We Measure Time but Refuse to Learn from It

Photo by Stephen Maturen/Getty - No Kings Day June 14, 2025 - St. Paul, Minnesota

I always tell my students—especially when assigning readings in the writing classes I’ve taught—that it’s not enough to analyze how a piece makes you feel. You also have to ask: What was happening in the world when this was written? Context matters. Not just in literature, but in everything we engage with. Every moment we interact with the world—through art, politics, conversation, or collecting—we do so from within the conditions of our time.

And this week, those conditions feel particularly surreal.

Photo by Chris Antzoulis - Vertex M100A

In case you’ve somehow missed it, the United States is being steered by a would-be authoritarian—someone who has made a career of stoking fear, undermining democracy, and chipping away at the already fragile safety of the most vulnerable people among us. As someone who works in higher education, this isn’t abstract. I speak daily with international students—bright, passionate, hopeful young people—whose futures have grown clouded by political instability. Some now question whether this country is even safe for them.

It breaks my heart. And that’s not just a turn of phrase—it’s a real, physical weight I carry into my evenings, where I then try to divide my focus between creative writing and my work in the watch world. But I can’t fully compartmentalize. I don’t want to.

Because the truth is, while I deeply love watches—these little mechanical marvels that mark our minutes with beauty and intention—I’m also afraid. I’m afraid for my country. I’m afraid for the students I converse with. And I’m struggling with what it means to write about luxury objects while injustice escalates around us.

And yet, I still find myself drawn to these objects. Not out of escapism, but something more complicated—more human. Maybe it’s the sense of order they offer in a time that feels increasingly ungovernable. Maybe it’s the comfort of knowing that, somewhere in the chaos, something is still calibrated. Still beating. Still working—abiding by the science of the universe. But I also know this: watches don’t exist in a vacuum. They’re products of the world, just like we are. They carry the fingerprints of the time they were made in—politically, economically, ideologically. To pretend otherwise is a luxury even luxury shouldn’t afford.

Of course, not everyone sees it this way. There’s a deeply ingrained belief in parts of the watch community—and, honestly, in many enthusiast spaces—that politics and watches should remain separate. That this hobby is a sanctuary from the outside world, not a mirror of it. And I understand the impulse. When the world feels like it’s falling apart, who wouldn’t want to retreat into the escapism of a well-executed dial or a perfectly tuned movement?

No Kings Day - Norfolk, Virginia

But I had a conversation once—more accurately, a DM that slid into my inbox—from a fellow watch enthusiast who reached out to tell me, in no uncertain terms, that I talk about politics and serious issues too much. That I “burden myself” by worrying about others. That he comes to social media for watches and wants to leave “the rest of the world” behind.

And honestly? That’s just something I cannot do.

I can’t look at a watch without also thinking about who can afford it. Who gets represented in its ads. Who feels welcome at meetups. Who’s safe—or not safe—just walking into a boutique. I can’t write about watches, as stated earlier, like they exist in a vacuum, untouched by the cultural, social, or political forces that shape everything else. Because they don’t. And neither do we.

The watch world doesn’t like to think of itself as political—but it is, by default. It’s an industry built on heritage, on luxury, on legacy. That means money. That means power. That means decisions—about who’s visible, who’s invited in, and who gets erased. Silence in a space like this isn’t neutrality—it’s endorsement of the status quo.

It wasn’t even a year ago that the president of Patek Philippe, Thierry Stern, said that “the haters [of the Cubitus] are mostly people who have never had a Patek and never will.” This in response to nothing more than criticism. THAT’S IT! In an attempt to dismiss people from merely voicing an opinion, and further push the notion that there is only value in the wealthiest among us.

So when someone tells me to “keep politics out of it,” what they’re really saying is, keep your discomfort to yourself. Don’t bring the weight of the world into my hobby. Don’t remind me that the joy I get from this collection, this community, this culture… might not be as accessible, or as safe, for everyone else.

But here’s the truth: if we care about watches—really care about them, and this enthusiast community—we should care about the world they exist in. We should care about whether a young black collector feels welcome at a RedBar meetup. We should care whether an LGBTQ+ watchmaker feels safe enough to be open in their branding. We should care whether international students—all of whom are part of their own enthusiastic communities—still feel safe walking through U.S. customs with dreams in their heads and a Seiko on their wrist (or whatever it is that they’re into).

Photo by Chris Antzoulis - Nomos Tetra

Watches measure time. But they also mark moments. And this is a moment where silence feels like betrayal.

I’m not saying everyone who collects watches has to become an activist. But I am saying that if you have the privilege of time—disposable income, access to community, a platform—you also have the opportunity to care out loud. To acknowledge that what we love exists within a larger world, and that world is hurting. Watches can’t fix that. But watch lovers? Maybe we can.

Because if time has taught us anything, it’s that authoritarianism doesn’t just arrive—it creeps. It softens the ground with denial. It distracts us with comfort. And then it takes. The only way to stop it is to stay awake. To stay present. To recognize that beauty and resistance are not mutually exclusive—and that being a person who appreciates the finer things doesn’t mean ignoring the grittier ones.

So no, I won’t stop talking. I won’t separate my grief from my passion. I won’t pretend that the watches we wear exist in a world untouched by cruelty or power.

Instead, I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep watching. I’ll keep winding the crown and setting the time, over and over again—not because I need the reminder of what time it is, but because I refuse to forget what time we’re living in.

REMEMBER, nerds…. to keep the comments clean. Please don’t make me pull out ole Antoine-Louis here.