The State of the Collection: Or, Why I Refuse to Cosplay as Someone Else
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
The end of the year always brings with it a strange pressure to inventory our lives, to quantify, justify, and assign meaning to the things we’ve accumulated. In watch collecting, that impulse often turns into spreadsheets, wrist shots, and confessionals about what was flipped, flipped again, and what was purchased in a moment of weakness at 2 a.m. I understand the appeal of that ritual. So much so that my podcast co-host, Iman Qureshi, and I discussed it in one of our recent episodes of A Tale of Two Wristies.
But for me, the idea of a “State of the Collection” has never been about volume or turnover. It’s about accountability. Not financial accountability, but personal. What do my watches say about who I am, who I’ve been, and whether I still recognize the person who bought them?
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
The Danger of Becoming Someone Else
I’ve always struggled to understand collectors who have no emotional residue left behind, people who can’t point to a single watch and say, this one mattered. I don’t judge it; I just don’t understand it. A collection without memory feels like a house staged for sale, perfectly styled, deeply impersonal. Watches, to me, should carry friction. They should remind you of something specific: a phase, a mistake, a victory, a version of yourself you’ve since outgrown. When every watch is easily replaceable, nothing in the collection has roots. And without roots, you’re not collecting, you’re curating a costume rack.
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
There’s a subtle trap in this hobby, one that’s rarely discussed: the desire to become the person the watch implies you are. Marketing thrives on that fantasy. Buy this, and you’ll be the explorer, the CEO, the renegade, the astronaut. But if you’re not careful, you stop buying watches because they resonate, and start buying them because you want to borrow someone else’s identity. That’s not aspiration, that’s insecurity dressed in steel. A watch should reinforce who you are, not paper over who you think you’re supposed to be. Therapy exists for the rest.
I don’t believe in keeping everything. Hoarding isn’t collecting; it’s just fear wearing a crown. But I do believe some watches earn permanence. They earn it slowly, quietly, by staying relevant long after the honeymoon phase fades. The pieces that remain in my collection aren’t there because they’re rare or valuable; they’re there because they refuse to feel obsolete to me. They grow with you. They age alongside you. They become familiar in a way that feels earned rather than nostalgic. And there are a couple of watches I acquired in 2025 that I’m nearly positive will remain as permanent residents in my watch box.
The Omega CK859: Discipline and Restraint
The Omega CK859 is one of those watches. I knew I loved it long before I owned it, which is usually how the good ones begin. On paper, it’s almost aggressively restrained: a time-only watch, a true 925 silver dial, big blued hands, and based on a watch from 1939 that’s rooted in the brand’s history. But restraint, when done well, is powerful. The CK859 doesn’t boast. It doesn’t perform. It simply is. When I finally traded for it, the satisfaction wasn’t excitement; it was recognition. This was a watch I had already made room for in my head years earlier. It didn’t change me; it confirmed me.
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
The Isotope Moonshot: Loud, Proud, and Unapologetic
Then there’s the Isotope Moonshot: my beautiful, chaotic counterweight. Where the Omega whispers, the Moonshot sings. I met Jose Miranda, Isotope’s owner and designer, and from the beginning, it radiated intention. It wasn’t trying to be vintage or refined; it was boldly futuristic, unapologetically referential, and joyfully weird. Science fiction, industrial design, and comic-book energy all rolled into one. It’s not a watch that blends in, and that’s precisely the point. The Moonshot represents the part of me that refuses to sand down its edges to be palatable. It’s proof that seriousness and playfulness are not opposites.
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
The Collection as a Self-Portrait
What I’ve come to understand is that my collection isn’t a timeline of purchases, it’s a map of my identity. The CK859 and the Moonshot couldn’t be more different, yet together they make perfect sense. They represent the duality I live with every day: introspection and expression, restraint and indulgence, quiet confidence and loud curiosity. I don’t collect to complete sets or chase validation. I collect to anchor myself. To remind myself who I am when the noise gets loud. A good watch doesn’t tell you who to be, it reminds you who you already are. And that, to me, is the only kind worth keeping.
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
REMEMBER, nerds…. to keep the comments clean. Please don’t make me pull out ole Abraham-Louis here.
