Form, Function and the Search for Self

Lately, I’ve realised that my hobbies aren’t just things I do for fun. They’re how I organize my identity. Each one fills a different folder in the filing cabinet I call myself. And for something to make it into that cabinet, I can’t just enjoy it. I have to be consumed by it.

Let’s look at a few examples. I go to the gym three to four times a week. I play padel once or twice a week. I drink coffee every day. These are all things most people would consider hobbies or interests. I wouldn’t. Yeah, I play padel, but am I obsessed with it? Do I know about all the different types of rackets and the many Latin words for "smash"? No, no I do not. To me personally, they’re activities, not identities.

Now, let’s look at the other side. Technology is an obvious one, one of my oldest and longest-running hobbies. I got so invested in it I ended up making a career out of it. Cooking’s there too. It wasn’t enough to just want to cook. I needed to know everything. All the different types of steels you can get for a knife, their pros and cons, which cutting boards give you the smoothest feel with the highest edge retention, the thickness of a Darto carbon steel pan compared to one from Misen or de Buyer. For me, learning is never casual. It’s total immersion.

The interest I want to talk about today however revolves around horology, and it gets a little meta. When I started getting into watches, I went deep. Reddit threads, YouTube videos, dedicated wrist-roll apps, and of course, the one thing that always solidifies an interest for me, podcasts.

As I got more into watches, I started noticing an interesting trend. But before we go into that, we have to talk about the two types of watch enthusiasts. This isn’t some globally agreed-upon notion, just my personal observation. Anyone who says they’re into watches probably falls into one of two camps.

On one side, we have the image-driven enthusiasts, or as I like to call them, the jewellery camp. They know their watches, they know about the movements and the specifics and everything else. These aren’t posers or flexers, they know their stuff, but they wear pieces like Rolex or Patek, partly for the history behind the brand, partly as a way to subtly (or not so subtly) indicate where they sit on the social ladder. You won’t find a Seiko in their collection.

Then we have what I call the tool boys, though that term might need a rebrand. These are the kinds of people who’d be as in awe of an F.P. Journe as they would a MACV-SOG Seiko 5. People in this camp all seem to have similar interests. They either have, or dream of having, a cabin somewhere in the woods. They’d love to drive an FJ Cruiser or an old Land Cruiser. Some of them may be obsessed with military tactics and anything related to the army or Navy SEALs, and they love books by Jack Carr. Oh, and most of them probably have a diving certificate, or plan to get one soon. They probably follow Watches of Espionage on Instagram too.

Neither camp is better than the other. Neither is more authentic. They’re equal in their love and admiration for timepieces, they just have different approaches.

As I’ve gotten more into watches, I’ve found myself identifying more with the second camp, the tool boys, if you will. I find me asking myself, why? Do I share their values, or have I absorbed them because I share their obsession?

Looking at it practically, a lot of their values do resonate with me. I see watches as tools, things that, albeit less practical now, were once used to achieve great things. Pilots once depended on them for navigation. Soldiers used them to synchronize complex operations. The astronauts of Apollo 13 only made it back to Earth because of their watches. These are functional, utilitarian pieces. I wear a watch to showcase my interests and values in that sense.

Then again, maybe that’s just a story I tell myself. Maybe I’m drawn to the aesthetic as much as the function. Maybe I’ve always loved the spy and adventure worlds, but watches gave me a language for it.

It’s funny, because if you knew me when I was younger, you’d know I hated watches. Yeah, I wore a smartwatch sometimes, and during big events I’d throw on something my dad had lying around. But I never paid attention to what was on my wrist, or anyone else’s.

Growing up, there was a lot of stuff around. I don’t blame anyone. My parents came from a background of not having much, so when they could finally afford things, it was hard to let go. Getting rid of anything was seen as wasteful, like throwing away value. I get that.

But as I’ve grown older, I’ve realised there’s value in reducing your possessions, not just accumulating them. Around 2018, I discovered YouTubers like Matt D’Avella and Kraig Adams and fell in love with the idea of minimalism. Owning only what you need. Being free of worldly possessions. I went full-blown minimalist. I got rid of almost everything and copied the aesthetic to match: white, black, and walnut. I donated all my clothes and bought fifteen of the same t-shirts, five in black, five in white, five in grey. Three pairs of cream shorts, two pairs of jeans. No more smartwatches, no patterns, no logos. Even my Air Force 1s were replaced by logo-less sneakers from a local brand.

Eight years later, I’ve relaxed. I’m more of a functionalist now. I still value simplicity, but I’ve accepted that utility doesn’t have to mean deprivation. I focus on buying things that provide value and function, though minimalist me would be horrified to learn that I now have eight watches that all objectively do the same thing: tell time. I still try not to own too much, though lately I’ve given myself a bit more freedom. I recently bought a new laptop even though my old one worked fine, just because I got sick of macOS and wanted Linux on my laptop. Even though I already have a Linux desktop. And yes, I still haven’t sold the Mac.

If I had to describe my aesthetic now, it would be a mix of warm tones and functional precision. Beiges and greens paired with crisp lines and quiet order. The outdoors blended with the mechanical. How much of that is me, and how much is algorithm? I don’t know.

Maybe that’s what all of this really is, the constant balancing act between who I am and who I’m learning to be. Between the tools I use and the stories I tell about them. Maybe the search for authenticity isn’t about finding something real, but about noticing which parts of myself I’ve built on purpose. I’m still figuring it out, where I end and my interests begin. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the function is the form.