What's in a Name? Part 1: "The Critic"

When I became a father, I realized quickly that raising sons was not just about telling them how to live, it was about showing them. There is an old story about a father and son walking through the forest. The father warns, “Be careful where you walk.” The son looks up and replies, “You be careful, I follow in your footsteps.” That truth stayed with me. Children do not just listen to what you say, they watch what you do. And if I wanted my sons to grow into men of character, grit, and resilience and kindness, I needed to live those values out loud.

For me, that meant building something from the ground up. Something that demanded discipline, perseverance, and creativity. What better way than to step into the centuries old craft of watchmaking? An industry steeped in heritage, tradition, and timeless design. An industry that promised challenges, setbacks, and plenty of obstacles, exactly the kind of proving ground where lessons are forged.

I knew that to succeed, I would need more than just skill. I would need to approach the craft with determination, an uncompromising work ethic, a sense of fun, and yes, even a little luck. If I prospered, my sons would see firsthand that success is not about shortcuts, it is about resilience, intent, and consistency. They would learn, not from lectures, but from watching me fight to build something lasting.

That belief shapes everything we do at Declan James Watch Co. Every decision we make, from design to production, is done with intent. Even the names of our watches carry meaning. Customers often ask about those names, curious where they come from. The truth is, each one is rooted in lessons I have learned along my journey. They are not just labels. They are reminders. They are stories. They are markers of legacy.

This is the first in a three part series where I will share those stories. And I will start with one of our best sellers: The Critic.

When I decided to become a Navy SEAL, most people did not cheer me on. Quite the opposite. At 29 years old, with a greater than 75 percent failure rate staring me down, many believed I was destined to fail. Some of those doubters were people close to me. They told me I did not have what it took, that I was too old, that the odds were stacked against me. And maybe they were right on paper. But I never cared much for what they thought. What mattered was what I thought. And I believed if someone else could make it through, then so could I.

That mindset carried me through grueling training and into the brotherhood of the SEALs. The critics did not matter. The journey was not theirs, it was mine.

That experience inspired the name The Critic. It is a reminder that the voices of doubt are always loudest when you dare to do something difficult. And it draws directly from one of my greatest sources of inspiration: Theodore Roosevelt’s 1910 speech, Citizenship in a Republic. One passage from that speech, now famously known as The Man in the Arena, became a compass for me. Roosevelt said:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood…”

Those words reminded me daily that courage matters more than commentary. That trying and failing is better than standing on the sidelines, safe and silent.

With its Roman numerals, The Critic pays homage to Roosevelt and the countless men and women before us who paved the way through grit and sacrifice. It honors tradition. It honors legacy. And it reminds anyone who wears it that success belongs to those who dare, never to those who only stand back and judge.

Because in the end, it is not the critic who counts. It is the one bold enough to step into the arena.