Sometimes your watch is more than just a watch. Maybe it was your Dadʼs. Maybe you won it in a game or bought it in Spain. Maybe it was a gift from an old flame. Maybe itʼs been in a drawer for thirty years but you canʼt bear to part with it. Or maybe itʼs the only one youʼve ever had and youʼre just attached to the thing.

I recognize that watches, for some unknowable reason, collect sentiment and are vehicles for stories, like few other objects can be. They evoke the occasions on which you received them, or wore them, or the lives of the people that carried them. They are the quintessential heirloom and remain so, even in this age of cell phones and satellite time. I also realize that this magic quality of watches, this attachment, exists regardless of where the watch was made, what itʼs been through, whether its dial is painted metal or double-sunk porcelain, whether itʼs 26 jewels or 7.

In my shop every watch is treated like itʼs more than just a watch. If you entrust me with your timepiece it will be repaired and regulated in the finest American tradition of horology. Youʼll never hear me say that your watch is unfixable or that it “isnʼt worth it.” I wouldn't make that call even if it was mine to make.

Colin Britton

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Iʼm 32 years old. For a watchmaker, Iʼm a baby. When I meet people my own age and tell them what I do, I tend to get one of three reactions: 1. “Huh, thatʼs cool.” 2. “I have never met a watchmaker before.” 3. “Why are you doing that?” My answers, in order: 1. “Yes. …

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