January 1, 2025
Remembering John Weiss Through his Watches
January 1, 2025 Words by Zach Weiss

Early in the morning on May 9th, 2024, my dad, John Starr Weiss, passed away at the age of 77. He was a very kind, creative, and crafty person who always had some outlet for his imagination. From wild psychedelic drawings to photography to inventing toys (he briefly co-owned a toy brand, Weiss Twice), making leather bracelets, custom phone holsters, and modifying his clothes and hats with contrasting buttons or zipper pulls. In his later years, he carved strange sculptures and figurines out of wood, part of a ritual that went with smoking his pipe. He shared this passion with me, and I thank him for my creative abilities.

Growing up, we weren’t into sports, religion, or the great outdoors, save for a light hike on a walking trail at places like Mohonk Mountain House, scouring outcroppings of slate for fossils. Instead, we bonded over art and objects. We would walk around talking about cars on the street, going into stores ranging from sporting goods shops like Paragon- looking at the gear, boots, and knives- to comic book stores (Forbidden Planet was the favorite), as well as antique and craft shops where my Dad would spend an inordinate amount poring over every detail.

At Windup NYC 2018

He was a collector by nature, perhaps to a fault, so he would easily get lost in minutiae. While going through his things, we discovered his collections went beyond what we knew. They included items of pure nostalgia, like dated corks from New Year’s Eve decades ago, sandals he made in college, slides of his childhood home in Purchase, NY, hamster toys sealed in envelopes from ill-fated pets, and Christmas lists my sister and I wrote (which occasionally included a watch as a wish). But there were also items of broader value, such as hundreds of pocket knives and vintage lighters, many unused and unopened in perfect condition, preserved for who knows how long.

But the thing we bonded over most was watches. My Dad had been interested in watches since childhood, and he got me started at an early age. We’d go to stores in the city, like the Tourneau Time Machine (now Bucherer), which had floors of watches from G-Shock to Patek, and then to Kenjo to look at contemporary indies. We’d make a day of it. He’d also buy watch magazines, which he’d give me after to read (though I just looked at the pictures). Because of him, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t wearing a watch or interested in them.

He was very excited when I told him about the idea for Worn & Wound in 2011. He quickly began churning out ideas for topics and brands to cover and suggested we go into retail. Once we started making straps, he lent me his watches to shoot them on. For a few years, he also had a column called “The Watch Curmudgeon,” a slightly exaggerated spin on his particular and, at times, peculiar views on watches and collecting.

As a fitting tribute to him, I wanted to share some of his collection with you, including what I remember of the watches and what they meant to and said about him. I think you’ll find his collection not only speaks to his passion but also an eclectic sensibility. Though in some ways, he was very conservative with his tastes and had many rules about what watches he would purchase, yet in others, he was more adventurous than most. His watches ranged from 32mm to 47mm, classical to contemporary, and he was always careful about redundancy. He liked what he liked and didn’t care much about the name on the dial so long as it was well-made.

This isn’t an article I ever planned to write, and now, in hindsight, I wonder why I didn’t do an overview of his collection sooner. Sometimes, it’s the most obvious thing that you think of last. That said, knowing my dad, he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know precisely what watches he had. One of his Watch Curmudgeon articles focused on theft and how to store your watches so they couldn’t all be taken at once. The article ends with a joke that he won’t say how he stores his watches, so you don’t know where he hides them.

The real joke here is that he did hide his watches, and we were never told where. Since his passing, they have all been found in places ranging from the toes of old shoes to pockets of shirts hanging in closets and random bags in random boxes. They were scattered, so no one could steal them all at once unless they took everything. This might seem paranoid, but he had good reason, as his family home had been burglarized once in the 60s, during which his grandfather’s watches, including Pateks, were taken.

Below, you will find the collection of my dad, a person who genuinely loved watches. I owe my passion for watches to him, and in no small way, he inspired the creation of Worn & Wound. Given who he was and what he enjoyed, I can’t think of a better tribute to him than to publish an article about his watches in a watch publication co-owned by me, his son.

Omega Seamaster 2552.80.00

The Seamaster 2552.80.00, dating to 1995, is a version of the watch Pierce Brosnan wore as James Bond in Goldeneye. A significant watch, it marks the point at which Omega took over as the official Bond supplier and debuted the wave dial, executed in a rich, dark blue. However, this isn’t the exact version worn by Bond; rather, it’s the smaller model. At 36mm x 43mm x 10.6mm with an 18mm lug, it’s charmingly compact yet still features a chronometer-certified automatic and 300m of water resistance. I can recall that the smaller size was why he bought it. It certainly wasn’t because he was a big fan of the film; he was more of a Connery-era guy, though I likely made him watch it with me and play the iconic N64 game.

The only Omega I believe he owned (he had no interest in Speedmasters), I have vague recollections of him talking about the wave dial and saying that he preferred the smaller version to the large when it came out. Given that in the mid-90s, he was still wearing a suit to work nearly every day, it would make sense that he would opt for the 36mm. And though he did have some very large watches, he generally aired on the side of classical proportions.

The paint began falling out of the bezel at some point, which seems to be a common issue for these based on some searching. Though I don’t recall him wearing the watch as often in the last decade or so, at least not compared to some of his other pieces, the single-pass black nylon strap he had it on clearly shows signs of intense wear.

Meistersinger No 3. Limited Edition

The Meistersinger No 3. Limited Edition is from about 2007. Around this time, my dad started exploring what watches the internet had to offer. Though it was still the Wild West regarding retailers, sales outlets, and media channels, he found access to brands he had yet to learn about, specifically from Germany, which local retailers did not stock. Considering he was neither tech-savvy nor particularly trusting of sending money via the internet, the fact that he bought this watch speaks volumes about how much he liked it, or at least thought he did.

And, to be fair, it’s quite the striking watch at 43mm x 51.3mm x 11mm. A 20mm lug width and 11mm thickness somewhat balance the size, but the dial is expansive and features a cream color base with an elaborate pattern at the center and a raised and grained copper hour track. As per most Meistersinger watches, the No 3 features a single, large hand from which both the hour and an approximate minute are read. It’s powered by what appears to be an ETA 2824.

This one is a real oddity in my dad’s collection, which is part of why I find it particularly special. It was the opposite of what he typically looked for, yet he accepted it thanks to its sheer beauty. He said it best himself in a review he penned as the Watch Curmudgeon called The Watch I Love to Hate – “It became sadly apparent to me that I couldn’t tell time with any reasonable accuracy by quickly glancing at the dial. And that’s my life-long, normal method. Sure, I can lovingly stare at a watch for long periods of time, but a quick glance at the angle of the hands is how I’m conditioned to calculate time. I don’t want to pause… every time I want to read my watch. It’s just too damn frustrating. Even setting it with any means of accuracy is very difficult because time is divided into five minute increments. The whole thing became a chore, albeit a beautiful one.”

I associate this watch with when we first started Worn & Wound. I recall having lunch with him while I was still working at other companies; he’d wear it, and we’d talk about watches, new brands, the site, etc.

Mühle Glashütte Terranaut II

I’m not sure which came first, the Meistersinger or the Mühle, but it, too, was part of my dad’s new interest in German watches from around 2007. Made in Glashütte, the Terranaut II is meant as a rugged hybrid tool watch (as the name suggests) for land and air. The layout resembles a B-Uhr style Flieger, but Mühle played with the balance of things. Large minute numerals at 15, 30, 45, and 60, and an inner “explorer” style hour track in orange pull the watch into automotive gauge territory.

This was one of his largest watches, at 44mm x 53mm, with a 22mm lug width. It completely overhangs my wrist, which is around the same size as his, if not a touch larger. It’s surprisingly thin at 10.6mm, making it feel very flat. While I know he loved how this one looked and had a strong affection for Mühle in general, it didn’t get a ton of wear, likely because of its size.

Henex by Sheffield

The Henex by Sheffield is the oldest watch in my dad’s collection, dating back to 1963. The best part is that it was his the whole time. His grandparents gave it to him when he was 16. I recall him refinding this watch in his parents’ house around 2011/12 and being thrilled that it was still running despite never being serviced. He wore this one a lot after he found it, partially for sentimental reasons but also because he said he found it comfortable to sleep in.

It is a cool little dive watch at 36mm x 43mm x 12mm, with a domed acrylic crystal and 19mm lugs. It’s small but mighty, with thick lugs and an aggressive bezel. The case is a compressor by EPSA, as indicated by the diving helmet logo on the back and the crosshatched crown, which was initially rated to a respectable 666 feet.

The brand and line are still a mystery. Nothing much comes up when searching Henex by Sheffield, save a few of my dad’s old articles on W&W, but they didn’t get into the details. Sheffield was a British brand that appears to have been around in the 60s and 70s that was revived recently, though the new incarnation doesn’t delve into their history. I haven’t found much about the Henex sub-branding either, but I wonder if it was for export or a specific store.

Tourby Enamel

I know The Tourby Enamel watch very well because my mother, sister, and I gave it to my dad for his 65th birthday in 2012. While that might seem like an odd choice, as Tourby is far from well known, this was a watch that he had specifically shown a lot of interest in. He always had a thing for the marine chronometer style, and this one had a unique aesthetic. Additionally, it was the only enamel dial he had owned. It’s a sizable piece, though in line with other Unitas-powered watches at 42mm x 51.4mm x 12mm thick with a 22mm lug width. The case has a traditional and severe design that adds to its perceived size.

Tourby is not a brand that gets mentioned frequently, but it’s been around since 2007. Based in Westphalen, Germany, it specializes in customization and classical designs, often powered by heavily decorated Unitas movements. When I ordered the watch, I did so through email, not an online shop, and chose various details from a list of options, including handset, case style, finish, crown shape, etc…

Our budget was limited, so we stuck with the standard movement but upgraded the sapphire crystal, chose the sterile option, and a genuine alligator strap. All in, it was 625 Euros, or around $800. It was quite a lot of watch for the money. Upon writing this section, I visited Tourby’s site and was happy to see they seem to be doing very well. Their catalog has grown, but they still include an enamel model with the same dial design, now with a starting price of over 2,000 Euros.

This was another watch he reviewed as The Watch Curmudgeon.

Oris Pointer Date + Small Seconds

Some of my dad’s watches had sagas behind them, and the Oris Big Crown Pointer Date from the 90s was one of them. According to my dad, this watch never worked right. It would run, stop, run, then stop again, and then not run for a few days… He claimed he had brought it into several repair shops, Oris outlets, etc, over the years, and no one could solve the problem. Conveniently, I know some people over at Oris, and I got it over to them to service. Unsurprisingly, they got it to work.

This was probably around 2017, so in theory, this watch didn’t work right for most of the time he had it, but I know he still really liked it, quirks and all. It’s a gorgeous watch that defies the logic of sizing I’ve grown accustomed to. At 32mm x 38.7mm x 11mm with a 16mm lug width, it’s tiny yet looks great on the wrist. This is partially because the dial is very complicated, combining a pointer date, silver textured dial surface, golden applied markers, and cathedral hands. Another reason is that it has an unexpected robustness that belies its diminutive size. It’s solid and tanky with an automatic movement, a large crown (I assume this was part of the “big crown” line or its predecessor), and a coin-edge bezel.

In addition to the pointer, we found a gold-plated manual wind Oris in his stuff. I can’t remember having ever seen this watch before. Clearly, my dad had his surprises. That said, it is a design I can see him appreciating. Small and thin, the clean white dial has pronounced raised numerals in a sans-serif type, giving it a conservative, Bauhaus style. He also preferred sub-seconds over central seconds, which this design showcases well.

d.freemont Ancyent Marinere

Sometimes, my dad’s tastes ran towards the odd, which this d.freemont exemplifies (yes, it’s meant to be all lowercase). A fairly unknown brand, d.freemont was a collector turned watchmaker and the US distributor for Davosa watches, which is likely how my dad first came across his watches. His eponymous brand, which one could call a pre-micro, ran from 1995 – 2020, and, based on his website, produced a fair quantity of watches of different designs.

The watch in my dad’s collection was part of the “Ancyent Marinere” series, named after and inspired by Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s epic poem. A peculiar watch for many reasons, it measures an appealing 37.4mm x 43.2mm x 9.7mm, and is powered by a gilded ETA 2824-2. The perhaps most standout element of the watch, which my dad was excited about, is the engine-turned bezel that was flame-treated for a finish d.freemont calls Sun-Blushed™ (yes, TM).

Beyond the bezel, however, there are many strange choices, beginning with the model named “Regulator.” While “regulator” often refers to watches with the hours, minutes, and seconds on separate axes, in this instance, it refers to the clear separation of the hour and minutes/seconds indices. This is further emphasized by the oversized hour hand and sword minute hand, both accented with acid-green fill. While incongruous with the rest of the design, they certainly do stand out.

The indices use a calligraphic typeface, adding formality to the watch. Meanwhile, the one digit is replaced with an albatross, referring to the poem, and the seven has been swapped for the brand’s “df” logo. Considering the watch’s size, there is a surprising amount of text. Additionally,  there is a date at three under a cyclops. It’s a lot to take in in such a small space.

I recall discussing this watch over lunch, likely shortly after he purchased it around 2011. While it never clicked with me, I know he enjoyed its esoteric looks and the fact that it had a bit of handcraft in it by way of the bezel. I believe these watches were ordered by email, so he likely had a bit of a rapport with d.freemont. I ended up conversing with d.freemont back in the early days of W&W to get review samples of Davosa watches. As I recall, he did not trust blogs very much.

Davosa Pilot's Watch

There are two things worth knowing about this Davosa pilot’s watch: it’s huge and never worked properly. An outlier in my dad’s collection, it measures a gargantuan 47mm x 55.6mm x 14mm with 22mm lugs. As his preferences leaned toward smaller and more classically sized watches, hence the 32mm Oris, this watch never made much sense. But, he also would find strange little things about a watch to like and obsess over, pulling him in. For example, he was quite taken with the first Spinnaker Piccard, a tribute, of sorts, to the Rolex Deepsea Special, but not for its looks. Rather, he loved that it was 25mm thick.

What lured him in about the Davosa was the power reserve and, to a lesser extent, the moonphase. He loved a good power reserve, and for whatever reason, this one appealed to him in particular. Moonphases, however, he did not seem to care about, as this was his only one, and he never seemed to bring them up. Powered by a Unitas movement, which I recall him saying was restored from vintage, it is uncommon to see one with a power reserve or a moonphase, let alone both. Unfortunately, the power reserve never worked. It simply never goes down.

My dad was mistrustful of complications, to begin with, and this certainly reinforced his fears. I believe he sent it back for repair, but it stopped working shortly after being returned. I guess he just gave up on it, as it wasn’t his style to begin with.

Girard Perregaux Olimpico

The Girard Perregaux Olimpico is one of my favorites from his collection for aesthetic and sentimental reasons (beyond having belonged to him). In the early days of W&W, which were also the early days of my collection, he lent me this watch on occasion to wear to press events. Though I likely overestimated the formality of such occasions, having a proper, elegant dress watch to wear felt good and boosted my confidence at a time when I was new to the industry.

Made in the 90s, the Olimpico is a genuinely gorgeous watch I could see successful today. Powered by an ETA 2892 with an added power reserve, it’s a rare watch that balances classical and contemporary elements particularly well. The dial is pure Breguet with stamped guilloché textures, radially brushed surfaces, Roman numerals, and heat-blued (I believe) Breguet hands. The power reserve, which sits precariously at 4.5, features a contrasting pattern: a proper Breguet touch.

Things get more modern with the steeply angled chapter, which features Arabic numerals. This almost comes off as sporty, yet it works with the setting. The case is more peculiar yet once again successful. Measuring 38mm x 43.7mm x 9.8mm, it’s very nicely sized for a modern watch, though a touch too large for something classical or formal, especially considering it’s from the 90s.

While technically two-tone, the majority of the case is polished steel and has smooth-flowing lines with prominent lugs and rounded sides. Once again, a little sporty. The bezel has two parts: a concave portion of polished steel and a golden rope where the bezel and midcase meet. A unique element, it’s just ornate enough to bring the case into dressy territory without feeling fussy. A golden crown completes the two-tone look.

Thin and elegant, it’s truly a lovely watch to wear. The curvature of the lugs makes it hug the wrist for surprisingly good ergonomics. I would only change the date window, which feels shoe-horned in. Though I don’t recall him wearing it too much in the last few years, I know this was one of his favorites.

Tutima Valeo Reserve

Another member of his German phase, the Tutima Valeo Reserve, was in his regular rotation, unlike the Meistersinger and Mühle. A very German watch in almost a stereotypical sense, the Valeo is dry, serious, solid as a rock, and highly functional. It has elements of classic pilot’s watches, a nod to Tutima’s legacy, and details meant for an everyday, if conservative, watch—pure purpose.

Coming in at 39mm x 46mm x 13mm with a 20mm lug width and 100m water resistance, it has the solid build of a sports watch. The sunray blue dial and applied polished numerals temper the sportiness somewhat, though they don’t bring it fully into dress territory. The real standout features, which likely drew my dad to it in the first place, are the power reserve and big date complications.

Like the Girard Perregaux, the Valeo features an ETA 2892 with an additional module. As said before, he was into power reserves, even on automatics, but the big date is an anomaly. I know it’s a feature he liked, but he also would comment that they are finicky and easy to break, which is not without merit. I guess he liked this one enough to take a chance, and given that he wore it very often, it seems to be a well-made module.

The bracelet on the Valeo is worth a mention. It’s one of the most solid and well-made beads of rice bracelets I’ve encountered. It has a silky flow that speaks to the quality of the machining. I don’t believe the bracelet ever came off, which isn’t entirely surprising.

Victorinox Swiss Army Officer’s Chronograph

My dad had a good eye for unexpected details, which this quartz Swiss Army chronograph has a few of. In fact, one of its oddities, which I will get to in a bit, earned it a video in the early days of Worn & Wound. A funky design that feels “90s” in its squishy lines, it’s a great example of a watch from another time. Solid as a rock, the 40mm x 46mm x 10.6mm case with 19mm lugs features a sandblasted mid-section contrasted by a large, rounded, fully polished bezel, which must have been quite blingy when new, though it has lost its luster to years of wear.

The dial, however, is a timeless take on a field design that current Victorinox would do well to return to. The crisp white surface features highly legible printed black numerals and markers, indented sub-dials, and a tachymeter chapter ring. A gloss red ring separates the dial from the chapter ring, cleanly and simply adding a distinctive and even slightly preppy character to the design. It also uses tritium lume, a neo-vintage touch.

The design is simple and practical, speaking to the pure functionality of a field watch and the iconic knives the brand is known for. While modern Victorinox makes some impressive watches, the INOX line in particular, their simpler watches have lost the clear identity these older models had. But what makes this specific watch weird and special is the movement.

There are no active seconds; rather, the sub-dials are for hour and minute totalizers and the date, which is uncommonly a small pointer at six that is adjusted by a sunken pusher. The really odd bit, however, is that the chronograph acts like a meca-quartz. The chrono-seconds ticks at half-second intervals and instantly resets, and the hour and minute counters reset instantly as well. You can see it in action in the old, rather embarrassingly amateurish video I made in 2012 below.

While meca-quartz chronograph movements existed then, they were used by luxury brands like JLC and IWC. There was even a rattrapante meca-quartz by Frédéric Piguet that Breitling used. This is also to say that while it’s possible, it seems unlikely that one of these movements found its way into a Victorinox that retailed for $450. Admittedly, that’s about $1000 when adjusted to 2024 dollars. When I next get the battery changed, I will take a peak inside.

Anyway, there was something about this Victorinox that my Dad couldn’t get enough of. It was easily one of his most worn watches, one that he wore as more of a toolwatch. He was careful with all his watches, but he would wear this one more carefreely. It was also one of the only quartz watches he wore. While not a mechanical watch snob, one of his watch-anxieties was around the battery dying at some inconvenient point. As such, he would never travel with a quartz watch.

Chronoswiss Kairos CH7523k

Finally, we get to my favorite from his collection, the Chronoswiss Kairos CH 7523 K, a watch I didn’t quite appreciate until my knowledge of watches developed. A work of art by a brilliant watchmaker, Gerd Lang, it’s classically styled through and through. Other than the GP, it was the most traditional watch in my dad’s collection and the only mechanical chronograph he wore. He was so fond of it that he reviewed it in 2015 as The Watch Curmudgeon.

Thanks to that review, I know he purchased it in 1992, providing some context for how the watch would have appeared to him. The industry was still reeling from the quartz crisis, independent brands were few and far between, and neo-classical designs were just reemerging. Obviously, there was no internet, so access to obscure watches was reserved for magazines, if they covered them, and what was available in-store. As his story goes, seeing the Kairos in a window would have been a shock.

And, to be fair, it still would turn heads. The Kairos features a 38mm x 48mm steel case with dramatic straight lugs, each capped with screws for bars holding the straps. The mid-case is sandwiched between a fully rounded coin-edge bezel, mirrored by a band at the edge of the case-back. A huge onion crown sits at three, flanked by chrono-pushers that feature textured ends. Domed sapphire crystals cap both watch sides, bringing the height to 14.6mm. All in all, there are 23 pieces to the case.

But the dial steals the show. Made of solid 925 sterling silver with elaborate guilloché patterns, the chronograph and time-display elements have been separated. As the movement is based on the Valjoux 7750, hour and minute totalizers sit at twelve and six, respectively, with the 60-second counter at the center of the dial. Typically, one would find the hour and minute hands stacked beneath the chrono-seconds, but instead, they have been moved to a sub-dial at three, while the sub-seconds stays at nine. As such, the time and the chronograph never interfere with each other. Further, the chrono sub-dials have smaller diameters than the time sub-dials, creating a beautiful balance.

All hands are heat blued, the chrono-seconds hand is curved to meet the dial, and Breguet numerals, hour, and minute hands add a final classical touch. It’s truly a remarkable design that, if just released, I firmly believe would be applauded today. To me, this watch exemplifies my dad’s passion for watches. This isn’t a watch for the uninitiated. Every millimeter is packed with delightful watch nerdiness. Classical techniques and references, movement modification, a solid silver dial, and an ornate case. Not to mention the brand itself. Chronoswiss was certainly not a household name (still isn’t), so buying it was a risk, and yet it was one he felt was worth it.

The Kairos was in semi-regular rotation, though he treated it more carefully than others judging by its pristine exterior. An amusing sidenote, as this watch had particular meaning to me, I was keen to locate it amongst his stuff, but couldn’t. It and the Tutima were missing for weeks, and I was concerned they had gotten lost somehow. Eventually, my sister located them together in the pocket of a shirt hanging in his closet. Like I said, he was pretty serious about hiding his watches.

Rolex Submariner 16800

While the Chronoswiss might have been my favorite, his was the Rolex Submariner 16800, which was also easily the most worn watch in his collection. He got this watch around 1984, the year I was born, and it was a fixture on his wrist for as long as I can remember. It simply is the watch I most associate with him. While his taste in watches was expansive, the Submariner defined a certain practical approach he took as well.

He had wanted a Submariner for a long time before purchasing the 16800 but, as I recall him saying, held off for a singular reason: he wanted it to have a sapphire crystal. He thought it made for a better, more durable watch. As you may have noticed, most of the watches listed don’t have acrylic crystals, other than the Henex, which predates sapphires, and the Oris Pointer Date, because there’s always an exception. Conveniently, when Rolex made the 16800, they included sapphire and a host of other modern “upgrades.”

And though he did not know how the Submariner would evolve, he got one of the coolest, if perhaps underappreciated, Sub references because of that one sticking point. Often referred to as a “transitional” model, it bridged the gap between the vintage and modern eras. It was the first with a uni-directional ratcheting bezel, 300m of water resistance, and a solid link bracelet (or at least one of the first for that last point). It was also the first to feature the 3035 caliber, which brought a higher beat rate of 28,800bph and quickset date. But it was the last in 316L, and while some had applied markers, the earlier ones like his, had matte pad-printed dials, giving it the look of older vintage references. A perfect mix of what was and what would be.

Despite being 40 years old, it’s still in incredibly good shape. That said, the eagle-eyed might have noticed that the hands don’t look quite right. Well, about ten years ago, maybe a few more, the crown came out when he was setting it, thus prompting a repair. To service the watch, Rolex said they would have to replace the hands as the tritium cracked and risked falling through the date window and into the movement. As he only trusted Rolex to work on it, he begrudgingly agreed, and thus, a service set with modern lume was installed.

This era of Sub was when it was still a true tool watch with not luxury embellishments. Given the modern enhancements, it still feels very capable. As such, it has quickly entered my regular rotation for sentimental reasons and simply because it’s a great watch. It’s the only Rolex Sub I have ever owned and likely will ever own. While a piece of me wishes the hands were the original, the service set is part of my dad’s Sub’s story, so they stay.

In addition to the Sub, he had a lovely two-tone Date, which, I believe, is a reference 16013. A classic example in 36mm, it’s a truly charming watch with a gold fluted bezel, crown, tall applied markers, a warm silver dial, and a matching two-tone jubilee. It’s in fairly minty condition, particularly the bracelet, which was not used often. He said it added a bit too much gold for him. The Datejust was as close as my dad had to a solid gold watch, which seems to have been more of a matter of taste than anything else.

Purchased in the early 90s, it saw more use in his office days but nevertheless made the occasional appearance over the years. This is another watch he would occasionally lend me, along with the Sub, to shoot Worn & Wound straps on.

Final Thoughts

Inheriting a parent’s watch (or collection) is a strange, bittersweet experience that I am still adjusting to. It goes without saying that they are not stand-ins for a person’s presence in your life, but they also have an undeniable power. I simply cannot wear them and not think of my dad. They remind me of the bond we shared over these objects and how he helped steer the course of my life through them. The Sub, the Swiss Army, the Chronoswiss, and the Tutima, in particular, hold special significance as they are the ones I most closely associate with him and can picture on his wrist without challenge. But, to be clear, not all of the watches in this article will remain in my possession; rather, they will be or have been distributed amongst family.

There were more that didn’t make it into this article; some had to be cut for brevity. Various Swatches, G-SHOCKs, some weird older Louis Erards, and Worn & Wound limited editions are not pictured. He wore the W&W collabs I gave him often, particularly the Seiko 5 10th Anniversary LE. To that end, whenever I’m working on a design, I hear his voice, usually suggesting changes to increase legibility, or the like. He always managed to think of things I would never have, which was occasionally annoying, but always taught me something.

in partnership with
/
January 1, 2025
Zach is the Co-Founder and Executive Editor of Worn & Wound. Before diving headfirst into the world of watches, he spent his days as a product and graphic designer. Zach views watches as the perfect synergy of 2D and 3D design: the place where form, function, fashion and mechanical wonderment come together.
wornandwound zsw
Categories:
Tags: