When I was 8 or 9, I got a Lion King watch for my birthday. I felt like such a grown-up wearing a watch.
A couple of days later, when I went to my violin lesson, my teacher told me that I couldn’t wear my watch on my left-hand. If I was going to wear a watch, it would have to be on my right hand.
I remember being really bothered about this. It felt so WEIRD and also, it was the wrong wrist. (Looking at this picture I just dug up last week, I probably should have been more worried about my awesome bangs or my giant glasses than which wrist I wore my watch on).
Regardless, by the time I stopped playing the violin, some four or five years later, it was such a normal thing, I never switched back.
I’m not as serious a watch-wearer anymore (the watch I wore every single day to my library job and had perfected the art of looking at while reading picture books aloud to an audience of seven-year-olds broke shortly after Ella was born), but when I do put one on, it’s always automatically on my right hand.