I have never been obsessed with luxury watches, yet I still buy one impulsively. That day, my luxury watch revealed unexpected truths about my values. As someone who excelled in my job, read financial statements, saved aggressively, tracked daily expenses, and diligently invested in stocks, I was always careful with money. Some of my colleagues and I often discussed investing and money topics passionately. My colleagues and I often debated these topics, and I was the go-to person for questions about savings strategies. I read financial news daily. Friends frequently asked me whether they should refinance their mortgage, save and invest in fixed deposits or stocks, or debate the pros and cons of mutual funds, ETFs, Bitcoin, or the traditional way in real estate. I also read books about financial independence, investing, gold and silver, and habit building.

Some people would always ask me, “Any good stuff lately?” I would laugh and say, “Of course I don’t have any, or else I would be having millions in my bank account and retired comfortably.” Besides exploring curiosity on the topics, activities, epiphanies, and thoughts I posted here, I also enjoyed talking about money topics and economic shifts. I understood how compound interest works, and I understood delayed gratification. I was not only careful with money but also known for it. I understood what assets are, what generates assets, liabilities, and what does not. I was someone who consistently reviewed short- and long-term goals, always assessing the cost-benefit and quality of products. And in this context, of course, I would be lying to myself if I said it was not absurd to justify my purchase.

So why did I buy a luxury watch I never truly wanted in the first place?

I told myself confidently, “I know what I am doing with my money.”

After all, I was one of the top achievers globally in the organisation. “Why not?” I told myself. “Guan Sun, you deserve it.” Colleagues complimented my performance. I was doing well. It felt more like identity, the kind of thing a successful person should own, branded and valuable in the eyes of many. It was emotional, not logical.

I further comforted myself, “Come on, it’s not that expensive at all. Mine is considered the cheapest among my peers, at least two to six times cheaper than what my friends own.”

“Nothing wrong, go ahead,” I said. “In the future, I will work even harder to get more expensive ones.” It sounded motivating and inspired me to work harder. Oh my…

I also thought that with this branded watch, I would feel more confident and people would perceive me differently, like I looked successful. I wanted to look good on my Europe trips. I knew I could earn the money back.

With all these false positives and supportive voices, I walked into the store and happily parted with my money, built in the size of a square card, swiping with a beep of approval and paper rolling out asking for my signature, willingly, without guilt.

Tadaaa… That night, I was overjoyed. I wore it almost every day, but never imagined I would make such a purchase. After a few years, I realised I regretted buying it. Because of that, I missed some opportunities and put more pressure on myself. After that, I formed new beliefs about time and money. That moment changed how I saw not just money, but time. It shifted my values, my understanding of wealth, and the story I told myself about what it means to truly live well.

What If We Treated Time Like Money? (read more here)

Well, at first, I felt what I thought I would: confident, deserving, and accomplished, as if I had arrived, I had made it in some phase of my life. But having a luxury watch did not mean I had more time. To some people, time tells a different story.

Instead, I felt that having a luxury watch was an illusion. You do not have more time, and you do not feel confident or accomplished. It actually took time away from me.

The credit card transaction that went through to buy that watch was derived from work, even though I enjoyed what I was doing. But it did not matter after a few months of purchasing. It felt like a burden. The watch became a burden as I was afraid to wear it freely, worried I would damage something so valuable.

Every time I was in crowded places, like in a lift or walking past a crowd, I needed to be alert to cover up the face of the watch to prevent any scratches. I was constantly worried about keeping it safe and in perfect condition. My friends told me that the value would drop if it’s not properly maintained or heavily used. But doesn’t this defeat the purpose of having one? To use it normally daily, or just for events and keep it in a safe place most of the time?

This even made me more worried, as I had never needed to be so cautious before owning it. This created more worries instead of what I thought before I bought it. Instead of enjoying it, I was stressed about handling it carefully. The fear of damaging and maintaining it made me feel like it was more of a responsibility than a joy.

The initial thoughts I had before the purchase seemed misaligned with who I was after that.

After this realisation, I discovered more, which brought me more regrets and anxiety beyond the emotional and financial loss. So please continue reading till the end.

The Disaster

When the pandemic hit, it changed everything I used to perceive.

We were battling an unseen enemy. What I had been doing daily suddenly came to a full stop. For many months, there was no clear sign of hope.

I used to have many dissatisfactions, but at that time, everything suddenly became small and I focused just on survival.

Before the pandemic, my routines were structured around physical meetings and face-to-face interactions. But like many of us, I had to adapt from physical work to a fully omnichannel setup, to Zoom meetings, everything online.

Eventually, I got used to it.

I was fortunate and grateful to have supportive clients, understanding colleagues, and a company that cared and never left during bad times like these.

While I was grateful to stay afloat, I could not ignore the fact that the money I had spent impulsively on a luxury watch could have served me differently.

There were no physical meetups, no commutes, no catch-ups, so the watch I used to perceive so highly, I almost forgot its existence. I had no reason to wear it.

During this panic time, my investment portfolio took a deep dive; the world market dipped. I opened my investment account and saw it had dropped in value by more than 30%. I watched the value drop day after day.

This huge drop affected my retirement and other future plans. My heart sank. Before that day, my account was still in the green.

Those were the times when fear kicked in. Fear of not having enough money (possibility that the value might drop further and loss or reduction in income), having loans to pay and also loss of investing opportunities.

The money spent on the watch could have served as a backup to cushion the shock, could have become a safety net, or could have been invested during those uncertain times.

But I did not have the liquidity, and part of it was sitting in a branded box, unused and unneeded.

I thought I would feel accomplished when I bought it, but when the world stood still, it reminded me of how little we really control and how fragile life could be.

I always had worries: “How long will this battle last?” What if I get infected? “What if someone I love does?”

Every day, case numbers were reported by the media, the uncertainty grew louder, making me more anxious and tense.

In the past, I patiently waited for food to be served, waited in traffic jams, and waited for clients.

But during that time, I found myself waiting for the authorities to announce the number of cases for the day.

News reports on overwhelmed hospitals and struggling communities.

Watching videos online about how bad the situation was, how people suffered, some countries lacked masks and vaccine availability, shattered me into pieces.

We just need the very basic necessities to survive and be happy.

Those things that I thought were essential became optional, and other important aspects of my life that I overlooked became my priorities, my family, my health, peace of mind, and walks outside (which I barely walked during the lockdown).

In this season of isolation and introspection, I had space to ask questions I would never slow down to consider before, andwhat it means to live well.

I started to question my purchase, the symbol of achievement and reward, and I felt disconnected.

What does luxury mean when people are suffering?

Does it matter when days and health are uncertain?

What is the point when no one knows if we will survive?

To be alive is a blessing—bliss, time, health, and connection itself felt like the greatest gifts.

That was when I started to rethink my health, which I had neglected.

I realised no amount of luxury could protect my well-being.

I began paying more attention to my body, my habits that support my life.

Eventually, I bought something I never thought I needed before: an Apple Watch.

It was so much cheaper, a practical device to track my health, monitor my heart rate, my steps, and my daily walks.

The little smartwatch became a quiet companion that rarely leaves my wrist.

I am so much more motivated and appreciate what it does.

This shift reminded me to be healthy, to be active, and to be intentional.

The price tag is nothing to shout about compared to the one I bought earlier, which reminded me I was like someone, but now it reminds me I already am someone worth taking care of.

I no longer walk with worries, someone whose value is not worn on the wrist but lived through daily choices, not trying to prove anything or false beliefs I used to have.

What I Learned

During the pandemic, what I thought I needed became irrelevant.

What I had overlooked became my priorities.

And what I truly valued, family, relationships, time, health, peace, could not be measured in luxury.

Selling the watch did not make me feel less.

It made me feel aligned and more at peace with who I actually am.

Today, I still choose to walk. Intentionally.

It feels like a way of buying back my time without spending a cent (yeah, just a feeling).

When times are tough, you hope it will not last.

You hope the time will fly.

But when you are grateful and happy, you hope the time will freeze.

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Thank you, and see you in the next post.

Related Post

That decision came from a deeper place of reactivity. It reminded me of something I explored more deeply in Why You React Faster Than You Reflect

If time was a currency you could trade, how much would you give to get it back? I wrestled with this in Do You Wish Time to Fly or to Feel Slow?.