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Let’s begin where most of us do: reward. There’s a biological basis for our joy when buying or receiving a watch. The brain’s reward system is governed by a cocktail of neurotransmitters — dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, oxytocin — when we achieve something, whether it’s a promotion, a marathon, a degree, or simply surviving a tough time, our brains want to commemorate it. That’s where objects come in. In the behavioural sciences, this is known as symbolic reinforcement. The object becomes a placeholder for the feeling. Studies by Lyubomirsky, King, and Diener in 2005 demonstrated that success creates happiness and fuels more success, forming a cyclical feedback loop of positive affect. When you mark a milestone with a watch, you embed that loop into a tangible item. And every time you wear it, your brain reactivates those reward pathways. It’s not indulgent. It’s neurological memory, re-triggered by association.
Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome.
-Booker T. Washington
In one group conversation, a member recalled buying a Tudor Black Bay Fifty-Eight after completing chemotherapy. It wasn’t about luxury, he said. It was about survival. “I didn’t want to forget what I came through,” he told us. “That watch is a reminder of what I can handle.” That’s not consumerism. That’s personal architecture — building emotional infrastructure into an object you carry forward.
Design also plays a role in how watches interact with our minds. Human beings have an innate response to form, colour, and material. Affective neuroscience tells us that visual and tactile stimuli generate emotional responses in the limbic system — the part of the brain tied to memory and emotion. Colours can stimulate or soothe; shapes can trigger past associations. A study by Valdez and Mehrabian in 1994 found that warm tones like red and orange increase physiological arousal and excitement, while cooler colours like blue and green lower tension and create calm. Summer watches feel different — they’re not just seasonal, they possess a psychological power. A bright yellow Seiko feels like optimism; a turquoise G-Shock feels like freedom. These aren’t accidents of design — they’re decisions that target your neurobiology.
A Just About Watches private group member shared a powerful moment: “I wear my Swatch Jellyfish when I feel too serious. I look down and it makes me grin. I’m forty-six. Who cares?” There’s a profound truth there. That Swatch isn’t just a plastic quartz watch. It’s permission. Permission to play. To break from the expectations of age or status. And in doing so, it becomes therapeutic.
- “I wear a $10 watch.” – Bill Gates
- “I don’t wear a Tank watch to tell the time. In fact, I never wind it. I wear a Tank because it’s the watch to wear” – Andy Warhol
- “Expect not only of a watch, but also of oneself: to never stand still” – Walter Lange
- “We are the artisans of giving birth to a product with a soul” – Jean-Claude Biver
Emotional design, as discussed by Don Norman and others, argues that good design isn’t just functional — it makes us feel something. A colourful watch may be ‘silly’, but its psychological function is often profound. It unlocks parts of ourselves we’re taught to tuck away.
The Psychology of Right-Handed Watches
Let’s explore another often-overlooked habit — the wrist we wear our watch on. Traditionally, watches are worn on the non-dominant hand. But many choose the right wrist deliberately. Some cite left-handedness, but for others, it’s a symbolic gesture. One member said, “I switched to wearing my watch on my right wrist after I got divorced. It felt like taking back control — like saying, ‘This is on my terms now.’” Wearing a watch on the right hand can signal assertiveness, individuality, even rebellion. It disrupts expectation. And in psychology, disrupting routine is often used to create new neural pathways — rewiring your sense of agency.
Luxury watches complicate this emotional field further. What does it mean to wear a Rolex? To some, it’s a symbol of success, a statement of accomplishment. To others, it’s a target for judgment. But both interpretations are psychological reflections of the wearer’s relationship with status, perception, and self-worth. A Rolex Submariner might feel like the culmination of decades of work, but it might also spark impostor syndrome — the feeling that one hasn’t earned it. These emotional tensions are real. The Rolex doesn’t cause them. It reveals them. That’s what symbols do. In psychoanalytic terms, they bring unconscious material to the surface.
And then, there’s ego. Watches can inflate it, certainly. But they can also stabilise it. Wearing a Patek Philippe or Voutilainen isn’t always about showing off — it’s often about aligning with a value system. A respect for craftsmanship, tradition, and subtlety. One group member wears a Lange 1815 daily, not because he wants to be noticed, but because it makes him feel composed. “It’s not for anyone else,” he said. “It’s for me. I feel calm when I see that dial.”
On the opposite end of the spectrum, some wear deliberately unassuming watches for the same reason. A Casio F-91W is, paradoxically, an ego statement in itself. It says: I don’t need to prove anything. That humility can itself become a psychological shield — a way to disengage from status competition. But even that is a form of identity performance. We are always communicating with the world, even in silence. And watches are part of that grammar.
This brings us to the idea of congruent self-presentation. A concept explored in depth by psychologist E.T. Higgins, it suggests that psychological well-being is enhanced when our outward appearance aligns with our internal values. When we wear a watch that ‘feels right’, we are creating harmony between self-image and self-presentation. That, in turn, boosts confidence, reduces cognitive dissonance, and supports emotional regulation. If you’ve ever worn a watch that clashed with your mood — too flashy on a day you feel quiet, too dull when you’re joyful — you’ll know the jarring effect it can have. Conversely, when it aligns, we feel whole.
Another fascinating function of watches is their ability to carry memory. This isn’t metaphorical. In neuropsychology, the concept of embodied cognition suggests that our physical interactions with objects shape our internal narratives. A watch we wore on a first date, to a funeral, on a trip around the world — these aren’t just memories associated with the watch. They are embedded in our neural maps, recalled through touch, sight, and repetition. One user described winding his late father’s Omega every Sunday morning, years after his passing. “It’s how I visit him,” he said.
That kind of ritual carries immense psychological power. Rituals, according to recent cognitive behavioural studies, can help regulate grief, manage anxiety, and create meaning out of chaos. A watch can be part of that ritual, part of that coping structure. It gives us something to do with our hands, our thoughts, our time. And in times of trauma or loss, action — however small — can provide the illusion of control, which the brain finds deeply comforting.
Mindfulness research supports this. Acts that require attention and care — winding, setting, polishing — slow the mind, ground the senses, and encourage presence. They shift us out of rumination and into rhythm. That’s not just poetic — it’s been backed by fMRI studies showing reduced amygdala activity and increased prefrontal cortex engagement during mindful actions. In other words, fiddling with your watch might be calming your emotional circuits.
And finally, there is the existential side of horology — the fact that many watches will outlive us. That our timekeepers become time capsules. As one elderly member of our community beautifully put it: “I’ll be gone, but my grandson will still hear that tick.” The watch becomes a bridge across generations, across silences, across the great unknown. In that way, a mechanical watch is more than a companion. It’s a message. Not from the past, but to the future.
All of this is why watches matter. Not just to collectors, but to anyone who’s ever used one to mark a moment, remember a person, stabilise an emotion, or reclaim a piece of themselves. Watches are time, yes. But they’re also touchstones. And in a world that often feels unmoored, they offer us something weighty to hold onto.
So the next time someone says, “It’s just a watch,” you’ll know better. It’s never just a watch. It’s memory. Mood. Identity. Ritual. Symbol. Self. More importantly, it’s a keeper of time, a keeper of the personality of the person who handed down the piece to you. It’s oh so much more than just a watch. It’s a legacy.
And more than anything else — it’s human.
