Time to Upgrade

“It’s a Rolex,” my friend told me. 

It was shiny and silver with majestic watch hands, ticking around the black dial.  

I had seen Rolex watches before, but none on a kid who was in his mid 20’s. In fact, everyday he sported a new luxury watch, and I suspected he was dealing arms to cartels on weekends. I was working as a talent agency assistant, and what you drove, where you went to school, and what you wore on your wrist defined you. Rolex, Panerai, Audemars Piguet. They were timepieces worth more than my car, and my colleagues bought them like they were buying shoes.  

“I’ve got a secret,” he said. “This is a fake. I have this guy in Asia who makes replica watches.” 

I never cared about watches. Before this, it took determination to not wear sweatpants and Adidas sandals all day. But now I had a full time job. It was the witness protection program for broken artists, and fitting in was imperative.

A month later, I strutted into work, wearing my new gold watch. I thought it looked cool in the picture, but it was clunky and dreadfully heavy on my wrist. It hurt to wear when I typed, but this was the price of STATUS. 

The head of my department, an austere man who passed by my desk several times a day and paid more attention to the fax machine, did a double take. 

“Are you wearing a Hublot?”

“Uh, yes?” 

“Kanye was wearing the same watch yesterday in our meeting. Let me see it.”

I discovered that the price of my watch (the real version) was 25K. I should have copped that it was fake from the moment he asked, but it was too late. I was about to be busted as my boss was a watch connoisseur. He would never trust anything I ever said after this rare encounter. 

My heartbeat escalated. 

“I like it,” he said. 

He handed it back to me and disappeared into his office. I closed my eyes in relief.  

I never wore that watch again to work.  I now have a Casio that I bought for 19 dollars on Amazon. It has a little light that I like because I can see it in the dark. My Hublot sits on my desk, collecting dust. It’s a reminder of what I never want to become.