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What Your TV Watch Brand Says About You
Android/Aragon: You really believe that “Master Wing” walked across hot coals and spent years on Mount Wutai learning how to attach a crown. You like Invicta, too, but Invicta doesn't make many 62mm watches in flaming metallic pink. That Thursday you called Laing in Florida to ask about your broken rubber strap you still recall as “the third best day of my life, after my wedding and meeting Al Hrabosky.”
Ben & Sons: You really wanted a Swiss Legend, but they're too expensive.
Constantin Weisz: Impressed by a brand important enough not to have an official website, you remember a certain Teutonic turd burglar's expertise (“It gleams! It gleams!”) that you know you have to own a watch with real German flair and style. Your favorite vegetable is mushrooms.
Croton: You like your latkes, big, greasy, and served on a napkin. You like your watches inexpensive, disposable, and yet sporty enough that you have the stones to compare your Aquamatic to a Hamilton Khaki. You know the difference between "Japan Movement" and a Japanese watch, but you could give a rat's ass.
Egard: Not only do you find yourself in an eternal man crush over bloated former sci-fi TV series actors (and not just the leads, or even the good shows – even Time Tunnel will do), you're the type of person who gets offended at every political headline or ad campaign, no matter if the subject pertains to you at all – you need something to make the occasional stranger talk to you, after all, and it sure won't be that oversized wannabe MB&F on your wrist that'll make it happen.
Elini Barokas: You really wanted a Lucien Piccard, but they're too expensive.
Invicta: You're not the type of guy who owns a Pro Diver or two – you're the watch hobby equivalent of a cat lady … and you're fucking proud of it. You have underwear made out of spent Invicta Cruise boarding passes; your couch is actually 600 Duct Taped plastic dive cases covered in memory foam; your wife is your right hand. You've ordered and received more than 50 non-functioning watches from the TV, and you're waiting for the next one tomorrow. You're a truly special person, and you're not afraid to call Evine's fan line and let the whole world know it, live and in living yellow.
Jean Marcel: You have a friend in the watch business, even if you have no earthly idea where on the planet where that friend might be.
Jowissa: You buy third-hand used cars and trade them in after two months, and you do it at least four times a year – and you're female.
Lucien Piccard: You really wanted a Lucien Piccard, but you hadn't heard the brand was acquired by the Swiss Legend/SWI combine – and now you have to wear this for the scant few weeks before it craps out.
Red Line/A Line: You really wanted a Ben & Sons, but they're too expensive.
Renato/XOSkelton: You've been caught at least six times frantically masturbating to home shopping network sales spokeswomen. You are totally impressed when watch expert Klongberg Kimboydbanders calls Renato “the highest of the high end” - and you know it's true when you crack open the case and see those real Swiss plastic movement holders. In the case of XOSkelton, hey – do you have a watch with dust from the Cutty Sark in it?
Ritmo Mundo: You consider Shawn Wilsie the perfect choice to be the next James Bond.
Stuhrling Original: You desperately want people think you're wearing a Patek, or a IWC, or a Hamilton or Omega, but when the guy on the subway sees the imprint and literally laughs out loud, you go home and cry yourself to sleep.
Stuhrling Prestige: You pony up for only the best – you WILL pay the extra 75 cents for more hot fudge on your Peanut Buster Parfait.
Swiss Legend: You insist that everything about your new watch is 100 percent Swiss, because it says so – it's right there on the dial, see?
Techno-Marine: You bought your wife one of these 10 years ago and it was a decent enough watch. You bought a new one at Costco two weeks ago and it crapped out after about six days. You will never buy another watch for the rest of your life.
Thomas Earnshaw: Going through a desperate mid-life crisis, you grow your hair down to your shins at the age of 47 and start working out like a banshee every fucking day until your sweat literally becomes gravy. Won't work; you're so unrelentingly weird that even old ladies at the church won't give you the time of day, even with that new “Swiss made” heirloom on your body-waxed wrist.
Vostok-Europe: You list the top men of history as, in order, Lenin, Popeye, and Paul Lynde.