How Buying a Rolex Taught Me Not to Judge a Book by Its Cover

My father never believed in appearances. He measured worth in character, not polish.

When I was a kid, he decided he wanted a Rolex. He could easily afford it—he worked hard, dressed the part most days in his three-piece cowboy-cut business suits and exotic boots that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. But when it came time to buy that watch, he didn’t put on his “professional” uniform.

He walked into that jewelry store wearing his most beat-up jeans, scuffed boots, and a faded T-shirt that proudly declared: Oil Field Trash.

He wasn’t being difficult; he was making a point. He wanted to see who treated him with respect before they knew he had money. Whoever did would earn not only the sale but his loyalty—a far rarer commodity than his cash.

That was my father’s way—quietly subversive, razor-sharp, and rooted in fairness. He taught me that true worth isn’t announced by what you wear, but revealed by how you treat people.

In a world obsessed with appearances, he chose authenticity. And in that simple act of walking into a store in dirty jeans, he showed me more about dignity, respect, and integrity than any suit ever could.

Turns out, the guy who sold him that Rolex didn’t just earn a commission—he got a front-row seat to a masterclass in humility.