I have spent nearly $6 million on watches. That number might sound excessive, perhaps even reckless, but I prefer to look at it differently: that $6 million was my tuition fee for clarity.
My journey began in childhood, where the humble Casio Pro Trek became my first obsession. I spent hours calibrating my father’s glider instruments against my watch’s altimeter, an experience that forged a lifelong connection between mechanical precision and technical engineering. That curiosity lay dormant for years until a business trip to Las Vegas, where a Breitling Aerospace Evo Night Mission reignited the fire. For me as an IT nerd and fan of precision, that Breitling superquartz movement with only ±10 seconds accuracy per year was perfect.
What followed was a fever dream. Between 2022 and 2024, my collection spiraled into a “Pokémon” phase, which means I wanted them all. I wasn’t just collecting; I was hoarding. The hype pieces, the beauties, fascinating complications. The velocity of my acquisitions was driven by the dopamine hit of the hunt, but also the appreciation of the craft.
It took the ownership of 110 watches to realize a profound truth: I owned everything, yet I didn’t really feel that much excitement anymore. Some pieces were even an emotional burden.
The “coming of age” in my collecting journey happened the day I realized that volume is the enemy. I made the deliberate, almost painful decision to sell 50 of those 110 pieces. I didn’t do this in one go. I did it in batches. And I used a well known technique by Marie Kondo. Did it spark joy? By removing the noise, I allowed the signal to emerge. I refined my vault around Audemars Piguet as my cornerstone, anchored by six specific Rolexes, meaningful Omega Speedmasters, some Chopard Alpine Eagle and only a few Pateks.
This curation wasn’t just about watches; it was a physical manifestation of an internal shift. As I stripped away the unnecessary, my life suddenly had space for what mattered. At a watch related event in 2025, I met my fiancée. It was not a coincidence; it was the inevitable result of finally knowing what I truly valued. That meeting sparked a move from Germany to Miami, a life-changing pivot that brought absolute clarity to my collection and my future.
Lessons for the New Collector
If you are just starting your journey, do not make the mistake of measuring success by the size of your vault. Here is what I wish I knew:
- Volume is the enemy of appreciation. It is far better to own a few watches you wear often than fifty watches that live in a safe.
- Sell without ego. The most important tool in your collection is the ability to let go. If a piece doesn’t bring you joy or utility, it is taking up space where a “perfect” piece could live.
- Buy the story, not the trend. Chasing hyped releases will leave you with a collection that reflects the market’s taste, not your own. Buy what makes you feel like the best version of yourself.
- The collection is the bridge, not the destination. A watch should commemorate a moment, a transition, or a person. If your collection doesn’t reflect your evolution as a person, you are just accumulating inventory.
- Nobody cares. While you might find validation in the knowing nods of fellow enthusiasts who recognize a specific caliber or a rare dial, the reality of day-to-day life is that the average person is not checking your wrist. Most people will never notice your watch, let alone recognize its significance or value. Wear it for yourself, not for the validation of strangers.
- Comparison is the thief of joy. Comparing your collection to others never brings true joy. I personally unfollowed most watch collectors on Instagram because the constant exposure to endless acquisitions only breeds a hollow desire for more. True satisfaction comes from your own connection to the piece, not the highlight reels of others.
My collection is no longer a graveyard of impulse buys. It is a curated gallery of milestones. I stopped chasing “more” and started chasing “meaning,” and in doing so, I finally found both.
