My wrists are boldly bare of beads, bands or bangles. I haven’t worn a watch in too many years to count. Bracelets, even the hippie/friendship kind, are no longer my style. And it’s alien when they snap on those paper wristbands at concerts and parties; I suddenly feel over-accessorized, or worse, like an inpatient.
In my early world travels, I would sport a cheap little watch (a Casio, I think) before I owned a cell phone. Prior to that, I wore nothing on my wrists, unless you count the spiked leather bands we’d strap on as teens at metal shows, and I’d rather not.
The other day, however, I was transfixed by a banner ad for a watch. Granted, it was for an aggressively blue Swatch, which I knew I wouldn’t pursue, but it unfurled a vista I haven’t taken in for a very long time. A watch. How novel. I mused: Is it, um, time?
I suddenly became perversely excited for something as dully utilitarian as a … wristwatch. Like the time I just had to have this pair of Italian sneakers, or got an irrational urge to go to China (which I did, and I’m glad). Every once in a while, I can get almost maniacally materialistic: I must have that — now! And so, quite obsessively, I plunged into the world of watches.
Down the rabbit hole I went, heedless, with fierce attention to fashion and function, while avoiding the bejeweled Omega and Rolex price brackets (rackets), as well as over-compensating smartwatches. With watches, I’m strictly a dilettante, not Flavor Flav. A couple hundred bucks, tops, maybe a mite more. And hold the bells and whistles. I’m also not an astronaut.
After some initial scouring of mostly lame watches, including a bizarre glut of Snoopy timepieces, I spotted a handsome Timex, black brushed metal with a brown leather strap, at upscale men’s fashion outlet Todd Snyder. The piece is sporty, hip, sleek.
I bought it. I got it. It failed.
I have spectacularly small wrists, roughly the circumference of kindling, and the 41mm watch face looked like a Chips Ahoy! cookie on my arm. Mammoth. It made me sad (and hungry).
Lesson learned — hopes burned — I began searching for 36mm to 38mm sizes, anything that wouldn’t look like a hubcap on my wrist. But these sizes are relatively scarce, so I couldn’t be picky. Yet I was coming across butt-fugly contraptions barnacled with dials and buttons and faces so complex, night vision goggles are required. I wasn’t joining the Navy Seals.
And then, there it was. A classically simple, elegantly plain analog watch, subtle and smallish, with a handsome olive green face and gold hands and digits and a tasteful black strap. It’s also a Timex, released in collaboration with Todd Snyder, an exclusive limited edition, and thus a few more dollars than I wanted to spend. It’s on its way as I type this. It better kill.
The hours spent shopping for a watch were exhausting and preposterous, and I only found two I liked. But shopping is a contact sport — mean, raw, intense. Be it looking for a Honda or a house, you scour and winnow and balance a mountain of variables (unless you’re shopping for a loaf of bread, say, and then the drama drops significantly). It can be arduous, but it’s also fun, because buying stuff is fun. I think this new toy will fit the bill. Just watch.
- Update: The watch arrived today. It’s the size of a hubcap.
GNASHING. 