The Watch Industry Takes Itself Far Too Seriously.
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I like watches. That's probably obvious, considering I started a watch company.
I like the engineering. I like the history. I like the way a mechanical movement works. I even enjoy reading about watches I have absolutely no intention of buying.
But somewhere along the way, the watch industry lost its mind. And nobody seems particularly concerned about it.
A Revolutionary New Shade of Blue
Every few months, a luxury watch company unveils a groundbreaking new timepiece. There's usually a dramatic video. Some mountains. Maybe an ocean. A handsome man staring thoughtfully into the distance, presumably contemplating the passage of time.
Then the watch appears. It's the same watch they released last year. But this one is blue.
Not just any blue, mind you. It's a meticulously curated, ocean-inspired, midnight azure dial that redefines the relationship between light and time.
Terrific. Blue. They made it blue.
And somewhere, a room full of executives is congratulating itself on pushing the boundaries of horology.
I once spent an entire evening deciding between two slightly different shades of green for a watch dial, so I'm not exactly in a position to judge. But at least I had the decency to admit I was being ridiculous.
Apparently, We're All Explorers Now
Read enough watch advertisements and you'll discover that every watch is designed for some extraordinary adventure. They're built for pioneers. Visionaries. Explorers. Men who refuse to accept the ordinary. Men who conquer the unknown.
Men who, apparently, need to know what time it is while conquering it.
Meanwhile, most of these watches spend their lives underneath the cuffs of quarter-zip pullovers at suburban steakhouses. And that's perfectly fine.
I enjoy a good steakhouse. I own several quarter-zips. I'm not planning to summit Everest anytime soon. I just don't think we need to pretend otherwise.
You can enjoy a beautiful watch without pretending you're about to cross the Atlantic in a wooden boat.
The Language Is Getting Out of Hand
Watch people have developed a vocabulary that makes the whole hobby sound like a secret society. Horology. Haute horlogerie. Manufacture caliber. Complications.
I understand the terminology. Some of it is genuinely useful. But occasionally I'd like someone to explain why a watch needs a 400-word description when the most interesting thing about it is that the dial looks nice.
And don't get me started on wrist presence. That's an actual term. It means the watch looks good on your wrist. We apparently needed a more sophisticated way to say that.
I'm thinking of introducing a new term at JMR. Pocket absence.
It means you're wearing your watch. Patent pending.
I Have Some Bad News About Exclusivity
The luxury watch industry also loves telling people how difficult its products are to obtain. Limited editions. Exclusive allocations. Waiting lists.
Sometimes you have to develop a relationship with a salesperson just to earn the privilege of buying a watch.
Imagine if other businesses operated this way. You walk into a hardware store because you need a lawn mower.
The salesman looks you over. "Have you purchased any rakes from us previously?"
No.
"I see. Well, perhaps if you demonstrated a genuine passion for lawn maintenance, we could discuss putting you on the list."
It's a lawn mower, Gary. I'd like to cut the grass.
To be clear, I appreciate limited production. I build watches in small quantities myself. Sometimes because that's what the design calls for. Sometimes because I only ordered one dial.
But I don't think buying something should require an audition.
And Then There's Me, in Michigan
Now, I should probably explain where JMR fits into all of this.
I'm not claiming to have reinvented watchmaking. I'm not developing revolutionary movements in a secret laboratory beneath the Swiss Alps.
I'm assembling mechanical watches at my workbench in Michigan, using components I've carefully selected because I think they look good together and tell an interesting story.
Sometimes the inspiration is a trip to Italy. Sometimes it's an evening playing golf with my dad. Sometimes it's a vacation in Kenya.
And sometimes it's because I saw a dial and thought, Well, that looks pretty damn good.
Not every watch needs to commemorate humanity's greatest achievements. Sometimes you just want something interesting on your wrist. I think that's reason enough.
I Take the Watches Seriously. Just Not Myself.
Here's the thing. I care about the details.
I care whether the hands line up. Whether the movement runs properly. Whether the dial is clean. Whether the case and strap feel right together.
I've spent an embarrassing amount of time getting something right that most people will never notice. And I'll probably do it again tomorrow. Because those things matter to me.
But I don't think enjoying a mechanical watch needs to come with an air of superiority.
You don't need to know the difference between a column-wheel chronograph and a cam-actuated one to appreciate a good-looking watch. You don't need to spend five figures. And you certainly don't need a salesperson to decide whether you're worthy of owning one.
You just need to like it. That's the entire qualification.
A Final Thought
I love watches. I love making them. I love learning about them. I just think the whole thing could use a little less ceremony.
At the end of the day, we're talking about tiny machines that tell us how late we're running. Remarkable little machines, certainly. But still.
If a watch makes you smile when you look down at your wrist, I think it's doing its job. And if someone asks you about it, even better. Maybe there's a good story behind it.
That's what I'm trying to build at JMR.
Good watches. Interesting stories. No velvet rope.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go spend 45 minutes trying to install a seconds hand.
It's a very prestigious profession.
— JMR Watches
Built by hand. Worn for the story.