The Journey Ahead - Part 1: Choosing your identity

In the first article of this series, I reflected on why the business exists. It was never really about buying and selling watches. It was about building something founded on trust, reputation, relationships, and long-term thinking.

If that is true, then another question naturally follows.

Who exactly do I want to become?

There is a moment, usually very early, when every enthusiast unknowingly begins to answer that question.

Most never realize it is happening.

A watch arrives in the mail. Another is sold. A friend asks if you can source a particular reference. Someone you've never met sends you a message asking what a Submariner should really cost. Before long, your evenings are filled with photography, shipping labels, negotiations, and conversations with complete strangers who somehow trust your opinion.

Almost without noticing, you stop simply collecting watches.

You begin becoming something else.

The watch world offers many identities, and while they often overlap, they are fundamentally different—not because they generate money in different ways, but because they are driven by different philosophies.

A dealer views the world through inventory. A good dealer understands references, production years, market values, authenticity, and logistics. They know how to package a watch so it arrives safely, communicate clearly, and solve problems when they arise. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a dealer. In fact, the very best dealers become institutions, while the worst become little more than transactions. The difference is rarely the watches they sell; it is whether customers remember the watch or the experience.

A collector answers to nobody but curiosity. Collectors buy what fascinates them, not necessarily what makes financial sense. Some never sell. Others sell only because another story has captured their imagination. They chase emotion more than margin, and perhaps because of that, collectors often become some of the most trusted voices in the hobby. People instinctively recognize when an opinion is free from the need to close a sale.

A broker, by contrast, may never own a single watch. Their greatest asset is neither inventory nor capital, but relationships. A broker understands that somewhere there is a buyer searching for exactly what another person quietly wishes to sell. Their business is built on introductions, and their currency is trust. Success is measured less by what sits in a safe than by how many people answer the phone when they call.

Then there is the curator, a role that has gradually become my favorite. Curators do not simply accumulate watches; they assemble ideas. Every piece belongs for a reason. One represents engineering, another history, another design, another an important moment in horology. The collection itself becomes a narrative, and the watch ceases to be merely an object for sale. Instead, it becomes the beginning of a conversation.

The final identity is perhaps the most visible today: the content creator. Reviews, videos, Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, Facebook—these platforms now shape buying decisions as much as many established dealers. That influence carries tremendous responsibility. The temptation is obvious. Every watch is "amazing." Every release is "game changing." Every brand is "the next big thing." Yet audiences are remarkably good at distinguishing genuine enthusiasm from disguised advertising. Credibility compounds slowly over years and can disappear in a single afternoon.

The real danger is not becoming any one of these people.

The danger is pretending to be all of them at once.

A collector reviewing his own purchases. A dealer presenting himself as an independent critic. A broker acting as a historian. A content creator disguising sponsorship as objective opinion. None of these roles is inherently wrong. Problems arise only when people lose sight of which role they are playing.

Transparency creates trust.

Ambiguity quietly destroys it.

As I build Nexo Timepieces, I have come to realize that I will probably wear each of these identities at different moments. Some days I will be a collector who simply cannot resist a remarkable watch. Other days I will broker a deal between two people. Occasionally I will own inventory and act as a dealer. And I suspect I will always enjoy writing about the journey itself.

But if I have learned anything so far, it is that one identity must remain at the center.

Mine is not dealer.

It is curator.

Not because I wish to own the rarest watches, but because I want every watch I present, every article I write, and every conversation I have to leave someone understanding a little more than they did before.

If that happens, the watches will eventually sell.

If it doesn't, selling the watch was never enough.

Dealers can always replace inventory.

Reputation, once lost, is far more difficult to recover.