Tick Tock

My favourite bracelets are watches. And my favourite watches I love to wear grouped together, stacked up my wrist and bumping up against one another.

The pair of silver watches were my parents', and I can remember playing with them as a child, buried in a tangle of old jewellery and charms. Neither work—I've tried to get them fixed, and the batteries were left too long and destroyed the inner mechanisms. My father's, a stretchy well-worn Timex, boasts a missing panel and scuffed up face. I love how the hours are marked by little raised boxes.

My mother's is a Seiko, small-boned and slightly chipped, with a gold band running the length of the strap. I love the slinky way the strap's mesh moves, and how even though the face is small, there's still space for the weekday and date. And the clasp! One of those ingenious latched contraptions that are perfect for skinny wrists like mine (and my mother's too, it fits me perfectly).

The last is the latest addition, a chunky rose gold stunner that's become my daily companion. It's a Christmas present that reminds me of the giver whenever I check the time (thanks again D), shipped from ASOS. It balances gold and silver beautifully, and adds a bit of unexpected colour and brightness.

I love what a watch does to an outfit, and to the wearer. It conveys a sense of groundedness, of practicality that I feel sliding through my fingers all too often. It's far more elegant a solution than whipping out my cell phone every half hour, and feels empowering—so what that you're only at 10%, phone! Die for all I care! I'll still be on time, and I'll enjoy the peace of a little disconnect.

It saddens me that the art of telling time is falling out of favour, that analog clock faces are considered challenging. That learning to read a clock probably isn't one of those life skills being taught to kindergarteners anymore. Maybe I just like the charm in forcing yourself to take a moment, parse out meaning, and study a well-appointed face.