Which watch? And why?
AWHILE AGO, as I perused the wristwatch ads in the New York Times, something within me agitated–something that once in a decade, or maybe a lifetime, causes you to wonder about what you do measured comprehensively; like, oh, What percentage of your lifetime do you spend asleep? Or eating? Or–your mind, when roguish, will take you to antic lengths–defecating?
It happened to me at that moment, on the spot. I asked myself, How many hours (weeks? months?) of my life have I already spent looking at watch ads? The question fascinated me in part because my persistent habit hasn’t been motivated by any search for the Perfect Watch. This is so because quite by accident, a few years ago, I discovered the perfect watch; so that all the time I spend looking at the displays of watches for sale is entirely platonic. It’s just that there is something, for me, simply irresistible in watch ads.
Which watch And why
I thought this an entirely personal idiosyncrasy until I devoted a newspaper column to a single Sunday’s watch ads. I was astonished by the number of people who wrote to me, or told me to my face, that they suffer from the same addiction. “Suffer” may be the wrong word, because manifestly our fraternity relishes the pastime. Granted, some voyeurs are engaged in the practical pursuit of awatch preferable to the watch they wear, but they would presumably expect that their curiosity would be extinguished upon finding their quarry.