Enough tobacciana for now. There will be more, I promise. Unless I’m hit by a truck today. But let’s not indulge those morbid thoughts too much. Let’s think about happy things. Raindrops with roses. Whiskers on kittens. Warm woolen mittens that melt into spring. And all that jazz.
While we’re on the subject of my favorite things, let’s talk about horology. Watches. This beautiful vintage number was on the wrist of P.I. Stuart Bailey in 77 Sunset Strip. Sterile, uncluttered dial. No need to brag about the watch’s manufacturer. If you made it, go ahead and brag. If you’re just wearing it, you don’t get much credit.
But ol’ Efrem Zimbalist, Jr., gets credit for good taste. Look at the watch hands. Quarter after eight. In the evening, natch. The perfect amount of shirt cuff showing. The elegant, masculine watch. He isn’t affected. He isn’t trendy or fashionable or stylish. He isn’t trying to be. He might be timeless. But he isn’t trying to be that, either.
Bailey is functional. Ready to sit down for a cocktail. Ready to charm a lady. Ready to punch a shyster out. He’s a man. He’s dressed like a man. He’s ready to do everything a man needs to do. That’s why he gets credit for the watch.