My father was a criminal defense attorney on the south side of Chicago. He made quite a name for himself — so much so that, after he died, I’d continue to hear stories about him from people I often thought were strangers: a roofer from a job one summer, one of my doctors, countless business owners, and, of course, family and friends. Things were going well for him at work, at a firm he owned with another partner. So, in 1988, two years after I was born, he bought brand new yellow-gold Swiss made replica Rolex Day-Date 18038 watches.
This was basically the best Canada Rolex fake watches of the decade and I remember my dad wearing it pretty much everywhere.
Even though he had three watches in his collection — all very ’80s (two-tone Raymond Weil, anyone?) — the 1:1 online Rolex replica watches was the crown jewel. That being said, he never babied it, as evidenced by the nicks in the crystal at twelve and six-thirty.
Like me, my dad loved things. But his joy wasn’t in the prestige of having something nice. It was about sharing and experiencing them with others.
I remember him taking me on fast drives in his new car, watching movies on a ’90s “big screen,” jet-skiing in the summers, skiing and snowboarding in the winters. Every year he would take our family on a ski trip, experiences I’ll never forget and a tradition I’ve continued ever since (broken only by COVID-19).
In 1998, my dad decided to level-up. He booked a heli-skiing trip with his friends to Revelstoke, British Columbia. If you’re not familiar with backcountry heli-skiing, it’s an exhilarating and dangerous experience where a helicopter picks you up and drops you off on the top of a mountain. There are no lifts or runs and it’s unlikely that you’ll find tracks from anyone else. There’s simply a vast expanse of waist-deep powder. In other words, it’s a skier’s and snowboarder’s dream.
In the 1990s, snowboarding was in its infancy. The technology was still quite rudimentary and needed refinement. Regardless, as an early adopter, he remained defiant and pushed through the experience, the lone snowboarder in a pack of skiers.
On the final day of his trip, he was snowboarding down a relatively flat, deep section when his board careened into what’s called a tree well — a hollow space created around a tree’s trunk where snow hasn’t accumulated because of the tree’s foliage. It can create a deep cavity that is especially dangerous if you fall into it face-first, as he did. The guides and his partner did all they could to revive him, but it was too late.
It goes without saying that this experience was transformative for an 11-year-old. Everything about my father became canon, a web of confusion, pain, and anger that I still work through to this day. That event molded the man I became. Anyone who has lost a parent when they were young knows the challenges it presents. For those who’ve lost a father, I send my condolences — especially on a day that, while celebratory for most, is for us haunted by hurt and remembrance.
Fast forward to 2014. I’m 28, and I’ve just decided to upend my career and blaze a path in the men’s clothing industry, a huge passion of mine. I take a job helping launch the New York outpost of The Armoury, a small clothier I’ve been infatuated with since its launch in 2010. It’s a dream job for me.
I wonder what my dad would think. Being the clotheshorse and entrepreneur that he was, I assure myself that he’d be proud. I ask my mom and brothers if they’d be comfortable with me taking the high quality Rolex copy watches, which has sat in a safety deposit box since 1998. They not only agree but hand-deliver the watch to me during the store opening, with most of my family and friends in attendance. It’s a really special night.
I appreciate the significance of taking ownership. The Swiss movements replica Rolex watches isn’t just a mechanical object to me and my family. It’s a representation of my father, a person we all sorely miss. I’m extremely hesitant to wear it for the first few months, only donning it in situations that I know are controlled and safe. On top of that, I feel a bit flashy rocking solid gold top Rolex Day-Date fake watches as a 28-year-old, so I set aside the bracelet and put it on a snuff suede strap that I purchase from the HODINKEE Shop.
I wear the cheap replica Rolex watches sparingly for a few months as I become more and more comfortable with it. One day in June, some college friends are visiting New York for work. The five of us decide to get together that night for dinner and drinks. I’m wearing the watch and make the conscious decision not to drop it off at home before heading out to meet them.
It’s a great night that ends with some late drinks at a small bar in TriBeCa. At one point a stranger sidles up to me at the bar and, unbeknownst to me, unlatches the pin and buckle on my watch strap. The next time I move my wrist the Rolex super clone watches store online falls to the floor and a few moments later he bends down to pick up the reflective gold case.
Roughly 30 minutes go by before, in an absolute panic, I notice my watch is missing. I make such a fuss that the bar goes into a complete lockdown — lights on, doors closed, and everyone searching the ground at 12:33am on a Friday night. Nobody finds anything. We call the police and the night ends with me hysterically recounting to them what I thought had happened.
When it finally hits me that the Rolex replica watches for sale is gone, my heart sinks. How could I be so careless? My family had trusted me. My friends do everything they can to help, but I am inconsolable. That night is one of the few times in my adult life where I skip an entire night’s sleep. There would be a few of those in the months to come.
I spend the next day completing two seemingly herculean tasks — amassing as much information as I possibly can about the incident, and telling my family what had happened.
My mother and brothers are understandably upset but incredibly supportive. They remind me that it’s simply an object. A symbol. The watch itself isn’t what’s truly important. But I have an incredibly hard time moving past it and am determined to get it back.
I set alerts on Google and eBay for every Rolex term that I can think of related to the watch: Rolex President, Rolex 18038, Rolex Day-Date fake watches wholesale, the list goes on. Each day I spend anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours looking through new listings and websites.
I also visit the bar, which has just installed a new CCTV system. To my amazement, they’ve already pulled the files from the night of the incident and have identified someone on camera who looked suspicious. I load the files on a thumb drive and thank them profusely for their help.
Before I leave, the general manager and bartender from that night mentions that a man in a vest was acting suspiciously the night of the incident – so much so that she’d written down his name from his credit card, but would only share it with the authorities. I thank her for the lead.
I spend the next week poring over video footage and creating a detailed overview that recounts the events of that night, down to the second.
In all, I detail 35 points in a walkthrough spanning 28 minutes and 11 seconds.
I bring my findings to the 1st Precinct, the police station where the original report was filed. After nearly a month of going back to the precinct and begging to speak with the detective unit, my persistence pays off. I’m welcomed into the unit and given 20 minutes to tell my story and present my evidence. The detectives agree that the man in question is most certainly the one who stole my watch, and they assure me that they’ll visit the bar to secure his information.
After a few weeks, I check in with the bar and they confirm that detectives have visited to inquire about the man. But from there, the investigation fizzles. After all, in a city of millions of people, certain cases take precedence and some kid’s stolen Swiss made Rolex replica watches just isn’t one of them.
After weeks of work, plus video proof of the watch being stolen and information on the man that stole it, I’m still not any closer to finding the watch. Yet, every day a reminder lands in my inbox to keep up the search. My Google and eBay alerts ring out a shameful tone every morning.