The Relic in the Drawer

The tweezers are held at a 45-degree angle, hovering just above the balance spring. It is a quiet, rhythmic existence inside this workshop, where time is measured in the literal movement of brass and steel rather than the frantic pings of a notification tray. My hands remain steady, a requirement for someone who spends 35 hours a week peering through a loupe, but my mind is currently elsewhere. I am thinking about a text message I sent back in 2015. I was telling a friend that a specific matte lipstick was the only thing I would ever need for the rest of my life. I found that tube yesterday in the back of a drawer. It was dried out, smelling slightly of wax and regret, a relic of a version of myself that believed the marketing cycle was a permanent truth.

Downstairs, the coffee machine is hissing. My partner is likely sitting at the breakfast table, thumbing through a feed that moves faster than any escapement I have ever repaired. I can hear the tinny echo of a transition sound-a sharp *whoosh* followed by the clatter of plastic bottles being tossed into a bin. It is a ‘decluttering’ video. Someone with 15 million followers is clearing out their ‘old’ essentials to make room for the ‘new’ non-negotiables. It is 7:45 in the morning, and the world has already decided that yesterday was a failure. The beige bathroom lighting in the video is identical to the lighting in the video that sold those products 15 weeks ago. The irony is as thick as the heavy-duty moisturizer being discarded.

The 75-Year Lifespan

As a watch movement assembler, I deal in things that are meant to last 75 years if properly oiled. It makes the 5-day lifespan of a viral skincare ‘hack’ feel like a fever dream. We have outsourced our judgment to a collective mood swing. We no longer ask ‘Does this work for me?’ but rather ‘Is everyone else still doing this?’ If the answer is no, the product-no matter how effective it was last Tuesday-becomes an embarrassment.

Psychological Obsolescence

There is a technical term for this in my industry: planned obsolescence, though we try to avoid it in high-end horology. In consumer beauty and lifestyle, however, the obsolescence isn’t in the hardware; it’s in the psychology. The formula of the cream hasn’t changed in the 5 months since it was launched, but the social capital associated with holding the bottle has evaporated. We are being trained to see our own belongings as trash-in-waiting. I looked at those old text messages of mine and realized how many times I have been ‘absolutely certain’ about a miracle cure. It is a humiliating exercise in self-reflection. I was wrong 45 times in a row, yet I still feel the itch to check what the new ‘holy grail’ is before I finish my toast.

This creates a profound disconnection from our own sensory experiences. If a serum makes your skin feel hydrated and healthy, but 75% of your digital circle is currently laughing at the brand’s new packaging or calling the founder ‘problematic’ for a tweet from 2005, you start to doubt your own face. You wonder if the hydration is a lie. You wonder if you are missing out on a superior glow that only exists in a filtered video.

Seeking Friction-Reducers

I often think about the materials I work with. A ruby bearing doesn’t care about trends. It performs a specific function. It reduces friction. In the chaos of the current market, we are desperately lacking friction-reducers. Everything is designed to heat us up, to make us move faster, to make us buy before we think. This is why I have started looking for voices that don’t shout. Amidst the roar of the ‘must-haves,’ there are small pockets of sanity. There are curators who understand that a routine isn’t a costume you change every season. Finding a source like Le Panda Beauté feels like finding a steady hand in a room full of people trembling with caffeine and FOMO. They represent the idea that guidance should be steady, not viral.

I once spent 25 minutes trying to explain to a customer why a mechanical watch was better than a digital one that could track his heart rate and tell him the weather. He looked at me like I was a ghost. To him, the fact that the digital watch would be a brick in 5 years was a feature, not a bug. It gave him an excuse to upgrade. We have become addicted to the ‘upgrade,’ even when the new version is functionally identical to the old one. We aren’t buying better skin or better health; we are buying the sensation of being ‘current.’ It is a dopamine hit that lasts about as long as it takes to break down a cardboard shipping box.

The Dignity of Patience

[Truth is a slow build; hype is a flash fire.]

I went back to my workbench after breakfast. I had to set a hairspring, a task that requires 105% of my concentration. If I rush it, the watch will gain 5 minutes every day. If I am patient, it will keep perfect time for a generation. There is a profound dignity in that patience. I wish we could apply it to the way we consume. I wish we could look at a new ‘miracle’ oil and say, ‘I will check back in 15 months to see if anyone still cares.’ But the fear of being left behind is a powerful engine. It drives us to discard perfectly good solutions in favor of shiny new problems.

I’m not immune. Even now, after seeing the 5th ‘unboxing’ video of the morning, I find myself wondering if my current cleanser is ‘boring.’ Boring is a dangerous word in a consumer economy. Boring is often just another word for ‘reliable.’ My tweezers are boring. My loupe is boring. The 0.05mm screws I use are incredibly boring. But without them, time stops. We have lost our appreciation for the boring foundations of a good life. We want the fireworks, even if they leave us standing in the dark once the sparks go out.

Physical Manifestations of Hype

There is a specific mistake I made recently. I bought a high-tech facial massager that looked like a piece of alien technology. It had 5 different vibration settings and promised to ‘sculpt’ my jawline into something resembling a marble statue. I used it for 15 days. Then I forgot to charge it. Then I realized I liked my jawline just fine. It currently sits on my dresser, a $275 paperweight. It is a physical manifestation of a moment where I let someone else’s excitement override my own common sense. I am a professional assembler of precision instruments, and yet I was sold a vibrating piece of plastic because a 25-year-old on my screen looked happy while holding it.

Reclaiming Judgment

We need to start reclaiming our own judgment. We need to be okay with being ‘outdated’ if what we have is working. The next time you see someone decluttering a product you love, or hear a creator call your favorite brand ‘mid,’ remember the clockwork. A gear doesn’t stop turning just because the person looking at the watch thinks the dial is the wrong color this season. Your experience is the only data point that actually matters. The crowd is a fickle thing; it will love you today and call you overrated by the 15th of next month. Better to stand still and be right than to run in circles and be exhausted.