The Endless Journey: The 3 Stages of Collecting
Daniel PintoA personal reflection on the journey most watch collectors go through. From the anxiety of accumulating to the serenity of enjoying without owning everything. The journey of collecting, more than a route to the perfect box, is a constant exercise in self-knowledge, emotional discipline, and connection with others passionate about this useless yet essential art.
We've talked on this channel many times and at length about the delicate art of collecting. The hobby of watchmaking must be one of the hobbies with the highest retention rate in the universe. You, as collectors, surely don't know anyone else who has entered the world of watches and then lost interest and exiled themselves from the hobby. There's something about these machines that keeps us coming back for more. I'd even say the principle of diminishing returns, or the famous hedonistic treadmill, doesn't exist here. The more we learn, the more we enjoy the next piece. The reason for this could lead to an entire book of profound psychological reasons, but it can be summed up in a single word: status .
Wanting to tell the world something about ourselves, presenting ourselves in a certain way to certain groups, feeling part of a caste, or simply fantasizing about the version of ourselves we think we could become while wearing a certain watch on our wrist. It's a dangerous game, and as we mentioned, it's generally endless, but it does increase in complexity. By complexity, I mean price, since as we progress along the path, our tastes become more expensive. No one starts at Lange and ends at Tissot. Learning to appreciate every detail automatically makes us desire better-made watches, with greater craftsmanship, more scarce, with better materials, and even with a greater pedigree .
The beginning of the journey is generally focused on quantity. It's the stage where we have to reach out to learn and to discover. Here we meet those who will be our references for sources of information and begin to surround ourselves with other collectors who, in the long run, will be the most valuable part of this long journey, even if we don't know it at the time.
The journey continues, decreasing in quantity but increasing in quality, with increasingly complex pieces, in a quest to differentiate ourselves. We need to forge our own identity within the world of collecting and find something that aligns with the story we want to tell ourselves and the world. At this stage, we generally specialize in a particular brand, a particular period in history, or a particular type of watch. Condition becomes more important than any other aspect of the watch, and only perfection is accepted. At this point, we've lost our fear of spending, disguising completely irresponsible sums as investments in watches we swear will be our lifelong companions, or even an heirloom for our descendants. We're confident we'll whittle down our collection until we're left with a few high-quality pieces that we'll treasure forever.
Here comes the part where I tell you it won't be like that. The journey doesn't end there. There's still the final part, where we add quantity to quality. We realize that, in the end, we're going to buy what we want and won't be so guided by the small, arbitrary rules we've imposed on ourselves in pursuit of the perfect collection. This is where things get dangerous, and it's precisely at this point in the journey—which usually comes after many years in this world—where we must find the most valuable gift a collector can have.
We must find "enough." How difficult it is to achieve enough in life. Our prehistoric brains, hardened by thousands of years on the brink of extinction, always push us to try to accumulate as many resources as possible in case they won't be so easy to obtain tomorrow. It's not our fault, just biology, but the search for enough should be a collector's primary goal in this final part of their journey. This is where they must not allow themselves to be subjugated by the virtual world, the sweet nectar of approval on social media, or the validation of hundreds of strangers or acquaintances on the internet. This is where all those years of experience must be put to the service of developing the powerful muscle of enjoyment without possessing.
It's imperative to learn to enjoy watches we don't own and never will. Appreciate them in photos, try them on in stores and at collectors' gatherings, accept that not having them in our box doesn't prevent them from filling us with satisfaction as collectors, simply by existing. It is, in a way, the purest love of all. A generous love. Once a collector develops this muscle, they can see more clearly than ever that the great value of this hobby has always been the ability to connect with others like us. Others who also enjoy the invisible details, the human effort in pursuit of useless beauty, and the impossible battle for precision in a digital world that has made the watch a functionally obsolete but spiritually indispensable object. The gatherings, the forum posts, the chance to meet others through their Instagram accounts—all reveal the true value of a connected world when it can be used to bring us closer together instead of pushing us apart, through anxiety, envy, and herd mentality. This, at least, is what I've learned during the journey.
My collection? I don't think it's reached its final form, but I'm comfortable with that. I no longer place so much importance on what's in my box, but rather enjoy the endless creativity of some of the most talented watchmakers of the century, who year after year surprise me with watches I'll never be able to buy again. What I have holds meaning for me, but nothing is indispensable. A life centered around this hobby has taught me the importance of time. Time spent enjoying what I'm passionate about, not the insignificance of the objects themselves that are part of any collection. Such is the journey.
