Apparently you should never meet your heroes. It's an axiom that transposes well onto the thinly-veiled sickness that is the Richard Mille RM 035 Replica hunt for the perfect replica watch, the journey that can build an inanimate object to god-like proportions through endless late-night browsing sessions and obsessive longing. The hero is the replica watch you'll never be able to afford, and the chances of meeting them are slim to none. And maybe it should stay that way.
What Richard Mille Mens Replica has been doing to the replica watch industry has as many backers as it has naysayers. New blood often has that effect, particularly when it throws caution and tradition to the wind and says, 'You're all doing it wrong. This is how you do it', as Richard Mille has. The dramatically curved tonneau cases and industrial skeletonisation of the movements certainly can't be accused of blandness.
I for one am a backer of Richard Mille. I admire what the company is doing, and many of its pieces feature high on my 'if only' list of replica watches I'll never be able to afford (particularly if either of my kidneys has any say in the matter). And there's one replica watch that sits higher than the others, taking the crowning glory of being the most coveted replica watch in my brain: the RM035.
It's the perfect size (not too big), it has a stunning movement (not too fussy) and it has a great bragging point (it's not too heavy. It actually weighs less than a bag of crisps). I wants it. It's my prrrrrrecious. So when I had one handed to me for the first time (popping not just my RM035 cherry, but my Richard Mille one too) I was faced with a dilemma, a moment in time frozen in a strange state between elation and disappointment. In my hand was Schrödinger's replica watch - neither one thing nor the other.
In one sense I wish it had never happened, because the risk of regret was just too great. I can only imagine how heartbreaking it would be to meet a childhood legend, only for him to spit in your face and tell you in no uncertain terms to please go away. And that's what I was waiting for, cringing in the expectation of being spat at by Richard Mille's finest.
Not wanting to be stuck in a stalemate with a replica watch for the rest of my life, I slipped it on and snapped the spring-loaded clasp shut. Light doesn't even begin to tell you how this thing feels. Put it this way: if someone lifted it from you without you noticing, and then you were asked if it were still there without you being allowed to look, you wouldn't be able to tell. This thing is insanely light. It defies physics. And the movement's not bad, too. Hell, it's perfect. I could look at it for actual hours. And the size: it hugs my wrist like it was designed specifically for me.
So it turns out the replica watch of my dreams is all I could ever have hoped. Lucky, I suppose, given the marmite nature of Richard Mille's offerings, but a risk worth taking nonetheless. But it leaves me with a new problem: although I met my hero and it turns out he was a nice guy, he has to go now and I'll probably never see him again. And that sucks.