On Wearing, Caring, and Letting a Watch Live

A mechanical watch was never meant to be kept away from life. It was never meant to be preserved through absence. It was meant to be worn, cared for, and allowed to move quietly through life alongside its owner. At least, that has always been how I have understood watches.

True preservation does not come from leaving a watch untouched in a box, regardless of the price paid or the excitement surrounding its purchase. Acquiring something only to avoid wearing it because it feels too precious, or because it was caught in a moment of collective hype across feeds and group chats, has never quite made sense to me. A watch begins to matter when it is used as intended, maintained with care, and respected for what it is. Much like a cherished car that is finally driven, serviced, and lived with, a mechanical watch gains meaning through continuity rather than restraint.


This article is a personal reflection. It traces my own journey through different phases of collecting, shaped by changing priorities, cultures, and seasons of life. Over time, these experiences have influenced not only what I choose to wear, but how I live with the watches I own. Each piece has taught me something, not merely about design or mechanics, but about myself. How I respond to time. How I value objects. How I choose to preserve them not by setting them aside, but by wearing them fully.

There is no single or perfect path through this hobby, just as there is no singular way to live a life. Each of us approaches collecting differently, shaped by our own rhythms, responsibilities, and curiosities. That diversity is precisely what gives the hobby its meaning. From the outside, spending this much time, attention, and money on something so niche can appear unnecessary or even irrational. But for those within it, these pursuits help clarify who we are, what we value, and how we choose to move through the world. In this sense, collecting becomes less about accumulation and more about reflection.



Along the way, I will share experiences that have shaped how I collect today. Not as instruction, but as invitation. If there is one conviction I have formed, it is that nothing compares to a well worn watch that has lived alongside you through time. Much like starting a familiar car, feeling the weight of the steering, the engagement of the gears, and the road unfolding ahead, these objects are beautifully engineered, yet they only come alive through use. That is where connection forms.

This article also marks the beginning of my writing on watches in 2026, grounded in years of collecting and, more importantly, wearing watches as they were meant to be worn. From regular servicing intervals that quietly reinforce what it means to build something to last, to refining my own curation toward watches I know I will truly live with, this reflection feels deeply personal. Some things are built to last. It feels only right to enjoy them while we still can.



Use as Intended: Letting the Watch Live



It is difficult to ignore the extent to which social media shapes how watches are experienced today. Brands and creators continually introduce new releases, new finishes, and new reasons to desire something pristine and untouched. This is not a criticism. Without this ecosystem, many would not be able to sustain their work or bring their products to a wider audience. In this sense, it is a double edged condition. Yet somewhere along the way, it has become easy to forget that watches were never meant to exist solely as images or abstractions. They were designed to be lived with.

My relationship with watches predates instant visibility and algorithm driven desire. When I was eleven, I bought my first mechanical watch, a simple Seiko 5, not the SKX diver many assume, from a small, unassuming retailer near the mall I passed each day on my way home from school. I still remember walking in wearing my school uniform, already certain of what I wanted after weeks of reading forums late at night. Back then, spaces like Watchuseek were where collectors learned, exchanged ideas, and listened to one another, long before Instagram and Facebook groups existed. Once the watch was sized and placed on my wrist, the feeling was immediate and lasting. I wore it everywhere. To school, to show my parents what I had saved for, even to shower and sleep.



That watch remained on my wrist until it became magnetised months later and began losing time severely. I remember the anxiety of believing I had damaged it beyond repair. The shop attendant demagnetised it within minutes, returned it functioning perfectly, and refused any payment. I walked out relieved and continued wearing it through my early school years without hesitation. That experience left a quiet but lasting impression.

As I grew older, my collection evolved alongside me. More reading, more restraint, and greater conviction behind each decision. By the time I graduated from university, watches had become more than a casual interest. One milestone that remains vivid was purchasing my first Grand Seiko Spring Drive, the SBGA003, in Kyoto for just over three thousand US dollars, a figure that now feels distant. I mention this watch because it was the result of thorough research and personal resolve. Purchasing an expensive “Seiko” invited skepticism from some, but it felt entirely justified. I wore it through many years of my life before eventually transitioning to the SBGA029.



Was it difficult to see scratches appear on its Zaratsu polished surfaces? Without question. The first mark on any new watch still carries weight, even after more than two decades of collecting. Yet I learned that the regret of not wearing a watch, of preserving it in untouched condition, is far heavier than any mark acquired through honest use.

A well lived in timepiece carries a distinct form of value. Not only in the object itself, but in the bond formed through shared time. To me, a watch becomes alive the moment it begins to tick, much like starting a cherished car and listening to its cold start and subtle vibration at idle. That moment signals purpose, movement, and life.

Objects of this nature are not owned for display or accumulation. They are stewarded with knowledge and intention. Collectors learn where these objects come from, how they are built, what they are built for, and how they should be used and maintained. Taking quiet pride in wear, marks, and even scratches does not diminish value. It deepens it.



From a practical perspective, a mechanical watch remains healthiest when it is worn. Movement keeps lubricants circulating, components operating within their intended tolerances, and small issues visible before they develop into serious problems. A watch left untouched may appear flawless externally, yet internally it gradually drifts out of balance. Wearing a watch is not a threat to its longevity. It is the condition for which it was designed.

More importantly, wearing a watch sustains its emotional relevance. Through daily routines, repeated gestures, and the familiar weight on the wrist, it becomes integrated into one’s rhythm. Over time, it stops asking to be admired and begins offering quiet presence. There is a clear distinction between thoughtful use and careless abuse. Just as a cherished car is driven attentively, a mechanical watch is worn with awareness. Its limits are respected, it is cleaned, and it is serviced when required. As the strap softens, light marks appear, and familiarity grows, trust is formed. In that sense, wearing a watch is not something to fear. It is what allows it to become complete.



Care Over Time: Servicing as Reflection, Not Repair


Servicing is often misunderstood as a reactive measure, something required only when a watch begins to fail. To me, it has always felt closer to a quiet check in, a way of keeping a watch healthy, understood, and in balance. When a mechanical watch is serviced, it is not merely cleaned and adjusted. It is examined. The watchmaker gains insight into how it has been worn, how it has lived, and how its components have aged together. Mechanical watches are built with the expectation that they will be opened, cared for, and returned to equilibrium many times over their lifetime. This is not a shortcoming in their design. It is a confirmation of it.

A mechanical watch is not something one simply owns. It is something one continues, particularly if the intention is for it to outlast its original owner. At its core, it is a living system of friction, tension, and balance. Lubricants that once allowed steel to glide gradually dry and thicken. Even when a watch sits unworn, gravity, temperature variation, and microscopic dust work quietly against it. Left unattended, these minor resistances accumulate, and wear accelerates long before accuracy visibly falters. Quartz watches are not exempt from this reality. Batteries age, seals degrade, and electronic components benefit from periodic inspection. A proper battery replacement, paired with an occasional check after several years, goes a long way in preserving reliability across both mechanical and quartz timepieces.



Servicing is not an attempt to restore perfection. It is an effort to prevent irreversible loss. Dried lubricants transform jewels from bearings into points of abrasion. A worn pivot cannot be unworn. Once material is lost, it is lost permanently. Routine servicing preserves original components so that future generations inherit the watch itself, rather than a reconstruction of it. In this sense, servicing becomes an act of stewardship. Old oils are removed, friction reduced, tolerances restored, and nothing meaningful is erased. When done well, a watch retains its identity. It carries forward its character, its history, and the quiet evidence of a life lived on the wrist.

I will admit that I was once hesitant myself. Early in my collecting journey, I worried about servicing costs, particularly when it came to in house movements, where expenses are rarely modest. It is easy to grow complacent when a watch continues to run and feel fine. But once I understood what it truly meant to preserve a collection’s legacy, and what it takes to fully engage with this hobby beyond acquisition, that hesitation gradually faded. Servicing became less about obligation and more about commitment. Yes, it can be uncomfortable financially at times. But that cost becomes part of the relationship, deepening the bond with a watch that has already spent so much of its time on earth moving alongside you.

There is also the matter of trust, not only in the watch itself, but in the hands that care for it. Finding the right watchmakers or service centres is as important as the act of servicing itself. In the wrong hands, one often finds oneself returning to correct what should never have been altered. Over time, learning who truly understands the watches you own becomes part of the journey. These relationships matter. They transform routine servicing into something personal, and often lead to enduring friendships with the individuals who quietly keep your watches running behind the scenes.



A watch intended to last should not be treated as fragile, reserved only for safe or special occasions. It should be dependable. Regular servicing restores that confidence. Water resistance is verified. Gaskets are replaced. Regulation is corrected. When the watch returns, the changes are subtle but reassuring. The winding feels smoother. The rhythm steadier. You fasten it to the wrist knowing it is prepared for the next stretch of time.

Many owners hesitate when faced with servicing because, on the surface, it feels disproportionate. The watch still runs. It still tells time. Then a service quote arrives, sometimes uncomfortably close to what the watch itself once cost. That tension is real, and it is understandable. Servicing offers no immediate visual transformation. No new dial. No refreshed case. Weeks later, the watch appears largely unchanged. The value feels intangible.

Yet over time, perception shifts. A watch that has been worn and properly serviced carries a deeper, quieter weight of meaning. It feels settled and trustworthy. It becomes something relied upon rather than protected. The care invested becomes inseparable from its story, just as much as the places it has been worn or the moments it has accompanied.



Continuity and Legacy: Value Beyond the Market


I want to emphasise that long term value begins where financial value ends. Market price, and the attention surrounding it, is inherently momentary, shaped by trends, constructed scarcity, and opportunistic timing. Lived value, by contrast, is cumulative and enduring. It develops gradually through sustained wear, iterative care, and deliberate continuity. A mechanical or quartz watch that has shared time with its owner carries a depth and resonance that no unworn example can replicate. Its worth is not defined by what it may command in the future, but by what it has already embodied.

From time to time, it is worth stepping back from the constant circulation of information and opinion and engaging in self reflection on why this hobby was pursued in the first place. Was it because watches are aesthetically compelling? Undoubtedly. Was it driven by a fascination with fine micro mechanical systems, assemblies of extraordinary precision that can only be constructed, regulated, and serviced by dedicated and highly trained hands? Certainly. And for some, it may have begun as a means of allocating discretionary income, or even as a perceived investment vehicle. Each motivation is valid in its own right. Yet the deeper satisfaction of collecting does not arise from acquisition alone. It emerges through the act of wearing, maintaining, and preserving what one chooses to own.



Speculation imposes artificial constraints on an object’s life. A watch kept unworn for resale exists in a state of suspension, oriented toward an eventual exit rather than an ongoing journey. In such a condition, time becomes something to avoid rather than accompany. The paradox is that in attempting to safeguard monetary value, experiential meaning is often diminished. A watch conceived for motion is reduced to condition alone, stripped of narrative, context, and purpose.

A watch that has been worn and conscientiously serviced, however, tells a fuller and more authentic story. Regular care acknowledges the inevitability of ageing and reframes use not as damage, but as participation. Servicing becomes an act of respect rather than correction. It recognises the watch’s passage through time without erasing it, allowing wear, patina, and maintenance to coexist meaningfully. Imperfection, in this sense, is not deficiency but evidence, a record of human touch and lived experience.

There exists an unspoken collector’s ethos behind this perspective, rooted in respect for time, process, and responsibility. Craft is not regarded as a relic to be shielded from life, but as a living practice sustained through patience and attentiveness. Skill is measured less by dramatic outcomes than by devotion to process. Repetition refines. Care preserves. Servicing honours what has come before rather than replacing it indiscriminately.

This philosophy extends naturally into the act of collecting itself. Watches are not accumulated for display or accumulation alone, but stewarded with intention. A discerning collector seeks to understand provenance, purpose, and proper care. There is a quiet dignity in keeping something functional, understood, and respected. Preservation becomes both personal and generational, shaped by the enjoyment of wearing a watch as intended rather than isolating it in anticipation of future return.

When a mechanical watch is eventually passed on, it does not arrive as an untouched artefact. It arrives as something proven. A working object that has lived, been cared for, and remains prepared to continue. In that act of passing, time extends beyond the original owner. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is squandered. Everything earns its place through presence, patience, and care.