Opinion: Why I Don’t Have a Grail Watch

I’ve always assumed that my affinity toward affordable watches was somewhat forced by circumstances. With limited funds in the watch bank at the start of my collecting journey, purchasing attainably priced timepieces was the only way I was going to fill more than one slot in my watch box. But years later, even as I find myself with a bit more disposable income, I can’t seem to escape the pull of a $500 watch. For me, nothing hits quite like a microbrand that is able to develop their own design DNA despite their access to the same 316L steel and 3rd party movements as everyone else. Offering those unique designs at accessible prices will never cease to impress me.

A conventional journey for a collector might go something like this: Buy a Seiko 5, maybe an SNK809, to test the waters without breaking the bank. Then, when it’s financially responsible to do so, a collector might move onto an “entry level” luxury timepiece such as a Longines or Oris. Experiencing many watches and brands allows the opportunity to identify which watches evoke emotion. Often, as collectors continue to refine their taste, watches that kindle these feelings come with escalating prices.

While each enthusiast has their own price range where they feel comfortable purchasing the watches they are drawn to, there is one category where we can (nearly) all find common ground: grail watches. I’ve seen a few definitions of this term over the years, ranging from dream watches we would never sell, to being used interchangeably with an “exit watch”. Personally, I like to think of grail watches as highly lusted watches we aspire to own, regardless of budget. The sky’s the limit. And for some enthusiasts, the sky extends well beyond the catalog of Longines and Oris. Want a Tiffany Blue Nautilus? Ignore the recent auction prices and the fact that only 170 exist and add that bad boy to your grail watch list.

But unlike nearly every other collector, I don’t have a grail watch, and not for lack of trying. In a fantasy scenario I’ve tried to play out in my head many times, I find myself flush with cash. In this fabricated scenario there is no steel sport watch shortage, and I can walk into any AD and go home with the watch of my choice. I walk up to the counter, gazing at glass cases filled with Pateks, APs and Vacheron Contantins and…

This is where the fantasy ends. While I appreciate the horological contributions of the holy trinity brands and admire the craftsmanship and provenance that distinguish them, they simply don’t resonate with me. Would I like to experience watches with better finishing and higher grade movements than my current collection of Miyota and Seiko powered microbrands? Sure, yeah. But when I browse watches online with the mentality of “money is no object,” the most expensive watch I lust after is the Formex Essence. Priced around $1500, it’s not much of a grail watch by most standards. But it’s a watch that makes me feel something. Those feelings are involuntary and not influenced by retail prices. My love for that CNC machined dial housed in a suspended case wouldn’t change if the watch was priced at $100 or $5000. Perfectly executing on what excites me most, Formex has managed to create a compelling and unique design at an accessible price, using the same materials and off the shelf movement every other brand has access to.

Frankly, I’ve felt a bit alienated by the idea that my watch fantasies max out with a sub $2000 Selitta powered microbrand. Watch collecting can be inherently isolating. Yes, there are in person meetups and online communities, but for the most part, this hobby involves a lot of sitting alone at a desk covered in watches while looking at more watches on a screen. In a pursuit that is inherently office-confined and solo-prone, the last thing you want is to feel like the odd man out.

My feelings of alienation ended with the quest for a lost Cartier that turned out to be a quartz Seiko. Here’s how it went down: when I first met my wife, she spoke of her recently departed friend, Elizabeth, a bold and enthusiastic individual with an admirable disregard for others’ opinions. I enjoyed stories about how Elizabeth fully embraced her fine taste in everything from whiskey and cigars to jewelry, treating herself as she pleased, made possible by some humble, yet deep, pockets.

Before Elizabeth passed away at 90 years old, she gave my wife a watch. Stories of lost watches are almost as old as the advent of watches themselves, and this heirloom had succumbed to the same fate as Marlon Brando’s infamous bezel-free Rolex GMT II worn during Apocalypse Now- presumably misplaced forever. From what I knew of Elizabeth, including her fine taste and purchasing power, I assumed the lost watch was a Cartier. And so, every year during spring cleaning, I’d keep my eyes peeled for this lost Cartier. Every year, I came up short. 

Spring cleaning is followed by summer traveling, and every year we take a road trip from New Hampshire to West Texas to see my wife’s grandmother, who was also friends with Elizabeth. While visiting this year, she was giving us a tour of her jewelry when my wife exclaimed “There it is!” Like Marlon Brando’s GMT, Elizabeth’s watch had been in a drawer the entire time. At this moment I was surprised and amused to learn that the lost Cartier was no Cartier at all, but instead a quartz Seiko. A beautiful and robust watch, but not unlike those readily available on eBay for less than $100.

The missing heirloom was safely sitting with the rest of Elizabeth’s budget-friendly yet eclectic collection of mostly Seiko. Clearly, Elizabeth was a watch person. Yet, despite her lack of monetary constraints, she never felt the need to take that extra step beyond an “entry level” Seiko- a stark contrast from my self imposed grail watch stressing.

“Buy what you like” is the oldest advice in the book, but something even seasoned collectors need to be reminded to embrace. I’m thankful that a lost Cartier that turned out to be a Seiko encouraged me to simply enjoy the watches that make me feel something.

It’s liberating to find contentment in my collecting journey- to remove the self-imposed pressure to continue climbing to higher retail prices. Am I done collecting? Absolutely not, I’ll forever be a serial buyer and seller. However, finding solace in the idea that a Formex might be the culmination of my journey brings a sense of fulfillment.