Why I Wear a Watch That Only Tells the Time

Martin Luther King Jr wore a Rolex Datejust. The Omega Speedmaster went to the moon. My Grandad wore a watch he was given when he retired. Watches have always meant something.

But the Apple Watch brought a dying relic back onto the wrists of the public and I was 100% all in. I wanted the iPhone on my wrist. Notifications without reaching into my pocket, calls from my wrist, steps tracked, rings closed.

The problem was, I hated it.

My wrist buzzing every 5 minutes with the 200th inane notification of the day. It buzzed when someone liked a photo on Instagram. It buzzed when I got an email. It buzzed when a delivery was delayed. It buzzed when the weather changed. It buzzed when a meeting was starting, which I already knew about because it was on my phone, which was also buzzing. I was being interrupted by my own wrist. Not informed. Interrupted.

The screen couldn't handle a breeze without scratching. After 12 months it felt old because newer, better watches were coming out. I'd spent money on something that used to last a lifetime and be handed down, and now it had a shelf life. It made me feel guilty I'd only done 9,000 steps when it told me I really ought to be getting 10,000 if I wanted to be "healthy." A watch you have to charge every day isn't a watch. It's a phone that's been shrunk and strapped to your arm.

I was fed up. Disheartened and disappointed. But what it did do is make me realise I still wanted a watch.

I remember my Dad proudly showing me my Grandfather's watch. He was gifted it by his work when he retired, and he wore it every day until he died. Now my Dad wears it too. It made me realise that a watch is a tool, but one that goes further than something that lasts the same lifespan as a tin of beans. It carries more sentiment than a Garmin Forerunner 365x-treme turbo, or whatever they're calling them this week, ever could.

Men rarely have anything of value they wear on a daily basis. A wedding ring is a band of gold. Some might wear a sovereign ring, but most don't. Necklaces aren't exactly common. But a watch is universal. It's a choice, and which watch you wear becomes part of you. This thing around your wrist, you chose to wear it, becomes part of your identity. Most people own one or maybe two watches and they've purposely gone out and bought it. It reflects their decision and their personality. Children relate that watch to their owner. It becomes part of your style.

I also realised that I carry a phone in my pocket that does all of that and more. Notifications, messages, calendar alerts, weather, news, the lot. And I'm starting to resent having that on me. I'm fed up of it always trying to get my attention, which is most of the time for nothing important.

Now don't get me wrong. I still want to track my health. It's 2026 and the technology is there, and I'm not a technophobe. A friend got me into the WHOOP band and it fits me perfectly. No notifications, minimal footprint, it just disappears on your wrist, arm, wherever you choose. I want to know my health stats, but I don't need to be reminded every 5 minutes to move to meet my "goals." I've got a PocketAI that helps me remember things because my memory is rubbish and notebooks don't work for me. I'm not anti-tech. I'm pro-tool. Both of them serve a purpose I chose, and both of them know when to shut up.

The dividing line isn't analogue vs digital. It's not old vs new. It's: does the tool respect my attention, or consume it?

The Apple Watch consumed it.

Now I wear two watches, interchangeably. A green NTH Barracuda and a Squale 1545 rootbeer. They're not £10,000 watches. They're not antiques. They're mechanical watches — one in a lovely sunburst brown colour, the other in a gorgeous olive bezel colour. They tell the time. One of them tells the date. That's it. No vibrations. No rings. No little red dots telling me I've got seven unread emails. No step counter. No screen to tap.

The NTH Barracuda is a dive watch. 40mm case. Ceramic bezel insert. Sapphire crystal. 200 metres of water resistance, which I'll never test but it's nice to know. A workhorse automatic that keeps ticking as long as I keep wearing it. No battery. No charging. It winds itself from the movement of my arm.

The mechanical watch doesn't just tell the time. It creates a boundary around the act of checking the time. It's a closed loop. You look, you see, you're done. The Apple Watch is an open door. You look, you see the time, and also three messages, a reminder, and a nudge to stand up because you've been sitting for an hour. One glance becomes ten minutes.

When I glance at my Barracuda, I get the time. That's the whole interaction. Look, time, done. No scrolling. No checking one notification that leads to four more. No ten minutes lost to an app I didn't intend to open.

Here's what I keep coming back to. My watch will outlast my phone. It'll outlast the WHOOP. It'll outlast whatever phone I'm carrying in five years, because phones are designed to be replaced. Watches like the Barracuda are designed to be kept.

And one day, I'll hand it to one of my kids. The Barracuda will still be ticking. It won't need a software update. It won't need a charger. It won't be obsolete because Apple decided to stop supporting it. It'll just work, like it always has.

My kids will inherit my watch. They won't inherit my Apple Watch because it'll be in a drawer somewhere, dead, with a charger no one makes anymore.

There's something in that that matters to me. Not in a precious, heritage-boutique way. In a this-thing-earns-its-place-every-day way. I put it on in the morning. I take it off at night. It winds itself while I'm wearing it. It doesn't ask for anything. It just tells me the time, every time I look, without comment.

That's mint, that.

That's Mint That — things I tried, kept, or binned, and why.