(FORTUNE Magazine) – Pretend I'm a guy. This guy: The IPO opened at 15, closed at 34. I am suddenly very rich. I got from venture funding to going public on one suit and a Swiss Army watch, the model with a compass. I'm bronzing the suit. As for the watch, fine for a startup, or maybe I hear mortality whispering in my ear; all I know is that suddenly I want something that will keep ticking long after my heart stops.

There's a lot of noise about watches these days. Our booming economy (I'm proof) has turned this country into the world's hottest market; sales of Swiss watches in precious-metal cases have increased 95% since 1993. And the new models--the ones introduced in the spring at the Basel, Switzerland, watch fair--are about to hit the shelves this fall. There's a trend toward retro designs, simplifying some recent glitziness. (By the way, I'm playing a man because women still don't spend the kind of money on watches that men do.)

Like V.C.s, watch companies are rated in tiers. Brands like Movado, Omega, Breitling, Tag Heuer, and Hublot with its cool rubber straps--fine watches, but not handmade. Baume & Mercier, Concord, Ebel: perfectly elegant partly manufactured movements and gold and precious stones push their prices to five figures. Then there's Rolex; it defies categorization--great watches, "but do you really want a Texas Timex?" one source asks. At the top are exquisite, handmade mechanical marvels. That's what I want: an immortal toy--like a thunderbolt for Zeus.

Up on Parnassus it's a short list; most people include Jaeger LeCoultre, Vacheron Constantin, International Watch Co., Audemars Piquet, and Patek Philippe. These watches are all handmade; they need maintenance, but unless you drive over them in your Ferrari, they will last forever.

Yet there is a favorite among favorites. "Nobody makes watches like Patek," says one jeweler. "You want my advice?" says another. "If you want jewelry, look at Bulgari or Cartier. For a watch, Patek."

Why? Unimpeachable quality, consistency, and brand recognition. Patek Philippe, a family business, makes 18,000 watches a year; Rolex--using both handmade and machine-made parts--turns out that many in a day. A plain wind-it-yourself Patek, with gold trim and a leather strap, begins at $7,000. They are marketed as investments, which they are. A 1989 limited edition that cost $9,150 sold at auction last year for $26,000.

But this is not only about money. The head of Patek Philippe of America, Hank Edelman, wears a Patek he bought used. "It's plain and simple," he explains, "a model from the '50s. I'm going to give it to one of my kids." Now that's a kind of long-term planning I can buy into.

Meanwhile, my stock has gone up another 13 points; as they say, time is money. Flipping through the latest Tourneau catalogue, I am drawn to the grandes complications--those watches that have built-in chronographs for timing that thoroughbred or your 7-year-old dashing to first base, and that also display the day, the date, the year (taking leap years into account), plus the phases of the moon. They cost as much as $250,000. But, hey, I make or lose that much on paper every day.

To ease my conscience, I donate $100,000 or so to several causes that interest me, and now I'm ready to shop. I walk into Sumner Dorfman, a jeweler in Boston. Watch faces with smiling crescents of night sky cut from lapis lazuli beckon from the vitrine. "I want that one," I point: a Vacheron Constantin loaded with dials, thin (but not too), dense, balanced, a tad over $25,000. "No, this is your first watch," Mr. Dorfman admonishes me. "That's for later." He steers me to simpler models.

Round or rectangular or elliptical? Perhaps a Jaeger LeCoultre Reverso, invented for polo players. A nifty hinge flips the watch face so a mallet will slug a slab of gold; for bicoastal players, two faces track different time zones. A gold band? No. A little too "I'm the boss." Printed number or gold markers? "These watches will never be in and never be out," Dorfman assures me. "Think about it. Take your time."

No. I want one now. And I want the moon. I like complications: perfectly balanced little hand-wrought golden gears and levers, some of which trip only once every four years. I choose a Patek Perpetual Calendar with moon phases. It does not need correcting until the year 2100. It's only $43,000. "I'll wear it, thank you. Put my Swiss Army in the Patek box."

And I'll be back; these toys are addictive. Maybe I'll commission a design based on the famous clock in Prague: I'll have a tiny, scythe-toting skeleton emerge every hour on the hour, just to remind me I probably won't be around to adjust my Perpetual Calendar.

Later, though--I have all the time in the world.