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The Ship of Theseus paradox involves the legendary vessel that Theseus––a Greek mythological hero who rescued the children of Athens and slayed the Minotaur of Crete––traveled on. To honor his valiant efforts, the Athenians preserved the ship and, over time, swapped parts that decayed or had become damaged, eventually replacing all of its original components. This, in turn, begs the question: is it still Theseus’ ship even if all the parts have been replaced? If not, at what point did it cease to be the original?
Now that our history lecture is over, I want to utilize this idea of time and identity to talk about a topic near and dear to our watch-collecting hearts: patina. A number of journalists and enthusiasts have discussed what patina is, how it can be defined in a horological sense, and the many forms it can take, but no one (to my knowledge) has discussed when deterioration or damage becomes patina. This may seem like a rather abstract subject to discuss, but most, if not all, collectors take condition into consideration when shopping for a watch. The two main questions that will help get to the bottom of this patina paradox are: 1.) At what point does damage become patina? and 2.) Is patina just a buzzword to market a watch with lots of aesthetic flaws?
The Evolution of Flaws to Patina
One of patina’s most essential characteristics is its dependability on age. The natural degradation of luminous material, the color-changing properties of a dial often subjected to a sizable amount of UV exposure, and the unintentional finishing changes on the case and bracelet from years of continuous wear all go into making the patina aesthetic. While there are methods to simulate the wear and tear incurred by age, most attempts result in a more unnatural and noticeably reproduced finish. Damage, on the other hand, can occur at any time. In one foul swoop, a watch can succumb to a scratch or dent that will forever bug its owner until a repair is performed. The more flawless the watch, the more noticeable the damage is.
I think that, though there’s no singular answer as to when this transition occurs, damage becomes patina when it reaches a state of uniformity. There’s a point where a vintage watch has a consistent amount of wear throughout, working together to form a general, overall patina. If a watch is pristine but has a series of scratches in a certain place (see my Seiko “Pogue” 6139-6002’s subdial, above, for reference), I would consider these markings to be damage, blemishes, or imperfections. If a watch has general wear on the dial, bezel, indices, case, and bracelet (see my Heuer 3000, below, for reference), I would claim the watch has patina. One could argue that a watch with a pristine case and bracelet yet heavily discolored dial has patina, and while this is true, there’s still uniformity even within the dial. This is where the term “tropical dial” comes into play, but we’ll save that discussion for a later date.
There’s of course a point where too much patina becomes undesirable, but even then, a fine line exists where a watch is still fully functioning but bears the scars of substantial usage and wear (see my Seiko “Pogue” 6139-6005 for reference). Watch crystals play a weird role in the patina conversation. While there are some who argue that originality is essential to a watch’s history, it seems the majority of collectors get the crystal replaced or heavily polished. This goes to show yet another level of subjectivity when it comes to patina, and an additional topic of debate among vintage watch enthusiasts.
The Veil of “Patina” and the Reality of Damage
Many times, the “patina” descriptor is utilized in vintage watch advertisements by independent sellers or dealers marketing a timepiece for sale. As I hope to have demonstrated above, defining patina and using it to describe a watch can be rather complicated. It’s an incredibly subjective term that can sometimes be used correctly, but other times be employed to describe damage with rose-tinted glasses. Similar to “NOS” (New Old Stock), “LNOS” (Like-New Old Stock), “rare,” and even “vintage” at times, these terms can be incorrectly used to benefit a seller when selling a watch. My main word of advice is to be cautious the next time you see “patina” in the description of a timepiece you’re interested in. Make sure it has an acceptable (to you) amount of wear and tear, and that the seller isn’t using the term to craft a biased outlook on noticeable, unwanted flaws.
The thought processes outlined here are by no means an attempt to say that patina is a fictitious concept or that all patina is bad; I have several pieces that have become staples of my collection because of their age and wear (see the faded purple dial on my Bulova Brigadier, below, for reference). Instead, my opinions attempt to show that not everything may be as it seems when the term “patina” is used, and to take note of how subjective it really is. In its most authentic form, what makes patina special is its ability to transform a watch and make it entirely unique. Flaws can tell a story that a pristine watch may not. One of my favorite aspects of older watches is when dials feature burn areas where the handset sat and the radium offgassed. These blemishes show that the watch laid dormant for a significant amount of time and, if the piece is now running, has been brought back to life.
It’s quite the slippery slope overall, but getting to the roots of what should and shouldn’t be considered patina works to weed out the misleading uses of the term. At the end of the day, though, I’m just one collector processing all of this myself. What does patina mean to you?
