- You’ve sold and rebought the same Seiko twelve times, as if flipping it repeatedly will unlock a spiritual truth—or at least reduce the buyer’s remorse.
- You use your Submariner bezel to time pasta, because naturally, a $12,000 tool watch was designed to ensure your rigatoni hits al dente.
- You wear one watch exclusively for months while the other twelve sulk in a drawer, exiled as part of your emotional detox protocol.
- You sleep with a watch on—not for timekeeping, but for comfort. It’s not horology anymore; it’s therapy. That watch is your blankie with a dial.
- You buy back the same discontinued Seiko Monster you sold six years ago for seven times the original price, and feel a deep, almost religious sense of relief—like recovering a lost heirloom from a war-torn attic.
- You curate a “State of the Collection” video for YouTube, omitting your secret stash of watches like a drunk hiding vodka in shampoo bottles. That drawer in the closet? Classified.
- You lie about your watch count the way others lie about cholesterol. “Oh, maybe nine or ten,” you say, casually ignoring the drawer, the safe, the storage unit.
- You experience wrist-rotation anxiety so paralyzing each morning, you consider wearing no watch at all—only to remember that’s what serial killers do.
- You’ve nearly crashed your car admiring how the AR coating on your sapphire crystal plays with the sunlight. “Distracted driving” doesn’t cover it. This is horological hypnosis.
- You fabricated a hurricane off the coast of Maui so your family would cancel vacation and you could redirect funds to a Planet Ocean Ultra Deep. You’ll confess the lie on your deathbed, right after asking for one last wrist shot.
The Watch Habits of the Truly Deranged
Cinemorphosis 
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