Discover the truth about watch ambassadors

Sometimes I wonder if purists suffer more from high blood pressure, apoplexy, heart attacks and other ailments than do better-adjusted, laissez-faire types.

When it comes to watches, who hasn’t seen some Rolex fanatic go ballistic over a restored dial, or the wrong crown? Ditto for car enthusiasts, who would suffer a meltdown if they saw a Triumph TR-3 with the wrong Dzus fasteners. The reason I ask is because purism also applies to motivation, as in buying a watch for investment (tacky) rather than because you love it (great!), or acquiring a new Leica camera and never opening the box to avoid depreciation (OCD) rather than to take photos (cool).

When it comes to the whys of buying specific timepieces, the reasons are legion, and excuses can be made for all of them. For example: I will never pilot a plane, but I own a dozen aviators’ timepieces. I don't even swim, but there are at least 20 diving watches in my collection. So sue me. But at least I bought them for the functionality, aesthetics, durability, and – because I am an old fart – legibility.

The best I can say about my behaviour is that I didn’t buy any of them because some C-list footballer, D-list actor, or Z-list influencer wore ’em.

Yes, I am referring to ambassadors who have no relevance whatsoever to the watches they tout, hype, hawk, whore or hustle for in magazines, on hoardings, in films, on billboards and, probably one day, on condoms. Which begs the question of motivation: would you really buy a watch because some actor was paid £3m a year to wear it?

I’m guessing that few Loupe readers are 14-year-old girls who ape absolutely everything that Niana Guerrero undertakes, nor anyone who actually gives a toss about anything to do with the Kardashians. Maybe influencers are necessities when flogging shampoo, eye-liner, lip gloss, handbags, or thongs. But when companies over 100 years old, with horological credibility beyond criticism, feel the need for ‘faces’ to sell their wares? Messrs Breguet, Huygens, Harrison, Ditisheim, Arnold, et al. must be spinning in their graves.

Let’s back up a bit, though, lest you write me off as a mere watch geek with no grasp of commercial reality. I do get it, especially as a militant capitalist who wants the watch industry to continue its near-vertical trajectory. I understand Rolex acquiring every square inch of space at every F1 racetrack, and Omega would be crazy not to continue exploiting its genuine NASA approval. But these are legit sales tools: F1 is inseparable from accurate timing, while Omega’s Speedmaster – later the Speedmaster Professional – really did go into space and was the watch that passed all the challenges to which NASA subjected it.

The original influencers

Enough genuine connections exist to outclass the paid-for shills. Eterna outfitted the treacherous Kon-Tiki expedition. Rolexes scaled Mount Everest. Real navies use Tudors and real pilots wear Breitlings. But these are not ambassadors: they are authentic representations of the brands’ achievements. Yes, Omega wheels out astronauts and NASA personnel when suitable, but that cannot be criticised because it is valid. Yes, Rolex has James Cameron on speed dial and designs watches with and for him but that’s because he went down in a submarine and found the Titanic. You want to own one of the diving watches tested to the greatest depths ever? Rolex’s Deepsea is the real deal, and Cameron is part of the equation.

Sticking with worthwhile envoys you can admire and emulate, the best of all are those who either bought the watches themselves (or wore them in perpetuity after their wives or friends gifted them) or who use them for the reasons the watches were designed for, as with Cameron above. Rolex in particular has always numbered among its extended family members world-class overachievers worth admiring: from opera diva Dame Kiri Te Kanawa to fire-fighter Red Adair to guitar deity Eric Clapton. Heuer’s conscious creation of the ambassador class back in the 1960s involved strapping chronographs to actual Grand Prix drivers’ wrists.

Within the scope of the ‘genuine’ category are silent film star Rudolph Valentino insisting on wearing his Cartier Tank on screen in 1926. Thirty-five years later, Elvis Presley wore his personal Hamilton Ventura in Blue Hawaii. Back to Heuer, and Steve McQueen donned the Monaco for Le Mans.

Half the A-list male stars in Hollywood during the 1930s and 1940s wore Cartier Tanks. Panerai and Audemars Piguet respectively owe much of their status to Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Jason Statham is partial to wearing Panerais in his films. In each case, the actors made their choices, with – unless you know otherwise – no multi-million dollar cheques changing hands.

Deception on a grand scale

There are others instances, most famous of all being Paul Newman’s gift from his wife Joanne Woodward, a Rolex Cosmograph that would become the most valuable and probably coveted watch of all time. And Patek Philippe? The aforementioned Eric Clapton collects them, Duke Ellington wore them and half of Europe’s remaining royals would consider nothing else.

There are whole books written about celebs and their watches, but they’re usually by hacks who don’t distinguish between the genuine ones I’ve just cited, and the ones paid vast sums to wear specific watches. And there is a difference. Having met too many of the latter, I know for a fact that most couldn’t give a damn about what watch they wear, and none of them are watch enthusiasts nor aficionados. Which brings me to a personal incident with a would-be ambassador.

Lawsuits are not something I want in my life, so anonymity is in order. Some 15 years ago, the manager of an A-list Hollywood actor contacted me about the suitability, image-wise, of this action hero and the brand that he was asked to represent. I said the match was perfect, except for one thing. The actor in question was a fanatical watch collector, and he would have to abandon wearing any of his vintage pieces from other brands for as long as he was associated with that brand. To his credit, if not to his bank balance, he turned down the offer.

He was wise to do so, just in case he accidentally left home wearing any other timepiece. He had seen what happened to Charlize Theron in 2007, when she was sued by Raymond Weil for wearing a Christian Dior watch when she was contracted to wear only Weil’s timepieces. The mistake was understandable, as she was (and I believe still is) the face of Dior perfume, but that was no excuse. There are other, similar examples, enough to scare off any would-be ambassador who might be tempted to wear the wrong watch.

Now we come to the watches worn for a fee – and it’s usually exorbitant. Again, I am not going to list the athletes and actors who have been 1) paid vast sums, or 2) been gifted watches with six-figure price tags, with the understanding that they either appear in ads or are photographed at high-profile events wearing said pieces. There is, for the brands, one overriding justification for paying, say, £2m per annum to some high-profile, disinterested actor to wear their watches: exposure.

This has been hammered into me every time I question the appropriateness of some putz wearing a watch for pay. It’s a stock reply: “Ken, it’s not about selling specific watches per se. It’s about building brand awareness. Ask any magazine editors on earth if they want an interview with [fill in the A-list name of your choice] and they will tear off your arm for it, front cover guaranteed.”

Ultimately, the question being begged is obvious, again not thinking about pre-teens buying Hello Kitty Litter. Would you buy a £290,000 tourbillon, let alone an £8,000 diving watch, just because one has been gifted to some footballer, or because it appeared in a movie, or – worse – because some pampered resident of Beverly Hills was handed a few million to wear it? I wouldn’t… but then I’m a purist.