Second Opinions: I Can't Afford Any Of These Watches. And That's Just Fine.

When I first started learning about watches, I often experienced emotional whiplash. I'd read a fascinating depiction of a watch, complete with photos, plus a deep dive into the history of the model and the author's specific relationship with it – and I'd find myself longing not only to see it in the metal, but also to perhaps own it someday. Then, inevitably, I'd scroll to the bottom of the page, see that it cost more than my car, sigh heavily, and move on with my life wishing that 20 years ago I'd invested in Amazon. But over time, something changed. I realized that I'm probably not ever – no matter how much money I have – going to spend as much on a watch as I might on a vacation, a car, or a house. That's not the kind of enthusiast I am. And rather than viewing that as some sort of barrier to entry into this hobby, I've come to view it as liberating. For all but the filthy-richest collectors, there comes a moment where the price of a watch transforms from a concrete cost/benefit analysis into a purely academic question. In my case, a watch could cost $10,000 or $100,000, and I will buy neither. So at that point, the watch becomes something beyond a commodity to be purchased. It becomes that which can be appreciated . What is Lange if not the stuff of dreams? Does it matter to you how much the Mona Lisa is worth? If you can't own it, does that mean you can't have an opinion about it? Many of our writers are fascinated by military aircraft – but is Cole Pennington's passion somehow lesser just because he can't afford his own SR-71 (yet – I wouldn't put it past him to get one someday)? Jack Forster hasn't been to space (as far as I know), yet is his appreciation for the wonders of human spaceflight inauthentic? This is a bit of a strawman, I know. As far as I can tell, no one out there really thinks you have to own every watch to be an enthusiast, nor that the only true collectors are the ones spending the GDP of a small country acquiring rare and exquisite timepieces. However! There is, I think, a pervasive feeling that one must battle within oneself when venturing into this world – a kind of imposter syndrome that you either get over or buy your way out of. The scolding supercollector doesn't exist anywhere but in the beginner's own mind (and perhaps in certain comments sections), but there his voice is deafening. It will only quiet down when you come to grips with the kind of enthusiast you are – which, for me, is one who will never appear on Talking Watches. For one person, a full metal G-Shock might be an impulse purchase. For someone else, it's unattainable. Each of us has a line. I personally find that I enjoy the watches that exist beyond that line far more than the ones on the border. Pictured: Not the author's wrist. To wit: I will not buy the Omega Speedmaster Silver Snoopy Award 50th Anniversary . I don't have to worry about whether I can part with the roughly $10,000 it would cost to acquire, because I definitely can't. And for that reason, I am free. Free to simply admire its childlike whimsy. I could live for 160 years and I will never own the Grand Seiko Kintaro Hattori 160th Anniversary Limited Edition . I may never even see it in the metal, but I do not care. I find it exquisite and wonderful, and I thankfully never have to ask the question of whether I will buy it. Knowing it exists is enough. As watch enthusiasts, we wear two hats. One is of the informed consumer. We know enough about watches to know what we're getting when we hand over our credit card. We know what we like and don't like, and we know how to cross-shop and get what feels like the best bang for the buck. We don't exclusively shop the world's best; we shop what's best for us. In this sense, it's like any other purchase from a leather jacket to a coffee table – we research, we sample, we maybe make a spreadsheet, and we pull the trigger. It's just nice knowing the back of the Omega Speedmaster Silver Snoopy 50th Anniversary exists. The other hat, however, is more fun. It's the hat of a fan. We don't have to have skin in the game. We don't have to worry whether there's something that's just as good for a few thousand dollars less. We don't have to deliberate over buying the bracelet or saving a buck with the strap. As fans, we are free to be honest and upfront – as opposed to telling ourselves the myriad untruths that underpin any expensive toy purchase. (No, it's not important. No, it won't make you work out more. No, you won't eat out less each month to pay for it). We can see the watch for what it is, rather than what we hope for it to be when the dealer gives us the call. We can love a watch deeply, and perhaps that love will grow stronger knowing that it can never belong to us. The Holy Grail didn't become a mythic legend because it was attainable. The pain I've come to feel in this hobby no longer stems from reading an Introducing post, seeing the price, and kicking rocks over how long I'd have to save up for it. Instead, the only agony I experience comes at the other end – when I read about a watch and find myself caught up in its charms, only to discover that I can afford it. In that moment, it's no longer an abstract thing. It's real, and it's a decision point. And, unfortunately for my wallet, rationality rarely wins the day.Our managing editor finally stopped worrying about all those unattainable prices. And he's never been happier.