House of Sons is not a marketplace.

It is a conversation.

A slow exchange.

A place where the object finds its next keeper — not its price.

We auction only what we’d live with.

Not trends, not excess — only what holds weight.

Watches. Photographs. Sculptures. Dusty machines. Quiet luxury.

Every lot is chosen by hand,

every consignment accepted by voice.

Because the best things in life don’t come from a form —

they come from someone saying, “I think you’ll want to see this.”

This is not a platform.

This is a room.