The AVIATE Profile: Abingdon Mullin Leads the Launch of Season 8

Abingdon Chelsea Mullin never set out to build a company, much less a community. At first, she was trying to solve a problem she could not believe existed.

Her path into aviation did not look like a founder story. It looked like a teenager attending monthly Career Center lunches for the free pizza. On one of those days, two pilots spoke about aviation careers. They mentioned that you did not need to join the military to fly and that you did not need to work for an airline to have a future in the field. That was all it took. She went home and announced she wanted to become a pilot. Her mother nodded, passed the peas, and assumed it was a phase. It wasn’t.

Years later, degree in hand because her parents insisted education come first, Mullin walked onto the Santa Monica Airport ramp with three questions for every flight school: Can you train me fast? Do you have a job? Will you pay for my training?

Only one school said yes. Abingdon earned her private pilot certificate in just over a month and began building a career that spanned nearly every corner of aviation. She ferried airplanes, flew corporate, demonstrated aircraft for manufacturers, worked for the airlines, and sold planes. She said yes to almost everything because she didn’t know what opportunities would come next.

Along the way, she noticed something strange. She could find the airplanes, find the jobs, and earn the ratings. But she could not find a pilot watch that was made for her.

In 2006, at a Ninety-Nines Christmas dinner, someone casually mentioned she had always wanted a pilot watch, but that they were not made for women. The women around the table agreed. No one sounded surprised. They were used to being an afterthought. That stayed with Mullin.

That night, she set a deadline for herself. By her next birthday, she would figure out how to make at least one watch.

She did not have manufacturing experience or startup capital. She had renderings, a borrowed WordPress site, and the willingness to try. She put up two designs, Jackie and Amelia, and people began placing orders. Enough women placed enough faith in her to raise $40,000 before she had built the first physical watch.

The watches were shipped in 2007. They were functional tools made with the same respect and materials men had always had access to, no pink coatings. No shrinking. No gimmicks.

What she didn’t expect was the response.

Women began sending her messages about what the watches represented. One wore hers through a difficult breakup because it reminded her of her strength. Another described putting on her watch as “getting ready for the day with a reminder that I’m part of something.” Pilots spotted one another at conferences by the watches on their wrists.

The customers began calling themselves Crew Members. They bought watches for ratings milestones, airline upgrades, and new careers. Without trying to build a community, Abingdon had created the conditions for one to form on its own.

She didn’t fully understand it until later. What she thought was a watch problem had really been a visibility problem. Women in aviation wanted to be acknowledged. The watch simply gave them a way to see each other.

In 2024, everything in her world changed at once. Abingdon's father suddenly needed full-time, around-the-clock care. She stepped into the role of caregiver, and her ability to run the company disappeared overnight. Sales dropped dramatically. Conversations with her team became difficult. Some believed the business should shut down entirely. She couldn’t make herself do it.

She felt a responsibility to the thousands of customers wearing her work every day. Watches need servicing. Parts. Repairs. Warranty support. People had trusted her. She could not walk away from that.

There was no inspirational moment here. It was difficult, quiet, and exhausting. But she kept going. Loyal Crew Members stepped in. Investors helped stabilize the company. She eventually returned and rebuilt.

She calls it the hardest year of her life. There is no embellishment in how she describes it. Only honesty.

Her watches opened doors she never planned to walk through. Mullin became a board member for Women in Aviation International. She flew on the show Flying Wild Alaska as Ariel Tweto’s instructor. She pitched on Shark Tank. The Smithsonian Air and Space Museum began selling her watches.

But one of her most meaningful contributions is her willingness to speak clearly about topics aviation often avoids. Abingdon talks openly about mental health, pilot identity, and the need to modernize aeromedical systems so pilots aren’t punished for seeking help. She has watched friends consider leaving the industry because of stigma and silence. Her advocacy comes from experience, not theory.

Ask Abingdon whether analog watches are disappearing, and she will tell you no. People are increasingly wearing both a smartwatch and an analog watch. One wrist for utility. One wrist for identity. In highly digital environments, her analog watches have become grounding objects. They carry meaning. They mark milestones. They remind people of who they are and where they belong.

Her next goal is to revive American watchmaking. The United States once dominated the field before the Swiss adopted American techniques and surpassed it. She believes there is room to rebuild that craftsmanship here.

Mullin did not create her company to make a statement. She created it because she was a young pilot who needed a watch that fit her wrist. The rest unfolded because thousands of women had been waiting for the same thing.

Her watches tell time. But they also tell a quieter story. One about belonging. One about initiative. One about solving a small, personal problem and discovering that it was shared by far more people than she realized.

That is the real charm of her story. It is not loud or polished. It is simply real. She built something because it wasn’t there. And in doing so, Abingdon Mullin helped thousands of women see themselves in a field that had not always seen them.