They really don’t make dive watches like this anymore.

I got the chance to spend about a month with the Jacques Bianchi Marseille JB300 Indigo Maris. This Grade 5 titanium tool watch reminded me why purpose-built dive watches still deserve a place in today’s collections, even in a world where most of them will never see more than a swimming pool.

Jacques Bianchi Marseille has never tried to build accessories. The French brand has always been about utility first. Founded in Marseille, a city whose identity is inseparable from the Mediterranean, Jacques Bianchi built its reputation supplying professional diving watches to military units, firefighters, and underwater professionals during the 1980s. That heritage isn’t used as marketing decoration today. It genuinely shapes every watch that leaves the workshop.

The JB300 Indigo Maris continues that philosophy. It is a modern interpretation of a proper dive watch, built around a Grade 5 titanium case, 300 meters of water resistance, a no nonsense dial and proportions that prioritize function over flash. It doesn’t chase vintage trends, nor does it try to reinvent what a dive watch should be. Instead, it focuses on doing the basics exceptionally well, which turns out to be far rarer than it sounds.

After living with it for several weeks, I realized that the JB300 isn’t the kind of watch that impresses you because of one spectacular feature. It’s the accumulation of small decisions that make it incredibly enjoyable to wear every single day.

The first thing I noticed was how compact it actually feels on the wrist. On paper, the numbers suggest a serious dive watch. On the wrist, it wears considerably smaller. That’s largely thanks to one design choice that I wish more brands paid attention to: the case to dial ratio. The dial occupies much more visual space than the surrounding case, giving the watch an openness that tricks your eye into perceiving it as smaller. Combined with relatively short lugs and the lightness of titanium, it sits flatter than expected and disappears under a sleeve without feeling oversized. It’s one of those details you don’t appreciate from product photos but immediately notice once you start wearing it.

Then there’s the titanium. Titanium has become something of a buzzword over the last few years, but not all titanium watches feel the same. Here, the material makes perfect sense because it reinforces the personality of the watch instead of existing as another selling point.

Something is reassuring about the way this case feels. It isn’t precious. It isn’t trying to protect itself from daily life. It invites it. Whether I was walking through the city, spending time by the sea or simply throwing it on without thinking, it always gave me the impression that it was built to handle far more than I would ever ask of it. That’s exactly how a proper tool watch should feel.

Another area where Jacques Bianchi absolutely nailed it is the lume. I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s among the best I’ve experienced recently. It charges quickly, glows intensely and stays legible for hours. More importantly, the application is perfectly balanced across the dial, making nighttime reading almost effortless.

Lume is often treated as something enthusiasts photograph under UV lights for Instagram. In reality, it’s one of the most practical features on any sports watch. Whether you’re checking the time in a dark room, on an early morning flight or during a night walk, having immediate readability without needing to search for light becomes something you genuinely appreciate.

That same philosophy extends to the entire dial. I’ve reached a point where I value legibility more than visual complexity. Beautiful dials are everywhere. Truly functional ones are surprisingly rare. The JB300’s dial communicates information instantly. Large hands, generous contrast, uncluttered printing and sensible proportions mean your eyes find the time almost unconsciously. It sounds obvious for a dive watch, but many modern divers sacrifice readability in favor of texture, polished surfaces or unnecessary design flourishes.

Of course, a dive watch ultimately has to deliver confidence around water. The JB300 offers 300 meters of water resistance, which is comfortably beyond anything I’ll realistically require. But numbers alone aren’t what matter here. The brand’s entire identity has always revolved around professional underwater use, so that specification carries a different weight than it might elsewhere. It’s reassuring knowing that the watch wasn’t designed around a marketing department’s checklist. Water resistance is part of its DNA rather than an impressive statistic printed on a website.

By the end of the month, I found myself reaching for it more often than I expected. Not because it was the most expensive watch on my desk or the flashiest, but because it never gave me a reason not to wear it. That’s probably the highest compliment I can give any watch.

The JB200 Marégraphe II

While spending time with the JB300 Indigo Maris, Jacques Bianchi also unveiled its latest creation, the JB200 Marégraphe II, and it feels like a natural evolution rather than a replacement. Building on the success of the original Marégraphe, which sold out in just four minutes, the new version introduces a redesigned case with sharper lines, a left handed “destro” layout inspired by military diving watches, the brand’s first enamel dial made from twenty successive layers and individually applied indexes. 

Just as importantly, every Soprod automatic movement is now individually regulated to run within chronometer-like tolerances and delivered with its own precision certificate. Limited to 300 pieces, it shows a company that’s refining every detail without abandoning the practical philosophy that made collectors notice them in the first place.

Jacques Bianchi is about the basics. The fundamentals. A comfortable case. Outstanding lume. Excellent legibility. Genuine water credibility. Materials that encourage you to wear the watch instead of protecting it.

Such things don’t make headlines anymore, but they make great watches… So If you want to see how the JB300 looked after a month on my wrist, including a proper beach session where a watch like this actually belongs, head over to my Instagram. That’s where this one really came to life.

Following up on my Swiss horological adventures, I headed deeper into Vallée de Joux. The contrast between my visit to Greubel Forsey in La Chaux-de-Fonds and the valley was immediate, and honestly, fascinating.

Greubel Forsey represents one side of modern haute horlogerie: highly structured, highly systemized, and obsessively focused on invention. David Candaux, on the other hand, represents something far more intimate. More personal. More direct. The moment I arrived, I understood that this visit was going to be very different.

This visit was made possible thanks to Marie from 289 Consulting, who once again allowed me to spend time with people who genuinely push watchmaking forward. And David Candaux is exactly that kind of person.

The drive through La Vallée de Joux itself almost prepares you for what is to come. Forests, mountains, silence, and that very particular calm the region is known for. It is easy to understand why so many great watchmakers emerged from here. Places like this naturally produce people with patience, precision, and a deep respect for craft.

David’s manufacture is built into what is also his family home, and that detail matters more than it may initially seem. This is not a sterile, corporate manufacture built to impress visitors with polished surfaces and overly curated aesthetics. It feels authentic. Traditional architecture, exposed wooden beams, stone walls, natural light everywhere. It immediately feels like an environment built around function, creativity, and family work.

I met David Candaux upstairs, but before we even got into the technical side of things, he suggested we go downstairs for lunch. And that turned out to be one of the most interesting parts of the day. We sat outside at a wooden table overlooking open fields and dense forest. While we were playing with his dog, David came out of his home kitchen with lunch and some impressively healthy snacks. This quickly made sense once I got to know him better.

David is someone who clearly thrives on movement, challenge, and physical intensity. He is deeply into sports and mountain life, and that energy is reflected in how he thinks, speaks, and ultimately designs watches. There is a sharpness to him. Not just creatively, but intellectually.

Lunch quickly turned into a conversation that was far more interesting than the usual polite industry exchanges.

We started with life in La Vallée de Joux. The animals in the woods in front of us. The mountain lifestyle. The sports he practices. Then, naturally, the discussion shifted toward the watch industry.

And this was not a PR conversation. We spoke about the things most people in the watch industry would never say publicly. How money actually moves in this business. The unspoken dynamics between brands, collectors, retailers, and media. Which brand revivals were handled properly, and which ones felt completely disconnected from reality. Which brands are thriving, which ones are struggling, and which industry leaders have built reputations for the wrong reasons…

It was refreshingly honest. Conversations like these are valuable because they reveal how people truly think when there is no script involved. And in David’s case, what became obvious very quickly is that he sees the watch industry the same way he sees watchmaking itself: structurally. He looks at systems, logic, weaknesses, and inefficiencies.

We also shifted into lighter territory, including stories involving Michael Jordan and Katt Williams, who wears David’s DC7 Genesis Saturno as a lucky charm. That watch, in many ways, captures David’s world perfectly. Technically serious, visually unconventional, and impossible to mistake for anything else.

After lunch, we went back upstairs into the manufacture. This is where things became especially interesting for me. What became obvious very quickly is that David does not think like a traditional watchmaker. He thinks like an engineer whose medium happens to be watchmaking. That distinction matters because it completely changes how mechanical problems are approached.

A traditional watchmaker may focus on execution and refinement. An engineer watchmaker rethinks architecture itself. That is exactly where David stands. His horological roots run deep. His father, Daniel Candaux, spent more than twenty years at Patek Philippe as a specialist in pocket watches and grand complications. Naturally, David grew up in an environment where serious watchmaking was not abstract or romanticized. It was tangible. It was technical. It was real. What put food on the table.

And that influence shows. Because David walked me through how he developed the family property into both a home and a manufacture, explaining the reasoning behind the spaces, the machinery, and the workflow. What stood out immediately was his refusal to become dogmatic about methods. He uses whatever gets the job done at the highest level. Modern software. Advanced machinery. Traditional tools. Hand sketching. Manual calculations.

Everything has its place. One of the most interesting parts of the visit was seeing how naturally he moves between these worlds. One moment, we were discussing movement architecture through software and technical modeling. Next, he was showing hand-drawn sketches and calculations on paper. This duality says a lot about his approach. David is deeply modern in how he solves problems, but deeply traditional in how he thinks through them.

We then moved into the atelier, where the same people who had lunch with us were now fully immersed in work. Under microscopes and work lamps, components were being finished, assembled, and inspected with intense focus. The atmosphere was serious but relaxed. Highly skilled people doing highly technical work without unnecessary theatrics. That balance impressed me. 

Then came another highlight of the visit: meeting Daniel Candaux. He was incredibly generous with his time and walked me through the tools and machines across the manufacture. Old equipment. New equipment. Traditional tools that remain essential. Machines acquired over decades. Each tool had a purpose, and more importantly, a story.

This added another dimension to the visit. It stopped being only about David’s work. It became about continuity. Knowledge passed down through generations. Craft preserved, adapted, and improved over time. That is one of the most compelling things about independent watchmaking at this level. You are not simply looking at finished watches. You are seeing philosophy, technical knowledge, and lived experience expressed mechanically.

And David’s watches express that extremely well. What separates David Candaux from many independents is not simply creativity, but coherence. Plenty of independent watchmakers produce unconventional watches. Very few build a design language that remains mechanically logical, visually distinctive, and immediately recognizable across collections.

David has done exactly that. Whether looking at the DC1, DC6, or DC7, his signature is obvious. Strong architecture. Unconventional displays. Emphasis on depth, movement interaction, and visual dynamism. But most importantly, every decision feels mechanically justified. Nothing feels eccentric for the sake of being eccentric. That is what I appreciate most about his work. The creativity always serves a mechanical purpose.

We wrapped up the visit with a quick stop at David’s library, where he gifted me his Book One, which dives into his story, inspirations, technical innovations, and career. He also gifted me a bracelet made from surgical steel and technical rope in his signature orange and blue. A small but fitting object that reflects the spirit of his world.

This visit reminded me of something important. As journalists and enthusiasts, it is easy to focus entirely on the watches themselves. The movement specs. The finishing. The complications. The innovation. But behind every serious watch is a serious mind. And after spending time with David Candaux, I understand his watches much better than I did before. Because now I understand the way he thinks. 

Thank you to David, Daniel Candaux, Marie, and the entire team for welcoming me into your world.

I had the immense honor of visiting Greubel Forsey’s manufacture in La Chaux-de-Fonds, Switzerland. And let me tell you, this is what true high watchmaking looks like. This is where it is born. This is where the meaning of perfection is found. I reached this, unsponsored or paid-for, conclusion thanks to the exclusive access that I had to the different departments of the 3 floors of the manufacture. Each so different, yet so connected in order and function. 

This visit came to happen as a result of my friendship with the wonderful ladies at 289 consulting. A consultancy and international PR agency for watchmaking and luxury brands, operating from Geneva and working with companies and individuals from all around the world.

Our relationship is simple: give Walid the chance to be a nerd, and he will go above and beyond to show you how much he loves watchmaking. Which some of you may know already, and the new ones will get to discover with this article.

Greubel Forsey is then the perfect brand for the kind of agreement we have. Because the company believes that in the horological world, there’s still much to be done. Much more to be invented.

The brand was founded by Stephen Forsey and Robert Greubel, They met while working on complicated timepieces in the 90s. In 2004, they founded the brand and introduced their first invention: the Double Tourbillon 30°. Which redefined what a regulating organ could be by improving chronometric performance through architecture and geometry. This was the start of a long series of inventions, each of which addressed a specific mechanical problem.

“When no solution exists, invention becomes the only path forward”

I admit that I know a lot more about Greubel Forsey today than I did 3 months ago. 

Sure, I have my top 3 G.F collections and watches (which we’ll get to in a moment), but after finishing my visit with the brand’s COO, Mr. David Bernard, I was kindly gifted the latest volume of their book series “Le Carnet”. I went through it, cover to cover, on my flight back home from Geneva. Today, as I write this article, it’s sitting in front of me as a manual and a friend, guiding me through the fascinating world Stephen and Robert created. 

The visits starts from the farm. Yes, farm. Greubel Forsey’s home is an atelier, a workshop. Not a factory. Because it was built as a natural extension of a former 17th-century farmhouse. The  building was chosen because it provided quiet air, stable temperatures, natural light, and sufficient space to work without dividing teams across multiple sites. 

The interior adopts the same philosophy because the engineers sit next to the designers, and watchmakers are close to those finishing their components. Workflow? Smooth. It’s all about being a family and collaborating. Greubel Forsey has all the important departments in-house, including their hand-finishing atelier and decoration specialists who handle tasks like black polishing, grained surfaces, mirror bevels, etc. It’s a complete space that allows the brand to roll out state-of-the-art timepieces in 5 different collections. How many a year? Around 200. 

See, that in itself is an interesting number with a lot of background. Greubel Forsey cares about 1 thing: pursuing invention. Meaning original ideas with 0 compromise.

And for a brand to be able to do that, well, they need their independence. Between 2020 and 2025, the brand chose consolidation. These years were meant to align their structure, focus on research and production, and ensure independence. Just a year before, they used to make 100 pieces per year. The evolution was the fruit of continuity between the teams and a more fluid transition from development to execution. But to go back to independence. Greubel Forsey repurchased the shares held by Richemont since 2006, and merged with CompliTime, the entity that had been the foundation of the business. All for the sake of alignment, because you can’t have 7 different captains steer a ship in a single direction. 

While witnessing the process is extremely enriching and fascinating, I was very much looking forward to handling and taking a closer look at my favorite Greubel Forsey watches.

Top of my list: the Hand Made collection. I am a sucked for an over-engineered time-only watch. The Hand Mades aren’t just excellently engineered, they are also breathtakingly beautiful. As they put it: “The Hand Made collection represents the highest expression of traditional watchmaking. Every component is built entirely by hand using classical tools. Production is measured in thousands of hours of human gesture. Hand Made expresses a complete commitment to traditional manufacturing and finishing.”

95 % of the Hand Made 1’s components, including the balance spring, are produced entirely by hand. It’s the result of approximately 6,000 hours of work, where each timepiece is assembled and adjusted following the atelier’s traditional methods. This is a white gold, 43.5 mm time-only watch with 60 hours of chronometric power reserve. 

The Hand Made 2, my absolute favorite, is a three-hand watch with a 40.9mm diameter white gold case, which requires 5,000 hours to bring to life. It’s offered as a millésimé edition of two to three pieces per year. Crazy. 

There’s another collection that every watch nerd gushes over. As a matter of fact, any nerd of any kind. The Mechanical Nano. 

“ The Mechanical Nano collection stems from Greubel Forsey’s research into nanomechanics and extreme energy efficiency. These timepieces explore reduced mass, lower friction, and novel materials to deliver high performance within minimal volumes and energy budgets. ” 

The first watch in this collection, the watch Mark Zuckerberg was spotted wearing: the Nano Foudroyante. It draws energy directly from the escapement and manages it at the nanojoule level. The 37.9mm timepiece integrates a nano-foudroyante display with Greubel Forsey’s first flying tourbillon and manual-wind monopusher flyback chronograph. 

This visit helped me see things differently. As watch journalists, connecting with these pieces and the people behind them is what makes our writing and content resonate with our communities. We are, in a way, responsible for the communication between clients/enthusiasts and these brands. 

I noticed many things at the Greubel Forsey manufacture. The very young staff, for example. When you think about the people behind these art pieces, you’d assume that they would be grey-haired with a belly and a messy corner. What I saw were men and women of my age, Gen-Zers, working on all sorts of crazy details. The workflow is beyond professional and perfect, yet the energy was so light and fun. All with AirPods on and cool watches from different brands. You can tell when a company is running a strict program, and the energy is tense. But I found myself asking more questions and shaking everyone’s hands just to stay a bit longer. 

I made a video and shared many stories and photographs that you can enjoy on my Instagram.

Thank you to David Bernard, Eva Polat, 289 consulting, as well as the entire Greubel Forsey team.

Before watches became my passion and profession, aviation was my obsession. 

Growing up in Morocco, I didn’t just find aviation interesting. It was the obsession. I spent countless hours reading about military aircraft, navigation systems, famous squadrons, and pilot training. While other kids were watching cartoons, I was busy learning things that had absolutely no practical use for a teenager: Watches and Planes. My plan was simple: Military school, aviation school, cockpit.

Life eventually had other ideas, and today I spend my days surrounded by watches, as a watch journalist, and Architectural plans, as a future architect, instead of airplanes. Yet every once in a while, a watch appears that reminds me why these worlds aren’t actually that different. All built around precision. All are built around engineering. All attract people who become obsessed with details that most others never notice.

Laco and the Origins of the Pilot’s Watch

The Laco Kempten did exactly that. The first thing that struck me wasn’t the history, the movement, or even the dial. It was the feeling of modernity with a few retro touches sprinkled on top. The Kempten feels like somebody genuinely took a pilot’s watch from the 1940s and figured out a way to make it wearable in 2026.

That distinction is important because very few brands can claim the legitimacy Laco brings to this category.

Whenever pilot watches are discussed, names like IWC usually dominate the conversation. The Big Pilot has become the benchmark against which almost everything else is measured. It’s also impossible to ignore pieces like the Stowa Flieger Classic, the various Zenith Pilot models, or even more recent entries from brands like Longines.

Yet the funny thing is that Laco doesn’t need to borrow credibility from any of them.

The company was founded in 1925 in Pforzheim and became one of only five manufacturers entrusted with producing the original Beobachtungsuhren, better known as B-Uhren – meaning “Observation Watch” in German. Alongside IWC, Stowa, Wempe, and A. Lange & Söhne, Laco supplied navigation watches for military aviation. They were instruments designed to help crews navigate through the sky.

The Kempten is part of Laco’s Original collection. The watch follows the classic Type B layout, arguably one of the most recognizable pilot watch dials ever created. Large minute numerals occupy the outer track while the hours sit inside a smaller inner circle. It’s a layout that confuses newcomers and delights enthusiasts because it immediately tells you this wasn’t designed for aesthetics. It was designed for navigation.

Looking at the dial feels like looking at a cockpit instrument. The oversized sword hands, the luminous triangle at twelve o’clock, the stark contrast between black and white, everything exists for a reason. And then there’s the complete absence of distractions: No date window. No decorative textures. No unnecessary text. Just information.

The more time I spent with the watch, the more I appreciated how refreshing that felt.

Modern watchmaking often suffers from the need to constantly add things. More complications. More colors. More details. The Kempten achieves the opposite effect. It strips everything away until only the essentials remain.

What’s particularly impressive is how Laco managed to preserve the character of the original B-Uhren while completely transforming the wearability. The historical pieces measured around 55mm. Fantastic if you’re navigating an aircraft over Europe. Less fantastic if you’re trying to wear one in everyday life.

The Handwound 39mm Laco Pilot Watch ORIGINAL KEMPTEN

The Kempten comes in at 39mm, and I genuinely think this might be the sweet spot for a traditional pilot watch. At 39mm, the watch retains all the authority of the original design without becoming cumbersome. The proportions feel incredibly well judged. The relatively compact dimensions combined with the long, flowing lugs create a watch that wears larger than its measurements suggest while remaining comfortable on virtually any wrist.

This is where I think the Kempten has a real advantage over many of its competitors. The modern IWC Big Pilot is iconic, but it remains a large watch. Many traditional watches of this category continue chasing oversized dimensions in the name of authenticity. 

Another detail I found myself appreciating, since the watch comes in different variation options, was the movement choice. The one I chose houses the Sellita SW210, a hand-wound Swiss caliber delivering approximately 42 hours of power reserve. Which I believe is the only absolutely right choice for this watch.

An automatic movement would have been easier. The manual caliber is traditional and just cool. Because every day starts with a few turns of the crown that become a ritual, which emulates the original B-Uhren that pilots interacted with every day before heading out on a mission. 

The Erbstück finishing deserves a mention as well. Laco’s artificial aging process can be controversial depending on who you ask. Some enthusiasts love it while others prefer their watches pristine. Personally, I think it works exceptionally well here because it contributes to the illusion that makes the Kempten so compelling in the first place.

The subtle wear marks, aged lume, and weathered appearance give the impression that the watch already has stories to tell. Normally, I’d be skeptical of factory patina, but on a historically faithful pilot watch, it feels natural.

Final Thoughts:

What ultimately impressed me most about the Kempten is that it never feels like a “museum piece”. Many heritage-driven watches are fun to admire but difficult to connect with. They’re so focused on reproducing the past that they forget to exist in the present.

The Kempten captures the spirit of the original B-Uhren while remaining an excellent modern watch. It’s practical, comfortable, mechanically satisfying, and visually distinctive without trying too hard.

Most importantly, it reminded me of something I’d almost forgotten. The fascination that pushed me toward aviation all those years ago never really disappeared. It simply found another outlet.

The same curiosity that made me spend hours learning about aircraft is the curiosity that eventually drew me toward watches. Looking at the Kempten, those two passions suddenly feel connected. Maybe that’s why I enjoyed this watch so much.

Make sure to check out the Laco Website to purchase the piece and get a closer look at it on my Instagram page.

The topic of watch dimensions is pretty hot in the watch industry at the moment. Well, not just at the moment. People have been arguing over oversized watches for years now, whether it is Panerai’s dinner plates, Hublot’s spaceship-sized chronographs, or that one guy who somehow still believes a 47mm diver is “perfectly wearable.” But what has genuinely become interesting over the last few years is not how brands are making watches bigger, it is how they are making them smaller.

Because let us be honest for a second. The industry spent almost two decades inflating dimensions to absurd levels before collectively realizing that maybe not everyone wants a freaking boat strapped to their wrist. And yes, size is relative. A 42mm Panerai Luminor does not wear like a 42mm Royal Oak Offshore, and neither wears like a 42mm dress watch with long lugs and a thick bezel. But regardless of how subjective wrist presence can be, the broader industry trend is undeniable: collectors want smaller watches again. As well as skinny fashionistas, but let’s leave those alone for now…

What most people fail to understand, however, is that shrinking a watch is not a matter of scaling down a drawing and calling it a day. A smaller watch is a completely different watch mechanically, structurally, and proportionally. The amount of engineering required to remove a few millimeters from a case diameter can be absurd, especially once you enter the world of integrated bracelets, ultra-thin calibers, or complicated movements. Which we’re getting into in this article.

I took some time to get this article done because I have always loved concepts that appear incredibly simple at first, until you begin understanding the absurd amount of effort hiding behind them. And in this case, that concept is simply making a watch smaller. 

Bulgari’s new Octo Finissimo 37 from Watches and Wonders 2026 is probably the best recent example of this phenomenon. From the outside, it looks deceptively simple. Bulgari took the Octo Finissimo Automatic, one of the defining luxury sports watches of the last decade, and reduced its size from 40mm to 37mm. Sounds easy enough. Except the project reportedly took three years to develop, required an entirely new movement, and forced Bulgari to rethink the watch from the inside out.

The reason is actually quite simple once you understand how movement architecture dictates case dimensions. The original Octo Finissimo Automatic used Bulgari’s BVL 138 caliber, a movement measuring roughly 36.6mm across. That movement occupied nearly the entire footprint of the original case, which is one of the reasons why the proportions on the larger Octo Finissimo feel so balanced. There is no wasted space inside the watch. The movement and case were designed almost as one continuous structure.

Now imagine trying to shrink that case by three millimeters while keeping the same movement. Suddenly everything falls apart. The bezel becomes too thin, the dial spacing awkward, the crown placement compromised, and the structural integrity of the case increasingly difficult to maintain. Bulgari could not simply make the watch smaller because the movement itself physically dictated the minimum possible dimensions of the watch.

So instead of resizing the old caliber, Bulgari engineered a completely new one. The new BVF 100 movement measures approximately 31mm in diameter and took around three years to develop. Interestingly, while the movement is smaller horizontally, it is actually slightly thicker than the previous caliber. This means the new Octo Finissimo 37 is smaller in diameter while simultaneously becoming thicker overall than its predecessor, which sounds contradictory until you realize that miniaturization in watchmaking is rarely linear. Removing horizontal space often forces compromises vertically because gear trains, automatic winding systems, shock protection, and structural rigidity still need somewhere to exist.

Even more fascinating is the fact that Bulgari reportedly carried over only two components from the previous movement: the platinum micro-rotor and the balance wheel. Everything else had to be redesigned. That is an extraordinary amount of work for what the average person would describe as “the smaller version.”

“Small” is not just horizontal, it’s also vertical. Thinness I mean. And the moment thinness enters the conversation, things become even more insane.

Because making a watch thinner eventually forces brands to abandon traditional watchmaking architecture altogether. Bulgari’s Octo Finissimo Ultra Tourbillon from 2025 is one of the clearest demonstrations of this. At just 1.85mm thick, the watch essentially stops functioning like a conventional wristwatch from a construction standpoint. The movement and the case become integrated into a single structural system because there is physically no room left for traditional layering. The caseback itself acts as the movement’s mainplate, conventional crown systems disappear in favor of lateral adjustment wheels, and every component must be reconsidered under the terrifying reality that fractions of a millimeter now determine whether the entire watch functions or not.

Piaget ran into the exact same engineering nightmare with the Altiplano Ultimate Concept. At extreme levels of thinness, problems that barely exist in conventional watchmaking suddenly become critical. Crystals flex under pressure. Lubrication becomes more difficult because tolerances become microscopic. Shock resistance becomes dramatically harder to guarantee. Even the hands themselves become engineering challenges because traditional hand stacks occupy too much vertical space.

And this is where many collectors underestimate the significance of ultra-thin records. People love mocking brands for celebrating reductions of 0.2mm as if they are meaningless marketing exercises, but that tiny reduction may require years of research and entirely new manufacturing techniques. In modern horology, a tenth of a millimeter can represent a complete reinvention of the watch’s architecture.

What makes the whole conversation even more complicated is the fact that proportions are often harder to preserve than dimensions themselves. The Omega Speedmaster Reduced is a perfect example of this issue. Omega wanted a smaller version of the Speedmaster Professional, but instead of redesigning the Moonwatch caliber from scratch, the brand opted for a modular automatic chronograph movement. Technically speaking, the watch succeeded in becoming smaller. Visually, however, the differences became immediately noticeable because the subdials shifted outward due to the new movement architecture. The watch also became thicker than many expected because the chronograph module was stacked on top of the base movement.

This is something enthusiasts often forget: dial layouts are not arbitrary design choices. Subdial placement, spacing, symmetry, and visual balance are heavily dictated by movement geometry. You cannot simply “move things around” because wheels, pinions, and chronograph systems physically determine where indications can exist. That is why shrinking complicated watches is so difficult. The smaller the canvas becomes, the harder it is to maintain visual harmony without redesigning the movement entirely.

Integrated bracelet watches add another layer of complexity altogether because the bracelet itself becomes part of the watch’s architecture. Cartier understood this very well with the modern Santos Medium. A watch I don’t particularly favor, but hey, gotta give them their flowers. Square watches naturally wear larger than round watches, and integrated bracelets dramatically affect perceived size, so the brand focused heavily on ergonomics, bracelet flexibility, and overall wrist integration rather than merely reducing measurements on paper.

The same challenge exists for watches like the Vacheron Constantin Overseas or the Octo Finissimo. Once a bracelet is integrated into the design, resizing the watch means recalculating everything from the first center links to the taper, the articulation angles, and even the visual stance of the watch on the wrist. A luxury sports watch can very quickly lose its identity if proportions are not handled carefully. Rolex encountered this balancing act with the Yacht-Master 37, which had to remain visually recognizably “Rolex sports watch” despite reduced dimensions. Too small and the watch loses presence. Too thin and it stops feeling robust. Too compact and the sporty character disappears entirely.

And perhaps the most ironic part of all this is that smaller movements are often harder to make accurate. Omega openly discussed the challenges involved in developing smaller Master Chronometer calibers for the Aqua Terra 30mm collection because reduced dimensions create lower inertia, tighter tolerances, less shock stability, and significantly less room for gear trains and regulating systems. In other words, miniaturization actively works against chronometric stability.

Which completely destroys the assumption that smaller watches are somehow easier to engineer.

If anything, the opposite is true. Modern watchmaking has reached a point where making a watch smaller often requires more innovation than adding another complication. A perpetual calendar can be difficult, of course, but preserving proportions, thinness, reliability, water resistance, ergonomics, accuracy, and visual identity while reducing dimensions may be one of the hardest balancing acts in contemporary horology.

And honestly, that is why this entire trend fascinates me so much. Beneath the surface-level discussion of whether 36mm or 40mm is the “perfect size” lies something genuinely interesting: brands are once again being forced to innovate mechanically because it’s aesthetically better. They are redesigning movements, rethinking structures, and pushing limits simply to make watches more wearable.

I’m as much of a hater as the next watch snob. But the next time a brand announces a watch that is 2mm smaller or 1mm thinner, understand that somewhere behind that release are probably years of failed prototypes, insane architectures, redesigned movements, and engineers losing sleep over microscopic tolerances that most people will never even notice.

And that, to me, is the kind of insanity that makes horology so brilliant.

The problem with most open worked watches is that they try too hard. Brands cut random holes into the dial, expose half the movement, throw the word “skeleton” somewhere in the marketing, and suddenly expect you to feel like you’re wearing haute horlogerie. Most of the time it just looks messy.

The Charlie Paris Initial Cœur Ouvert avoids that trap almost completely.

You guys know me for my honest and sometimes unhinged opinions about watches. And I think that’s what makes these reviews resonate with our readers.

So, after spending time with the watch in person, I think the reason it works so well comes down to restraint. The open heart “section” feels integrated into the design instead of interrupting it. You still get the satisfaction of seeing the mechanics moving underneath the dial, but the watch never sacrifices elegance or readability just to show off gears spinning around. That balance is much harder to achieve than people think. It brings me comfort, as I said on my review reel on Instagram.

And honestly, under sunlight, this thing becomes ridiculously charming.

The blue sunburst dial completely transforms outdoors. In darker environments it looks deep navy and relatively understated. Then light hits it and suddenly the dial turns electric. The rose gold PVD case and warm brown leather strap soften the whole watch visually, giving it this relaxed Mediterranean feel that makes you want to sit outside somewhere for three hours doing absolutely nothing productive.

The proportions also help a lot. At 40mm wide and only 10.2mm thick, the watch wears slim enough to feel refined without becoming fragile.  The curved lugs and relatively “compact” 46mm lug to lug distance make it surprisingly versatile on wrist. It slides under a cuff easily, but still works casually with knitwear, linen, or just a hoodie. Which have been my day-to-day garments in these last couple of weeks after W&W.

Inside sits the Miyota 82S7 automatic movement with 40 hours of power reserve.  And honestly, that is exactly the kind of movement this watch should have. The Initial is not pretending to compete with independent Swiss haute horlogerie. It is trying to be a genuinely enjoyable mechanical watch at a fair price. And at €445, it actually succeeds at that better than a lot of brands trying to play the fake luxury game.  

What I also appreciate is Charlie Paris as a brand, they occupy a very interesting position in modern watchmaking right now. Smaller independent French company, watches designed and assembled in Paris, clean contemporary aesthetics, reasonable pricing, and absolutely zero obsession with pretending they have “200 years of heritage.”  That honesty comes through in the product.

And the details in person genuinely surprised me. The applied markers catch light beautifully, the dauphine style hands stay extremely legible, and the open worked section creates enough movement on the dial to keep the watch visually alive throughout the day. Looking at your photos specifically, the watch also photographs exactly how it feels in real life: warm, relaxed, and much more refined than its price would suggest.

Open worked dials are interesting because they sit in a weird space within watch culture. Enthusiasts sometimes dismiss them because of how overused skeletonization became during the oversized fashion watch era of the 2000s. But when brands approach the concept carefully, open heart designs can actually reconnect people with the mechanical aspect of watches. You are literally seeing the movement breathe underneath the dial. The watch feels alive in a way fully closed dials sometimes do not.

That is probably why this Charlie Paris works so well emotionally.

It is not trying to impress you with complexity. It simply reminds you there is a mechanical object quietly functioning on your wrist. And sometimes that is more than enough. 

Check it out here

I kept going back to the Sero Signature more than I expected, and that’s a huge compliment. It’s one of those watches that only starts to make sense once you begin placing it against other things you already know, once you start measuring it mentally against references that defined this category in the first place. Not to say that it’s « du vu et revu » as in something we’ve seen before, but to hammer down my point that there’s a clear respect of the traditional way of doing things.

Because whether Sero intended it or not, this watch lives in a space that’s already been written. You don’t approach Breguet numerals, a slim manually wound profile, and a restrained case without inevitably entering the orbit of watches like the Patek Philippe Calatrava ref. 96, the Vacheron Constantin ref. 6073, or even more modern reinterpretations like the F.P. Journe Chronomètre Bleu. Different price brackets, different intentions, but the same underlying language. Again, a compliment.

And that’s where the Signature becomes interesting. Not because it competes with those watches (it doesn’t) but because it clearly understands the framework they established.

The case proportions are the first indicator. 37.5mm is the easy number to read (sweet!), but the 46.5mm lug-to-lug is where the watch really positions itself. It stretches just enough to avoid that compact, almost fragile stance you get with smaller Calatrava-style pieces. It wears more like certain oversized references from the 40s, where lugs carried more visual weight and extended the watch across the wrist. It’s a subtle shift, but it changes the entire posture of the watch.

The 9.5mm thickness is exactly where it should be, and that’s largely due to the Sellita SW210-1. There’s nothing mind blowing about that movement, but from a construction standpoint, it’s coherent. Around 3.35mm in height, manual winding, stable architecture. It allows the case to remain slim without forcing the watch into ultra-thin territory, which often introduces compromises in durability or water resistance; AKA having to take it off to wash your hand. The 100 meters rating here is not just a spec, it tells you the case has been built with actual use in mind. 

But to get into the main part, the dial is where Sero takes a more deliberate position.

Engraving the numerals directly into the dial instead of printing or applying them changes the reading entirely. From a horological perspective, you move from surface decoration to taking away from the material itself. The numerals exist as negative space, and that means light behaves differently. You don’t get the crisp contrast of printed lacquer or the shadow line of applied markers. Instead, you get something more variable, more dependent on angle and intensity.

This is closer, in spirit, to how traditional guilloché dials interact with light, although achieved through machining rather than hand-turned patterns. The vertical brushing underneath adds a directional grain, which keeps the dial from becoming too static while maintaining control over reflections. It’s a measured approach. 

The consistency of execution is what stands out here. The chemin de fer, the numerals, even the signature text all follow the same engraved logic. That avoids the common issue where different techniques compete on the same dial, printed tracks next to applied markers next to stamped logos. Here, everything is resolved within the same surface.

The handset is another area where the watch holds together, and honestly the first thing I noticed. Heat-blued spade hands, correctly dimensioned, doing exactly what they’re supposed to do. The minute hand reaches the track with precision, which is something you’d expect, but not something you always get. The hour hand sits cleanly within the numeral ring, and the seconds hand remains visually light. 

It’s basic watchmaking discipline, but it’s often where watches lose coherence.

Looking at the different dial configurations, the variations don’t try to reinvent the watch. The silver and champagne dials stay closest to classical references, where the engraving becomes more subtle and the watch reads almost like a study in restraint, to be a little more poetic. The blue dial increases contrast and sharpens the overall presence, pushing it slightly closer to contemporary tastes.

The red dial is the outlier, but it still respects the underlying architecture, which keeps it from feeling disconnected. A little different, but different strokes for different folks.

Now, where the Signature really needs to be placed is in its price segment. At around €1,100 to €1,200, it sits in a very competitive space. You’re looking at watches like the Nomos Tangente, the Longines Heritage Classic, vintage Omegas…

Most of those watches take a different route. Nomos focuses on Bauhaus minimalism and in-house calibres, Longines leans heavily into archival design, vintage Omega Genèves are iconic and reliable. Sero doesn’t really sit directly with any of them. It’s closer to what smaller independent or collector-driven brands have been trying to do in recent years, tightening classical codes rather than reinterpreting them.

That’s also where the watch finds a bit of cultural relevance. There’s been a clear shift in the last few years, especially among younger collectors, away from oversized, overly expressive pieces toward something more controlled. Not necessarily vintage, but informed by it. The Signature fits into that movement as a very clear participant.

That doesn’t make it perfect. The “Signature” text still feels slightly more present than it needs to be when you look at how low-key everything else is, and the longer lug-to-lug will not work for every wrist. But when you place it where it actually belongs, within that €1,000 segment, against watches that often get one or two things right and miss the rest, the Signature holds together in a way that’s harder to dismiss.

What was interesting, and something that came up in conversation with Sergino, the founder, after I shared my thoughts, is that none of this is accidental. The positioning, the proportions, even the way the watch sits in this slightly uncomfortable but very deliberate space, it’s all been thought through.

And that also reflects in how they’re bringing it to market. The initial presale starts just under the €1,000 mark, with the first pieces at €899 before taxes, then €999 during the two-week window, before settling at €1,199 retail. It’s a detail worth mentioning because, at that earlier entry point, the watch shifts slightly in how you evaluate it. You’re no longer just comparing it to its immediate peers, you’re looking at it against a much broader field, and in that context, the level of attention given to proportions, dial execution, and overall coherence becomes harder to overlook.

If I were to discribe it in 1 word, I’d say traditional.

Check them out here.

I’ve been trying to figure out how to approach this one without falling into the usual trap. When you have a close relationship with a brand, when the founder is not just a contact but a friend, and when you’ve already collaborated on something like the AC1, there’s always that risk of losing distance. You either become too careful, or worse, too generous.

So let’s get this out of the way early. Yes, Alex Anders is a friend. Yes, Time-Telling worked with Anders & Co. last year on the AC1. And yes, there are things coming that I’m genuinely excited about. But none of that matters if the watch doesn’t hold up on its own.

The AC2 Volcán does. Not perfectly, not universally, but honestly. And that’s why it’s worth talking about properly. ** Find the specs below.

The AC2 as a platform is already familiar if you’ve spent time with the AC1. In spirit I mean. Same philosophy of controlled proportions, same refusal to over-design, same focus on the dial as the real point of tension. The case remains restrained, wearable, almost deliberately neutral. It doesn’t try to compete with the dial. It frames it.

Where the Volcán series shifts things is in how far Anders & Co. are willing to push material and contrast without losing that restraint. Three versions, three completely different readings of the same watch: white porcelain, black onyx, and green with Western Arabic numerals. On paper, that sounds like a simple variation exercise. In reality, each one behaves differently enough to almost feel like its own watch.

The white porcelain is probably the most deceptive of the three. At first glance, it feels classical. Clean, almost safe. But once you spend time with it, you start noticing how unforgiving porcelain actually is. There’s nowhere to hide. The surface is glossy, almost liquid, and every index, every print detail sits on top of it with surgical clarity. This is not enamel trying to imitate vintage softness. This is something sharper, colder, more precise.

What works here is the tension between that purity and the rest of the watch. The case doesn’t romanticize it. The typography doesn’t overreach. It just lets the material do its job. If anything, this is the version that requires the most discipline from the wearer. It doesn’t give you personality. You bring it.

The black onyx is the opposite. Immediate, dense, almost confrontational in the way it absorbs light. Onyx has that quality where it doesn’t reflect much, it just sits there, deep and flat, almost like a void. This changes the entire reading of the watch. The hands feel sharper. The contrast is stronger. The watch feels more compact visually, even if the dimensions haven’t changed.

This is probably the most “emotional” of the three, if that word even makes sense here. It reacts more. It gives more back. But it also risks being too much depending on how you wear it. This is not the safe choice, and it’s clearly not meant to be.

Then there’s the green with Western Arabic numerals, which I didn’t expect to like as much as I do. Green dials are everywhere right now, and most of them feel like decisions made in a meeting room. This one doesn’t.

The tone of green is controlled, not overly saturated, and the Western Arabic numerals shift the balance of the dial entirely. It becomes more graphic, more structured, almost more architectural in the way the space is divided. It’s less about the material here and more about the composition.

This is probably the most “design-forward” version of the three. Not louder, but more intentional in how it occupies space. It feels like Anders & Co. testing how far they can push their language without breaking it.

Across all three, what remains consistent is the underlying discipline. Case proportions are still right. Nothing oversized, nothing trying to chase presence through dimensions. Finishing is controlled. No unnecessary polish explosions, no texture overload. The watches feel considered, not assembled.

Mechanically, Anders & Co. stay in the same lane. Reliable Quartz and I respect that. The AC2 is not trying to win arguments on paper. It’s trying to make sense on the wrist.

What I appreciate, maybe more than anything else, is that the AC2 Volcán doesn’t feel like a collection designed to fill gaps. It feels like a continuation of a conversation. And from the outside, knowing how Alex thinks, that tracks. He’s not interested in building a catalog. He’s interested in building a language of comfort for those already comfortable with their huge collections.

Are all three versions for everyone? Maybe. The porcelain is almost too pure for some. The onyx too intense. The green too specific. But together, they make sense. They show range without losing identity. And there are many more!

Writing about Anders & Co. is always a bit strange for me because I’m aware of the relationship. But maybe that’s also why I can say this clearly: the AC2 Volcán works because it doesn’t rely on that relationship. It stands on its own, with its own decisions, its own risks.

And if anything, that makes me more interested in what comes next.

Specifications

• Case Material: 316L stainless steel
• Case Diameter: 37 mm
• Case Thickness: 5.65 mm
• Lug Width: 20 mm / 44.6 mm lug-to-lug
• Movement: Miyota 9T22 slim
• Finishes: Mirror-polished & satin-brushed (hand-finished)
• Crystal: Anti-reflective sapphire
• Case-back: Snap caseback
• Strap & Buckle: Genuine leather and steel
• Water Resistance: 3 ATM

Priced at €537,95.

I didn’t start paying attention to Lebond because of a launch, a price point, or a promotional Instagram reel. I paid attention because the brand felt… quiet? And in today’s watch landscape, quiet is rare as heck. Especially when the brand has more to it than just being a watch brand, hence the title.

Lebond is a young independent brand founded by Asier Mateo, and that matters. You can feel the difference between a project born from a marketing plan and one born from a personal background. In this case, architecture is the foundation. That doesn’t mean every watch looks like a building. It means decisions are made structurally, not decoratively. (Another reason for me to flex my architecture background).

After spending some time exploring the brand, something became clear: Lebond is not trying to enter the watchmaking industry. It’s trying to occupy a position closer to design culture than to traditional horological posturing. And I LOVE that for them.

Okay let’s get into the brand. There are currently two pillars in the Lebond universe: Attraction and Siza. That’s it. And that restraint already tells you a lot.

The Attraction, is the conceptual core. Inspired by Antoni Gaudí’s unbuilt Hotel Attraction project, it’s the watch where Lebond allowed itself to be the most expressive. Soft titanium case, disc-based display, strong architectural logic. It’s the piece that explains why the brand exists.

But what interested me after spending time on the brand’s website is the Siza. Because that’s where you understand that Lebond is not a one-idea studio.

The Siza is named after Álvaro Siza, and the watch reflects exactly what you’d expect if you know his work. It’s quieter. More rectilinear. More disciplined. Stainless steel case, slimmer profile, conventional hands, but still a very deliberate use of negative space. The typography is calm. The proportions are carefully balanced. Nothing is trying to be clever.

Side note (and I sincerely apologize for making this way too personal), whenever Álvaro Siza is mentioned, expect an unsolicited amount of fan girling from yours truly. You do not want to know about my 6 months project analysis project on his Huamao Museum of Art Education.

Okay let’s get back to Lebond. If the Attraction is about speculative architecture, the Siza is about lived architecture. Buildings you inhabit without noticing until you start paying attention.

What both watches share is a rejection of excess. Case sizes are reasonable. Finishes are controlled. Movements are chosen for reliability and thinness. ETA for that Swiss spice. 

What I appreciate most is that Lebond doesn’t hide behind the “independent brand” narrative. There’s no attempt to artificially dramatize production numbers or craftsmanship. The watches are well made, thoughtfully designed, and positioned honestly. That’s it. No myth-building required. 

A design studio designing like a design studio should.

Lebond feels closer to furniture design, industrial design, or even publishing than to traditional Swiss watchmaking. I mean that as a compliment actually. Just look at their packaging !

The pricing reflects that mindset. Lebond is not trying to be disruptive through undercutting, nor aspirational through artificial scarcity. The watches are priced where they should be given the materials, design work, and production quality. You’re paying for coherence, not for status signaling.

The conversation with Asier felt natural from the start. When someone builds from a personal place, the dialogue is easier. You’re not negotiating narratives, you’re exchanging references.

Lebond doesn’t feel like a brand in a hurry. And that’s probably its biggest strength. In a market obsessed with visibility, choosing to carve your own way is almost radical.

I’ll keep watching what they do. Slowly. On their terms. And that already says enough.

Sitting between design and horology, that’s what I’ve been desperately craving to see from new independent brands.

Beda’a — the Qatari and now London based watch brand — just released their new Angles-Stone collection. I’ve wrote previously about their Angles Mecaline collection and my experience with my personal Black “Onyx dial” model. 

And if you go read that article, you’ll find out just how much I’ve been obsessed with that watch. Heck, I’m even wearing it now, on the road to some meetings. 

The Stone Collection however is something special. The Angles is getting 4 new configurations with 4 new stone dials: Malachite, Aventurine, Tiger Eye and African Hawk Eye. Beautiful. 

The new collection is not just an upgrade on the aesthetics, the technical side did get a few changes. 

First thing is the movement. The mecaline, as its name, suggests is mechanical AKA hand wound. The Angles-Stone is quartz, hence the lack of the small seconds subdial. More specifically, it uses a RONDA 1062.1 SLIMTECH. 

I make the comparison because these watches look the same, and I myself was a little surprised by the difference in the movement choice. 

But some private insight tells me that it could potentially join the mechanical path.

Other than that, Togo leather rather than Epsom leather is quite interesting in this context because let’s not forget that this collection is about being grounded and rugged, so to speak. 

My thoughts and feelings? 

Honestly ? I’m happy that the Angles collection keeps evolving and expanding. Beda’a has a great thing going on and I think it’s their canvas for being as creative as possible. They recently made a diamond edition (natural btw) with alligator straps, and this is exactly what I’m talking about.

Beda’a became what it is or who they are by having great designs. So they might as well design as much as they can. 

As for my personal favorite. That African Hawk Eye is as niche as it gets. Brown undertones with all that texture. It really does scratch the itch. 

Check out the full collection on Bedaawatches.com