Why gender isn’t the point, but recognition is: how the watch world can be more inclusive

Chris Antzoulis

In August 2024, my friend and I co-founded a RedBar chapter with one simple goal: to build a welcoming, inclusive space for anyone who shares a love for watches. Knowing RedBar’s founders, I understand that these are principles they uphold, and I believe we’ve done a pretty good job welcoming people with enthusiasm. We’ve got a great group of members, and our little chapter is growing steadily. But here’s the thing. Most of our group still looks the same: white, cisgender, heterosexual men. And yes, I know, just reading that collection of words in a row might have caused someone, somewhere, to clutch their pearls or roll their eyes so hard they saw last week’s breakfast.

But I’m not here to poke the bear. I’m here because inclusion matters. Despite what some emboldened keyboard crusaders might claim, diversity, equity, and representation aren’t radical ideas: they’re common decency.

Over the past few months, I’ve been meeting privately with my friend – who’s asked to remain anonymous – so for this piece, I’ll call them Jane. Jane is a passionate watch collector, a US military veteran, and someone who doesn’t feel safe attending our chapter’s regular meetups; in fact, they’ve never attended. Not because anyone’s been hostile, but because walking into a room where nobody is like you (or may not accept you) can be exhausting and, frankly, risky. Especially when you’re trans, like Jane.

Jane served proudly in the military until they were offered severance simply for being themselves. “The reversal was jarring,” they told me. “I was told I could be comfortable, that I was safe being out – and then, all of a sudden, that wasn’t true anymore.” Once policies shifted, the environment changed. Jane was mocked, harassed, and even followed from work. “When someone in power validates hatred,” they said, wiping away a tear, “it emboldens people. They feel licensed to act on that hate. And now, leaders are folding to that pressure.”

Jane left the military not because they wanted to, but because they feared the alternative: “If I didn’t take the severance, I knew they’d find a way to dishonourably discharge me.” Since then, Jane has found work they love… But trauma doesn’t clock out at 5 p.m. It follows you – quietly, constantly. Even if you’re stronger than the worst things that have happened to you, they still leave a mark.

Earlier this year, Jane had to cancel a planned vacation. Why? Because their passport, previously marked as non-binary, was no longer considered valid. They were told to change it back to reflect their sex assigned at birth. Missing the trip stung, sure. But what hurt more was the message it sent: that who they are isn’t recognised by their own country.

So what does this have to do with watches?

On paper, nothing. In practice? Everything. Watches are one of the few things in life Jane gets to be unabashedly joyful about. Nerdy, enthusiastic, full-on giddy. But even that joy has been complicated by the feeling of being an outsider in spaces that should feel welcoming. And while I can vouch for the kindness of our chapter members, I also recognise my own privilege: I walk into the room with a built-in sense of safety that others don’t feel.

I’ve talked before about being bullied when I was younger, but let’s be real: that’s not the same as what Jane, and many LGBTQIA+ folks, go through on a regular basis. It’s not even in the same time zone. So here’s the question: what can we, as hobbyists, do?

Honestly? Almost anything would be an improvement. Smile. Say hi. Make room. Be the person who notices who isn’t at the table and asks why. You don’t need a PhD in Queer Studies to make someone feel welcome – you just need to care. You don’t have to fully understand someone’s identity to respect it. You just need to accept that the world is bigger than your own experience. And that, for some people, joining a watch group isn’t just a fun night out – it’s a vulnerable act of hope.

Brands, you’ve got a role to play, too. I once wrote about Nomos and its refreshingly genderless approach to selling watches. No “men’s” and “ladies’” sections – just watches. You know, for people. And they’re not alone. A number of microbrands and independents are following suit, and this kind of quiet, intentional inclusivity can shift the entire tone of the industry. If the only thing separating a collector from a community is a dropdown menu that assumes their gender, maybe it’s time to rethink that menu.

At the end of the day, this is about more than pronouns or passport policies. It’s about people like Jane, who’ve been brave enough to serve a country that hasn’t always served them back, and who still want nothing more than to geek out over case sizes and bezel clicks like the rest of us. Let’s make sure there’s always room for that. Let’s build spaces where no one has to choose between loving watches and feeling safe. Because it’s not just about timepieces. It’s about time.

So here’s your challenge

The next time you show up to a watch meet, look around. Ask yourself who’s missing, and what you can do to make that space more welcoming. Start conversations. Make eye contact. Listen more than you speak. And when you see someone who’s new, different, or unsure if they belong, be the reason they feel like they do.

Inclusivity isn’t a trend, it’s a choice. And in a hobby built on precision and detail, it’s time we paid a little more attention to the people wearing the watches, not just the watches themselves. Let’s do better. Let’s make the watch world a place for everyone.