The one-and-done designation is usually reserved for a do-it-all, fit-for-any-occasion piece, promising to relieve the owner of the expense of buying (and caring for) more watches.

But there is no do-it-all watch. There is no do-it-all anything. No do-it-all car. No do-it-all shoes. No do-it-all camera or gun. No do-it-all dog.

In life, as economist and historian Thomas Sowell once said, “There are no solutions, only trade-offs.”

Still, our circle’s media outlets routinely churn out lists of their top picks. The Hamilton Khaki, IWC Pilot’s Watch Mark XVIII, and Tudor Black Bay 58 frequently appear. All too predictably, on the higher end, the Rolex Submariner reigns supreme.

Attainable pieces come up, too. Chief among them is the Omega Aqua Terra, which they insist can be dressed up or down. Really? You could say that about all restrained, unremarkable sports watches, of which these lists are almost entirely comprised.

But what (asked no one ever) makes a sports watch, anyway?

“Sport watch,” as far as I can tell, is a blanket term used to describe any wristwatch that isn’t of the dress variety. “Sports” has little to do with it, occupying a similar nomenclatural position as the equally misleading “sports” in “sports jacket.”

The tag only suggests that the product it’s attached to is a less formal alternative to the full monkey suit. In reality, no modern luxury watch is built for sports. At best, it’s a tribute, paying homage to one sport or another.

If you want a watch to sport around in, as it were, you’d be better served by an Apple product, capable of tracking your daily movements, or a G-Shock, capable of withstanding a bear attack. Both satisfy the needs of the athletic and/or adventurous type to an extent that few luxury sports watches can match, rendering said sports watches unnecessary.

Even the more specialized dive watch has been relegated to “backup” for the dive computer. Bonus question: What makes for a better, more effective backup? Another dive computer.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a sports watch as much as the next guy. I’m just saying nobody needs one. And if you’re dead set on owning just the one watch, it would be wise to prioritize. In other words, trade what you want, in all likelihood, a sports piece, for what you need: a dress watch.

“No one needs a dress watch,” I hear you grumble. Simmer down, hero; I’m about to make a case for the contrary. As a modern, civilized individual operating within society, you do. You need at least one in the same way you need at least one suit and one pair of dress shoes.

Minimizing your watch collection to a lone sports piece is like minimizing your wardrobe to a velvet tracksuit and a pair of collector-grade Jordans. Sooner or later, a formal function will come up: a wedding, fundraiser, gala, funeral, bar mitzvah, or Bilderberg Meeting. And your big, macho dive watch just won’t do.

I understand nobody is going to look up your shirt cuff to make sure what you have under there is up to scratch, but if you’ve already racked yourself up in a spiffy suit and squeezed into a pair of Oxfords, you may as well go all the way.

Yes, you can wear a Sub with your formal threads, but you shouldn’t. A Sub isn’t meant for that. Things look best when they’re seen doing what they were made for. Examples, as I shall now list, are plentiful.

Ken Block’s Hoonicorn looks best sideways, in a cloud of tire smoke, carving up a mountain, not dawdling up and down Bond Street (rest in peace).

A Riva Aquarama looks best cutting through Lake Como on a beautiful summer’s day, not in a Norwegian navy base, moored alongside a dinghy.

A Harley-Davidson looks best underneath a bearded brute in a leather vest, not parked outside your dentist’s private practice. Quentin Tarantino looks best behind the scenes, directing a movie, not in a movie he directed (low blow).

This logic applies to watches, too. At the risk of belaboring the point, I will now reveal a shocking piece of classified information, fresh off a dedicated dossier I keep around for educational purposes.

Are you sitting down? A Rolex Submariner looks best on a submerged mariner, not on a spruced-up fancy-man shmoozing with men of similar ilk, no siree Bob. That, dear reader, is the domain of the dress watch.

When I say “dress watch,” I mean it in the most traditional, most quintessential sense: preferably on the smaller side and in precious metal. Something minimalistic, verging on nondescript. Something unburdened by avant-garde design cues and fussy, la-di-da complications—save for, say, a sub-seconds register or a date window.

Remember, this is your only watch. And you are (I decided) at a formal, non-watch-related event. You’re not looking to draw a crowd; you’re looking to blend in.

“Beautiful things,” as Sean Penn once said in that one Ben Stiller movie, “don’t ask for attention,” so forgo the Patek 5131, lest you be the tool who arrives at the ballroom with a miniature painting strapped to his wrist.

Instead, embrace subtlety: an art form that can dance with the best of them, Grand Feu and all. Palatable, pardon the pun, is the name of the game.

Think Vacheron Constantin Traditionnelle 38 or A. Lange & Söhne 1815. A Calatrava reference 6119 also works. So would a Rolex Perpetual 1908 or a bare-bones Cellini (in a pinch).

Too rich for your blood? Consider a non-moon-phased Jaeger-LeCoultre Master Ultra-Thin, a Blancpain Villeret Ultraplate, some sort of Omega De Ville, or even a black and yellow IWC Portugieser Automatic if your wrist can swing it.

You could go for something more affordable, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Not if you can help it, anyway. “Cheap” and “dress watch” don’t exactly go together. Skimping defeats the purpose. It’s like buying cheap caviar and bubbly: you might save a few bucks, but you’re also diluting the sense of occasion these things are meant to evoke.

You could go the other way, too, but I don’t recommend that either. The road to expensive, hoity-toity independents is paved with diminishing returns. These things command respect at trade shows and in collector circles, for sure, but anywhere outside of that? Overkill.

Same goes for vintage. Unless you’re on An Evening with John Goldberger or something along the same lines, you, my friend, have jumped the shark. Keep it simple. Play it safe. Stay away from the deep end.

Besides, there’s something undeniably regal about a modern dress piece with a weighty household name printed on (or applied to) the dial. Let’s not kid ourselves; the marquee is doing a lot of the heavy lifting, so please, for the love of the Holy Trinity, get off your high horology horse.

We’re pulling a one-and-done here, so there’s no room for all this “if you know, you know” business. To go above and beyond is to flirt with pretension. It’s obnoxious.

What kind of guy goes for a Voutilainen or a Ludovic Ballouard for his only watch? The type ordering bird’s nest soup or snails for his last meal, that’s who! Screw that guy, he deserves the chair.

Back to basics, people! Breguet Classique 7147 and a big, fat, juicy steak with a side of mash (also a great exit watch/meal combo, by the way).

A watch like that fits the bill and does the job beautifully—snazzy and subtle all at once. To me, it seems like the folks who put it together poured their hearts and souls into the task at hand, but on the wrist, the watch itself doesn’t appear to be trying too hard at all.

Maybe that’s what we’re going for when we dress up: to straddle the line between “effortless” and “thoughtful,” between “well put together” and “thrown on,” between “clean cut” and “playful.”

Image has a lot to do with it. A conventional, no-nonsense dress watch isn’t (and was never meant to be) the main event; it’s only part of the bigger picture—an accessory to something else.

Think of it like a hood ornament on a nice car. Correction: like an inverted ornament sticking into the engine bay. Confused? I’ll explain.

A dress watch hardly ever sees the light of day. Hiding beneath the cuff, it only peeks out to say hello occasionally—when you raise your glass, for instance, or check the time. You can almost file a dress watch under the underwear category. They should call it an “undress watch.”

Aside from the instances above, that’s about the only time anyone will see it on you—a deal breaker if you want eyes on what you blew your bonus on. Even then, people usually undress alone; it’s the “decent” thing to do.

What, you never heard either of your grandparents yell, “Honey, are you decent?” before walking into the other’s room? Am I alone here? Either way, riddle me this: if a watch gleams on some naked man’s wrist and no one’s around to see it, is it worth twenty thousand dollars?

Of course, it is! If only for that moment. When the night takes a turn. When it winds down or ramps up. When the edge begins to fuzz before completely fading away.

Jackets come off, ties loosen, shirt cuffs retract to elbows. And there it is, wrapped around your wrist, bathed in the soft, luxurious glow of an Edison bulb or banker’s lamp.

A dress watch is serious. Presidential. It requires no explanation or backstory, no excuse or justification. It just is. Fair trade.

You might also enjoy:

The Death of the Dress Watch: Is it Time to Write its Obituary?

Sorry Guys, Size Does Matter: You’re Gonna Need a Bigger Wrist and Other Things your Watch Retailer Won’t Tell You

Tudor Black Bay 54 vs. Black Bay 58: a Calculated Downsize

The Case Against Watch Lume: It’s Weak Sauce and Here’s Why

So, You Want to Buy a Rolex? Well, Daddy-O, I’m here to Talk you Out of It!