Introducing the Waterstones Watch
At Waterstones we're always looking for new ways to deliver books to our customers. That's why we've developed the Waterstones Watch. A new page in wearable technology.
The Waterstones Watch features an unparalleled level of technical innovation. We've finally answered the question, 'I wonder what it would be like if I had a book on my wrist all the time?
The screen is flexible and multi-layered to create a compact stacked effect. It looks exactly like paper because, if you look closely, you'll see that it is paper.
Each Waterstones Watch includes our patented Brain and Optics Optimal Konnection System System, or B.O.O.K.S. System, featuring 26 individual characters which, when put together into 'words' and 'sentences', delivers a unique reading sensation.
The watch is fully backwards compatible. It supports every model of book created since the invention of the printing press over 550 years ago.
It is also entirely customisable. You can create your own model from almost any genre to make the Waterstones Watch truly represent who you are.
We believe the Waterstones Watch is the next step in a new and exciting future of reading. But it probably won't be.
Let's be honest. It definitely won't be.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q. This looks familiar. I'm fairly sure I used to have this watch when I was ten.
A. That's it. No more questions.
Features are subject to change and may not be available in all regions or all languages, if at all. Waterstones Watch cannot be bought, sold, seen, experienced or felt in any capacity. It cannot be sensed in a strange way like when you think your phone has vibrated in your pocket but, when you check, there’s no notifications waiting for you and then you just start to wonder, ‘is my leg vibrating now?’ So you go to the doctor and at first she dismisses you, “Legs don’t vibrate,” she says, but you insist on a couple of tests. Her incredulous look changes once the stethoscope comes out. “This is odd,” she says, reaching for the intercom to call in a colleague. They exchange quiet words. He frowns. “Are you sure?” he says. Your doctor nods and hands him the stethoscope. The cold metal touches your now clearly vibrating leg and carries the hum to his ear. He frowns some more. “Do you mind waiting for a moment?” your doctor asks. “I’d like to call in somebody else.” You nod, you sit, you wait. Another doctor arrives thirty minutes later. He touches your leg, by now it’s emitting a low but audible noise, like a malfunctioning fridge downstairs. As he tests it gets louder. The doctors, all three of them, are finding it hard to hide their alarm. An ambulance is called, you are taken to the hospital. Three hours have passed since you first entered the clinic and your leg is still getting louder. By the time a specialist has looked at it, and an acoustician in the next bed who was in to have their tonsils removed, it can be heard from a few rooms away. By night it can be heard throughout the hospital. By morning it’s like the exciting part of a plane taking off, the moment where the engines kick in and you’re pushed back into your seat. Your leg is a blur, as if its lost in time. Everything around it vibrates too. First it’s just the rest of your body, then its your bed, then the floor, then the entire hospital. All the patients have been evacuated for fear your leg will affect the machinery. Few doctors will come near you. After three days you’re alone, just you and your leg. You’ve got used to the sound. You find that if you concentrate you can change the tone and start to make music. After five days someone finally walks in dressed in what you can only assume is some sort of sound-proof protection suit. They, you cannot tell if they are male or female, approach and eventually place their hands on your leg. You can see them vibrate. Their hands, their orange suit, their visor, you see it all fall apart. The only noise is from your leg. The hospital next. You see the walls shake into nothing, destroyed by the vibrations. You don’t move as the floor dissolves into sound, your vibrations keeping you aloft as the outside world follows. You see it all go. All of it. Broken apart by the loud, low hum of your leg.