’t have a great answer. Strapping this watch on for a quick wristshot, I’m immediately reminded of all the memories attached to it, especially all the scratches and dings, each with their own story. After all, this watch was once my favorite pieces, and I recall it being the “pinnacle of my collection”.
I think the biggest issue I have with this watch is that it has 22mm lugs, while almost all of my newer pickups have 20mm lugs. Now, I want to point out that having bigger lugs doesn’t immediately disqualify a watch from being worn, but it just so happens that all of my new straps, bought alongside those other new purchases, have been in 20mm, creating a weird imbalance of strap options where almost none of them will fit on this modded piece. Perhaps the best solution to all of this is to just buy more straps, but this time in 22mm to get this piece back into the rotation, allowing it to serve as a visual reminder of just how much things have changed (for the better) over the last six months.
Tommy DeMauro
Between my daily drivers and the pieces located on my metaphorical “Island of Misfit Watches” lie only a handful of watches that will forever be a part of my collection but receive little wrist time. For my contribution to this article, I want to focus on the most important piece of that handful: my 1944 military-issued Elgin Grade 554. I acquired it during the 2020 holiday season while I was still in my undergraduate studies––sent home from college because of the COVID-19 pandemic with no job and, thus, no source of regular income. I decided the price was too good to pass up, bought the watch, went into minor debt, and messaged the seller to see if he had any information on the piece’s history. Through this, I met Dale Hoffman––the son of the watch’s first owner, Sergeant First Class Joseph A. Habich. Initially a technician Fifth Grade in the 122nd Signal Radio Intelligence Company of the Signal Corps during WWII, Habich would continue his service throughout the Korean and Vietnam Wars as a Chaplain and eventually retire from duty in 1972. Dale was kind enough to pass along dozens of scans containing Habich’s awards, personal documents, and hundreds of photos his father had taken overseas in Europe and Africa during WWII. The watch became a treasure trove of history that I was now in charge of preserving––a task I was honored to take on.
So, why not wear it out? For starters, I think the preservation aspect is key here. Its patina is a physical representation of Habich and the watch’s history; I want to keep its aesthetics and condition as original as possible rather than replace them with my own scratches and stories. Although the watch was serviced in 2010, I would also prefer nothing mechanical break, thus forcing me to swap original parts with replacements. Lastly, there are of course the concerns regarding radium and exposure to radioactive chemicals, especially with the damage to the material on the handset as can be seen in the photo. While the seals have been replaced and the crystal is in great shape, I’m still relatively mindful of prolonged exposure to radium (even if the alpha, beta, and gamma levels may be relatively low).
For me, Joseph Habich’s story and watch will forever be a part of my collection even if the piece sees little action nowadays. It’s relatively inevitable that with a sizable watch collection like mine, some pieces may fall through the cracks and sit unworn for extended periods of time. While I suggest selling pieces that have little importance to you and your collection, appreciate the memories and personal history a watch may represent. Sure, an extra $200 may look nice in your bank account, but remember when you wore that watch the night you met your best friend or when you watched your son’s first baseball game with it on? Sometimes, it’s the irreplaceable memories the watch symbolizes that hold far more significance to your collection than the wrist time it gets.
Griffin Bartsch
About two years ago, a colleague of mine, upon discovering I’d never owned a G-Shock, came into our office, tossed a Mudmaster across the room at me while proclaiming, “Everyone should experience a massively over-spec’d G-Shock at some point in their life.” They were absolutely right. The Casio G-Shock Mudmaster GWG1000-1A3 is a stupidly fun watch. It’s big (okay, monstrously large), ridiculous, unnecessary, and awesome. It packs in more features than any other wrist-worn item I own besides possibly (emphasis on ‘possibly’) an Apple Watch and yet, in the roughly two years since it was tossed at me, I’ve worn my Mudmaster out of the house maybe three or four times.
I love the Mudmaster as an object — its very existence makes me happy — but it can be hard to justify. Mostly because it’s huge. I’m not a small guy (I’m well over 6’ tall, with a 7.5” wrist), but even on my large frame, the 61mm Mudmaster is huge, and at 18mm thick, it wears proud as well. Admittedly, thanks to some clever tricks, the Mudmaster wears better than it has any right to, but, for the real world, it’s just too big. Still, I love having it on my desk, I love looking at it, and I love fighting my way through the overcomplicated function system to try and figure out how everything works. But more than all that, I love being able to reach across my desk, pick up this hulking beast of a watch, and chuckle before moving on to something more sensible.
