Calling fellow Granola-bitches and Beta-sprayers
So, I wrapped my wrist with an Oris Diver 65, a 36mm testament to my self-deluded uniqueness. Bronze bezel? Check. Leather strap on a dive watch? A bold move that screams, "I'm not like the others," except, of course, I am. I thought this timepiece was my one-way ticket to being an outlier, but turns out, it’s just the standard uniform for the vintage-inspired dive watch brigade.
Decked out in my eco-friendly Patagonia and ego-friendly Arcteryx, I crowned myself the king of eco-chic climbers. Each piece of my attire carefully chosen to broadcast, "Look at me, saving the planet, one overpriced garment at a time," all while supporting a granola-bar-budget that rivals New Zealand's defense spending. Here I am, casually flexing my Oris like it's some rare artifact and not the horological equivalent of a mass-produced indie band vinyl.
Sipping my meticulously sourced, outrageously expensive coffee, I chat about my latest conquest of a climbing spot so exclusive, it probably doesn’t exist. My Oris, my gear—it’s all meant to project an aura of "I tread lightly on the Earth," when in reality, I’m just stomping around in a circle of conspicuous consumption.
This watch was supposed to make me stand out, to separate me from the pack with its nostalgic nod to authentic diving adventures. Instead, I'm just another character in the sitcom of life, where we all think we're the lead, but in truth, we're just extras in the background, all wearing the same costume.
So here's a toast to us, the granola glitterati, flaunting our Oris Diver 65s, convinced we're the picture of originality in our eco-conscious bubble. We aimed for uniqueness but landed squarely in the realm of trendy uniformity. In our rush to be different, we became beautifully, perfectly, indistinguishably the same. And the biggest joke? When Oris released their 36mm vintage diver, the world barely blinked. But let Tudor throwback a similar vibe, and suddenly, it’s the horological second coming(Looking at you BB 54). Breaking the mold? More like fitting it perfectly—at least until the next big thing rolls out.
Time aficionado by day, horological satirist by night. I've got a penchant for timepieces that tick louder than a bomb and shine brighter than my future. I consider the Invicta Pro Diver the pinnacle...
I never knew what Oris wearers were signaling before, so I have now learned. I wear 80 year old watches and drink water from the tap. I feel like a true eco-warrior.
Hilarious post, possibly at my expense! I do everything by bike, not car. Not signalling anything except that traffic gives me stress and I like bike riding. My Oris is too heavy to be worn during riding, so sadly doesn't get much use.
The post’s central mistake is thinking any watch signals anything (with possible exception of blingy Rolexes). Nobody knows or cares what watch you have, and fewer than nobody would 1) recognize an Oris and 2) think you are signalling something with the watch they don’t notice and brand they don’t know 😂
100% on that final comment - BB54 fanfare was baffling 🤔
Hilarious post, possibly at my expense! I do everything by bike, not car. Not signalling anything except that traffic gives me stress and I like bike riding. My Oris is too heavy to be worn during riding, so sadly doesn't get much use.
The post’s central mistake is thinking any watch signals anything (with possible exception of blingy Rolexes). Nobody knows or cares what watch you have, and fewer than nobody would 1) recognize an Oris and 2) think you are signalling something with the watch they don’t notice and brand they don’t know 😂
100% on that final comment - BB54 fanfare was baffling 🤔
Your comment? Spot on. Hopping on your bike, leaving the too-heavy Oris at home, is real talk. It’s about the vibe we think we’re giving off versus how we’re actually seen. Aiming for “eco-conscious bike lover,” but to everyone else, you’re “that annoying cyclist zigzagging through traffic like it’s a personal obstacle course.” And the Oris? Turns out, using it to signal anything is like yelling into a void—no one’s really listening, and those who might glance your way are too puzzled to care. As for the Tudor craze, it’s like everyone suddenly found their cause, making a mountain out of a molehill of watch preference. Keep riding, though. In the end, the only signal that really matters is the one you’re sending to yourself, even if it’s getting drowned out by the roar of traffic.