A bit of navel-gazing...(long and rambling)

When last heard from, many months ago, I was merrily composing silly horological bits of poetry, ripping off famous lyrics and rhythms from those who—unlike me—knew what they were doing. Lots of fun, but, well, enough is enough. The reek of desperation, of trying far too hard to find something worth saying, is powerful and unpleasant. Even to the person emitting it.

And then I vanished. Cold turkey. Haven’t even lurked here, for months. One poster, a few months ago, was kind enough to wonder where I was, and very kindly commented that he missed my ramblings (my word, not his). I only noticed that the other day, after a moment of egomania—I googled “ripwatch” to see what would come up.

So where have I been? Well, obviously, even to consider posing that question here (never mind answering it with anything other than “who cares?”) bespeaks an out-of-control pomposity and self-absorption. But then again, navel gazing has always been my stock in trade in these parts, hasn’t it? And maybe, just maybe, my answer—since it does relate to horology—is worth posting.

Of course, I don’t even know where to post this; I’m only registered on WatchRap, my old stomping ground, and now I find there’s a new place called Horological Meanderings (talk about a place made for someone like me!). But I’ll put it here and see what happens.

Anyway…

As those of you who’ve been here for more than a few months may recall, I rather quickly amassed a fairly nice (I think, anyway) collection of really fine watches, starting in maybe 2003 or so, and culminating with the purchase of “The Arnold” a couple of years ago. My feelings when I bought that particular piece were over the top; you may recall that I posted a love note I wrote about it (to it?) at the time.

I still have that watch, still wear it, and still lo—well, enjoy—it very much.

But something has changed. I think it started a few months ago, with the most recent watch I bought—a Casio. Yeah, one of those G-shocks that gets its power from the sun and sets itself by radio waves, within a gazillionth of a second per day. And I keep coming back to the way that simple, bulletproof (so far), butt-ugly watch does so many useful things so effortlessly, and how that contrasts to the horrifically laborious way that fine craftspeople struggle to fashion bits and pieces of metal into something that does (a portion of) the same thing.

Did you know that Pandora had a watch box? Yup, she did, and I think that when I bought that Casio, I opened it.

And so instead of seeing high horology entirely in the context of such things as an homage to history and fine craftsmanship, which I used to do, I start to find unwanted and uncomfortable perspectives creeping into my peripheral vision: I start to see mechanical complications such as perpetual calendars as Rube Goldbergian contraptions that are far too delicate, finicky, and demanding (oh, the heresy!); I look at a rattrapante chronograph and think, my God, all that effort, all those springs and gears and convolutions to save two lap splits when the simple Casio saves 50? Are they nuts? Sure, that movement looks really cool behind the sapphire crystal, but for $25,000? Perhaps I should just look at SteveG’s photos if I only want to admire what it looks like.

Ugly thoughts, to be sure, but, well, there they are.

I find myself wondering, am I worshipping at the altar of craftsmanship or rooting around in the dustbin of anachronism? I mean, I love old typewriters, too, the manual kind with the cast-iron black body and the letters that fly up out of their well and smack the platen, but I don’t spend thousands to collect them and I sure don’t use them. They’re outdated. They don’t work nearly as well as computers for their intended purpose.

And I find myself thinking that what I used to say about fine mechanical watches, right here on Watchrap—that they work well enough—maybe isn’t good enough any more. Because by God that ugly little Casio works, at least by my standards, much better than my mechanical watches. More accurate, more convenient, able to do far more things, more rugged. Granted, it doesn’t work nearly as well as the mechanicals in terms of being a work of art on the wrist, as something to admire for its own sake rather than solely as a functional object—but how much of a premium am I willing to pay for the art part of the equation? Maybe not as much as I once thought, it turns out.

And so each month as my latest copy of iW or Watchtime arrives in the mail, I spend maybe a half hour glancing through its pages, not the evening I used to, and I’m not quite as fascinated by the latest from Switzerland or Saxonia as I once was. And yes, I’m a little saddened by this turn of events, too—like losing an old friend, not because of any big emotional blowup, but just because, well, we don’t quite see eye to eye anymore.

And as I page through each issue, something else happens, too: I find myself thinking that perhaps that whiff of desperation I sensed in myself—what new can I write for WR?—may be coming from another place as well: from the folks in the watch industry who find themselves on this amazing wave of success, but now are forced to paddle as fast as they can to stay out front, or even just to keep from going under. And so the designs get ever more unusual, more (IMO) bizarre, more showy and blatant and weird (again, IMO).

Sure, if you want a traditional basic watch, you can easily find many, at any price range you want. So my point isn’t that these are going away—of course they aren’t. But the stuff that makes the news, the stuff that gets the attention and the ad space and the buzz—in short, the stuff that seems to be swaggering through the world of horology with shoulders as broad as a linebacker and a voice as loud as a rock band in full cry, shouldering everything else into the corners—seems to be stuff designed with little purpose in mind other than to holler, as loudly as possible, “look at MEEEEEE!!!”.

And, God help me, I find myself saying, much more often than I ever imagined I would: “Well, no, I’d rather not”.

Sigh.

-Rip