How Bond Killed The Dress Watch

Sony Pictures

“Any dress watch worth its weight in rose gold has a sapphire crystal these days.“

I’m no intelligence expert, but it seems to me that one of the most basic traits of an undercover agent is discretion — becoming the “grey man” who blends in. After all, drawing attention to yourself not only compromises your undercover status but also limits the amount of intelligence you can gather. Blending in means acting and dressing like the majority of people around you, whether that be in a Middle Eastern souk or an Alabama roadhouse. And since we’re talking about wristwatches here, this usually means something cheap and something common. In a more upscale setting, perhaps a slim dress watch. It does not mean a steroidal 45-millimeter steel dive watch stuffed under a buttoned shirt cuff.

James Bond has killed the dress watch, though he didn’t do it alone. One may argue that this character that Ian Fleming created was not of the upper class but played the role begrudgingly, clinging to vestiges of his military background. But even Fleming couldn’t have imagined the bloated timepieces that are all too common on screen spies these days, including his own sacred 007. And now the rough man with the cruel mouth has been co-opted by marketers and product placement hacks who care less about authenticity and more about selling fat, overpriced watches to fat, undersexed men at the cinema.

There was a time when dressing up meant strapping on a slim, simple timepiece on a lizard strap. The watch would not detract from the clothing and would slide easily under a cufflinked sleeve. Then along came Bond with a sports watch that grew with each new actor who played his part. While it would be perfectly appropriate (even fitting with further product placement!) if Bond swapped out his dive watch after parkour maneuvers for something slimmer for an evening of baccarat, he arrives instead with an entirely obscene paperweight on his wrist.

I could tolerate a dive watch for Bond’s more active pursuits, but when it’s time to button up for dinner or a visit to the club, there is no excuse for wearing anything with a helium release valve. A dress watch would not only be more appropriate but far more subtle, lending the spy a more undercover, discreet demeanour. Now some may say that Bond needs to be ready for anything and a dress watch wouldn’t fit the bill. Rubbish. Any dress watch worth its weight in rose gold has a sapphire crystal these days, and water resistance that could tolerate a headlong dive to save a woman trapped in a flooded elevator. And if it doesn’t, no doubt Q Branch could easily send along a replacement.

The issue isn’t so much that Bond wears a dive watch with a dinner jacket. It’s that he’s made it somehow acceptable for the doughy Bond wannabes to show up for functions in not only ill-fitting, DNA-soaked rental tuxes, but also oversized special-edition 007 watches. How many men have turned up turned out so badly, with a fictional superhero as their excuse?

As if casual Fridays didn’t beat down the last bit of decorum modern man possessed, the Bond movies have tolled the death knell. The dress watch is dead, and Bond fired the kill shot.