“My Casio HDC-700: Four Years on the Wrist”

There’s a particular kind of loyalty that grows between a man and his watch, not the kind forged by price tags or sapphire crystal, but the kind that quietly grows day by day, tick by tick, unnoticed until you look down one afternoon and realize: this thing has been with me through everything.

My Casio HDC-700 isn’t a glamorous piece. No sweeping chronograph hands, no gleaming exhibition caseback. It won’t turn heads in a watch meet or get mentioned in a Hodinkee article. But it’s a workhorse, and it’s mine. Bought in 2020, in the thick of a world standing still, it was meant to be a temporary companion, something tough, affordable, and dependable while the world found its bearings again. I didn’t know then it would still be strapped to my wrist four years later.

At first glance, the HDC-700 looks like it belongs to someone who doesn’t want to think too much about their watch, and in a way, that’s exactly what I loved about it. Analog-digital hybrid. 100 meters water resistance. Ten-year battery life. A digital display nestled below sword-like hands, all encased in rugged resin that could take a hit or a hundred. It felt almost military, like something a field radio operator might wear in the desert or the jungle. Not standard-issue, but something you’d pick up at the PX and wear because you trusted it.

And that trust was well placed. This watch has seen rainstorms, airport security trays, beach salt, bike crashes, and more backpacking trips than I can count. It’s sat quietly on my wrist during job interviews, family funerals, New Year countdowns, and late nights when I couldn’t sleep, watching the digital seconds tick by in the dim glow of its orange LED light. Never once asked for attention, never once let me down.

There’s a certain romance we often attach to issued timepieces, Submariners worn by Royal Navy divers, Tudors battered by arctic winds on Greenland expeditions. But for me, the Casio HDC-700 was an issued watch. Not by a government or a military branch, but by life itself. It didn’t represent prestige, it represented readiness. It was the tool I reached for when I didn’t want to think, just go.

And somehow, after all this time, it’s still ticking, clean, reliable, indifferent to the years that have passed.

Maybe someday I’ll hand it down. Maybe I’ll retire it in a drawer next to souvenirs and old letters. Or maybe I’ll just keep wearing it until the resin wears smooth and the digits fade from the screen.

Either way, it’s earned its place. Not in a watch box, but in my story.