Just Because Watches Don’t Always Need To Tell Time

There’s an important distinction that has to be made between a watch-like object that uses the concept of time in an unexpected-but-novel way, and a blatant cash grab. A clock counting down the inevitable heat death of the universe? I’d love one on my desk. Encasing Casio internals worth cents into a crappy resin case only for it to create e-waste after 10 years at best à la Solid State Watch - and selling it for A$300? It’s almost laughable how some companies can practically insult their to-be consumer base and get away with it.

The same can be said for brands like Our Legacy creating a watch bracelet that’s not an actual watch for the low, low price of A$1,340 (actually on sale now, lucky you!)

In their simplest form, watches tell hours and minutes, but I’m sure that very few of us would be concerned about this hobby/job of ours had their function ceased to be developed there. Whether it’s technically minded boffins or conceptual artists, they’ve become expressions of so much more.

Think about watches like the Seiko Star Time made for Shohei Ohtani, made as a result of Ohtani’s questioning of how much longer he has at the top of the baseball world - professional sporting careers often wrapping up by the players’ mid-30s, and the Japanese star is now 32. Seiko’s effort isn’t just a representation of the slow drag of a million hours, but also just how brief our moment in the sun is. That second disc representing 1,000 hours passing? It’ll complete an orientation in just over 40 days. A million hours, however? That’ll take more than 114 years, outlasting Ohtani’s career and (very likely) him, too.

Any watch can be used as a symbol of the unwavering passage of time, but they feel especially poignant when their entire purpose and complication is designed to do that. It doesn’t always have to be slightly morbid either - take the difference between the approach by Dominique Renaud and Julien Tixier with their Tempus Fugit, and the Mr Jones Perfectly Useless Afternoon. The former literally serves as a countdown timer until the wearer’s projected death date - doing so with a secular calendar complication which makes it extra fun - while the latter depicts a carefree individual floating around a pool (powered by quartz, to make the dichotomy even more obvious). They both serve as reminders that we should enjoy every moment for they are finite, though it’s up to you (and your wallet) to choose the kind of hint you’d prefer.

It’s not that hard to argue my point about watches that have a playful twist on the concept of time as a result of clever design. But what is this about watches that were made to tell time, but don’t need to do it well? This might be a bit of a reach, but I immediately think of my great-grandfather's corroded, seized Omikron. I never had the chance to meet him, but the fact that his watch reached me in the end makes for an irreplaceable connection. Its value isn’t just in the fact that it’s a watch, sure, but I have no doubt there are many out there with family heirlooms of a similar nature.

We should also keep watches that are mechanically meaningful in mind. There are so many unsuccessful but historically intriguing technologies and designs that simply didn’t stand the test of time: electronic watches with contacts doomed to fail, or those made to be ephemeral, like the idea behind Swatch. Now, I’m aware of the potential hypocrisy here, talking about Swatch’s disposable design but criticising the Solid State Watch - but Swatches have easily lasted decades (get free battery replacements) and have become design icons reaching far more than just watch circles.