Fiction & Essays from Vaulted Watch
ESSAY
The Holy Trinity is Patek Philippe, Audemars Piguet, Vacheron Constantin, and you're meant to recite it the way you recite a creed — three names, no substitutions, no questions. So I'll ask one. What is Audemars Piguet doing in there?
ESSAY
But here is what I actually want to tell you, and it has less to do with escapements than with time itself, the thing all of this is supposed to be about.
ESSAY
Louann was the only girl in a house full of brothers — wiry, grizzled men who looked like they’d been cut out of a cigarette ad. My great uncle Bud had the Marlboro Man’s mustache and his weathered skin, and any one of those men would just as soon whip your ass as pat you on the back. She came up in that house and came out of it tough as nails.
ESSAY
Nobody climbed Everest with one. Nobody conquered space wearing one. It belongs to the vast anonymous middle of civilization—the people who actually keep the lights on.
ESSAY
Everybody wants to talk about the Rolex. Fine. The GMT-Master is a beautiful object and it knows it — the way a certain kind of leading man knows it — and after a while all that self-possession curdles into a performance you've paid too much to sit through. The Seiko Navigator Timer doesn't perform. It works. That is the entire difference, and it is everything.
New watches. Original essays and fiction. One thoughtful email at a time.
