Introducing Weiss Wednesday, a new series dedicated to the stories of the people who wear Weiss.
Each Wednesday, we’ll share a story from a member of our community, from how they first discovered Weiss to the watches they’ve collected, the moments attached to them, and their appreciation for timepieces along the way.
To begin the series, we’re sharing the story of Evan Brown and his journey with Weiss.
Welcome to the first Weiss Wednesday.
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"There’s a certain kind of power in the things we choose to carry.
Not the things that come and go.
Not the things that lose their meaning as soon as the next trend rolls in.
I’m talking about the tangible things.
The things shaped by real hands, built with real patience, designed to hold something more than just their physical form.
When I started Open Kimono Publishing, it wasn’t because I wanted to sell books. It was because I believed something had been lost in the rush—the quiet art of making things that last.
I wanted to create a space for stories that weren’t manufactured to fit a market, but born from real vision. Stories that deserved to live longer than a news cycle. Stories you could hold in your hand years from now and still feel something. Stories that live in perpetuity in your mind that you can carry with you forever.
That belief has shaped everything I’ve done since.
But it isn’t something I only feel when I’m working with books.
It’s something that has followed me into other parts of my life, too—into what I choose to surround myself with. Into what I choose to carry every day.
I’ve been a watch collector for years.
Not because of status. Not because of names or trends or resale value.
Because of what a watch represents to me:
Time made tangible.
Care made visible.
An intimate artifact that lives with me day in and day out and carries memories.
They become an extension of us and our story.
A human hand creating something meant to be lived with, not just looked at.
For a long time, I quietly followed Weiss Watch Company. There was something about the way they approached their work that stood out. They weren’t chasing the noise. They weren’t flooding the world with mass-produced objects. They were making something slower. More deliberate. More real. True American artistry; masters of their craft.
Their watches looked different because they were different. Built in small batches. Built with care. Built not just to tell time, but to carry it.
Recently, after years of waiting, I added a Weiss to my collection.
It felt like a milestone—not just because of the watch itself, but because of what it symbolized to me.
When the package arrived, there wasn’t any flashy marketing or over-the-top unboxing. No attempts to convince me how special it was supposed to feel.
Instead, it was simple. Honest. A beautifully made wooden box.
Inside it, a watch that didn’t need to scream for attention—it simply was.
I held it in my hand for a long moment before putting it on.
Noticing the subtle perfectly balanced weight.
Noticing the texture of the case.
Noticing how the second hand swept not with urgency, but with quiet certainty.
It felt right. Not because it was new, but because it already felt lived in — ready for real life.
That’s the kind of craft I believe in.
It’s the same kind of craft I chase every time we publish a book at Open Kimono.
Not polished for the sake of polish.
Not designed to be consumed and forgotten.
But built to endure.
Built to matter.
The back of the watch carries an engraving.
Part of it is private—something just for me—and just so you know, I edited it out of the photo above. I wanted to share the movement without sharing everything.
The craftsmanship here is something else—the kind of work you can feel even before you understand it.
Not everything meaningful needs to be shouted from a stage.
Sometimes the most important parts are the ones we keep quietly to ourselves.
That’s something I think about often these days. How in a world built on constant noise and speed, there’s something almost radical about choosing the slow path. About making something not for immediate applause, but for the long arc of memory.
Whether it’s a novel, a watch, or a life’s work, the real things are the ones you don’t have to explain.
They speak for themselves.
And they stay.
Wearing this watch every day isn’t about showing it off.
It’s about carrying a reminder on my wrist of what matters most:
That real craft takes time.
That stories are meant to be preserved, not packaged.
That meaning isn’t manufactured. It’s built, day by day, choice by choice.
Every time I feel the subtle weight of the watch shift slightly against my wrist, I’m reminded of the weight I want my work to carry too.
The weight of meaning.
The weight of something made carefully enough to be worth passing down.
There’s a certain kind of power in the things we choose to carry.
If we choose carefully enough, they don’t just mark time—they hold pieces of us.
And if we’re lucky, they end up carrying us right back."
