It started in a mail room

My father worked at IBM. He started in the mail room, and like a lot of IBM men of his era, he carried a quiet dream. The company's Quarter Century Club had long marked twenty-five years of service with a Rolex, and somewhere along the way that Rolex became the thing he was working toward, the reward at the far end of a long, faithful career. I grew up watching him dream about it.

By the time he reached his twenty-five years, IBM had changed the award. The Rolex was gone, replaced by a Tudor. He received a Tudor Prince Date, ref 74033, in 1994. It was a fine watch, but it was not the watch. I own that exact Tudor today. It sits at the center of everything else here, not because of what it is, but because of what it stands for.

The watches I hunt are mechanical. I want the thing a person designed, assembled, and regulated by hand, the kind that will still run in a hundred years if someone cares for it. Simplicity is the whole aesthetic for me: a clean dial, correct proportions, nothing shouting. I dislike thick watches and gravitate to the 1960s and 70s references that sit lighter on the wrist. Some of these pieces are more than twice my age. Strapping on that much history every morning never gets old, and I don't really own any of it. I'm looking after these for the next generation.

Most days you would never notice what is on my wrist. Understated is the point. A vintage dress watch or a steel sport reference reads as nothing to most of a room and as everything to the one person who knows. I like that math. The most interesting people I have met are usually the most successful person nobody has heard of, and their watches tend to whisper rather than announce. A great piece under a hoodie cuff is my favorite version of the game.

I will be honest about one part of this: I think about watches the way I think about any asset. Entry price matters. Compounding matters. The horizon that interests me is twenty years and longer, not next season's trend. The pieces here are ones I wear, enjoy, and admire, and it happens that the best of them have also quietly held and grown their worth over time. I never buy for that reason alone, but I would be lying if I said the discipline of a good entry wasn't part of the pleasure.

Rolex Datejust 36, ref 16220

circa 1989 to 1996

IBM's Quarter Century Club marked twenty-five years of service with a stainless Datejust: engine-turned bezel, Oyster bracelet, the employee's name and date engraved on the caseback. By the time my father reached his twenty-five years, the award had become a Tudor. I own his Tudor. I am hunting the Rolex he would have received: a ref 16220, ideally with a Quarter Century Club caseback. If you have one, I want to hear from you.

I have one of these

I am a man of faith, and it shapes how I hold all of this. None of it is mine to keep. I am a steward for a season, looking after good things and, God willing, handing them on to my two daughters in better shape than I found them. That is enough.