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

I don’t usually write about jewelry watches. Not because I dislike them, but because most of them don’t survive five minutes of serious horological scrutiny. They tend to sit in a comfortable but weird zone where “craftsmanship” is mentioned more than it is demonstrated, and where decoration is applied rather than integrated.
Simon Brette is one of the very few contemporary watchmakers who forced me to reconsider that position.

What initially caught my attention with Brette was not the visual impact of his Chronomètre Artisans watches, but the intellectual structure behind them. There is a clarity of intent and purpose that immediately separates his work from the current wave of independent “expressive” watchmaking: Nothing feels decorative for the sake of seduction.

Simon Brette comes from a serious horological background. Restoration, movement construction, high-end independent environments, and a long exposure to traditional chronometry. This matters because it explains why his watches are built from the inside out. The Chronomètre Artisans project is not a design exercise wrapped around a movement. It is a mechanical project that intentionally invites other crafts to intervene without compromising its core. That’s my architecture background speaking, by the way.

At its foundation, the Chronomètre Artisans movement is a manually wound calibre designed with classical chronometric principles in mind. Large balance, stable frequency, clear gear train architecture…. The finishing is deliberate and controlled. Anglage is present but not exaggerated. Black polishing is used generously.

What makes Brette’s Joaillerie pieces particularly interesting is that they do not treat decoration as an external layer. Engraving, gem-setting, and surface treatment are conceived alongside the case and movement, not added afterward. This is a crucial distinction. Too often, jewelry watches feel like a finished watch that someone decided to embellish. Here, the decorative crafts actively shape the object.

Each Joaillerie piece is unique, not as a marketing statement, but because repetition would contradict the process itself. Engraving patterns are drawn specifically for each case. Stone selection responds to those engravings. The setting techniques adapt to the geometry and thickness of the metal. There is no modularity. There is no scalability. This is slow, expensive, and fundamentally incompatible with volume-driven logic.

What impressed me most is Brette’s restraint. These watches could easily have fallen into excess. They didn’t. And we know about many who did. The gem-setting is precise and disciplined. Stones are chosen for color harmony and structural rhythm; the engravings are deep, architectural, and purposeful. There is no narrative overload, no symbolic storytelling forced onto the object. The watch is allowed to stand on its construction.

This approach places Brette in a very specific position within contemporary independent watchmaking. He is not trying to reinvent horology. He is not chasing disruption. He is quietly re-establishing a hierarchy of priorities where mechanics come first, crafts serve structure, and aesthetics emerge as a consequence rather than a goal.

Culturally, this matters. We live in a period when independent watchmaking is often evaluated by its visibility and shock value. Brette’s work resists that logic. His watches are an acquired taste. They require observation rather than instant reaction.

This is also why writing about his Joaillerie pieces felt relevant within the framework of my new art magazine, Ariste. Ariste exists to explore objects that don’t fit neatly into predefined categories. Brette’s watches belong exactly there. They are not purely horological objects, nor are they jewelry in the conventional sense. They are constructed works, born from technical discipline and aesthetic restraint.

Simon Brette represents a form of independence that is often overlooked: one rooted in method rather than attitude. His Chronomètre Artisans Joaillerie pieces are not statements about luxury or creativity. They are demonstrations of control. Control over technique, over collaboration, and over when to stop.

I have always had a soft spot for brands that meant more than they showed.

 In a landscape where excess is often interpreted as legitimacy, Baume & Mercier has historically done something unfashionable: it stayed within reason. That reasonableness is often mistaken for timidity, or worse, irrelevance. In reality, it is far more difficult to sustain than provoke. Writing about Baume & Mercier today requires resisting the temptation to either nostalgically inflate its past or artificially dramatize its present. Neither is necessary.

The timing of this article matters. Baume & Mercier is at an inflection point, not because of a product launch, but because of a change in ownership that forces a re-evaluation of what the brand has been, what it became, and what it is allowed to be going forward. 

The acquisition by the Damiani Group is a structural event.

To understand its implications, one must first understand the long arc of the brand, and the particular role it has played in Swiss watchmaking for nearly two centuries.

Let’s look at the temporary first (the Damiani acquisition), then dig deep into those centuries of horological prowess.

When Richemont announced the sale of Baume & Mercier to the Damiani Group, the industry response was measured, which in itself is revealing. This was not a fire sale, but a recalibration. Under Richemont, Baume & Mercier occupied a peculiar but deliberate position. It was the group’s entry point into Swiss luxury watchmaking, positioned below the technical and artisanal heavyweights, but anchored in real heritage nevertheless. That positioning, while strategically understandable on paper, became increasingly difficult to defend in a market where the mid-luxury segment was being attacked simultaneously from below by aggressively priced independents and from above by aspirational icons. 

Look at Baume & Mercier like your regular Joe in today’s economy.

In my humble opinion, for Richemont the question was not whether Baume & Mercier lacked legitimacy. It was whether the group still had the structural patience to nurture a brand whose value proposition relied on balance not dominance. The answer, eventually, was no. We all know the Bernard family’s business spirit… even the Patek acquisition is a matter of time nowadays.

For Damiani, this business move is fundamentally different. This is a group whose identity has been built on Italian craftsmanship, emotional luxury, and a strong retail footprint rather than industrial scale watchmaking. Acquiring Baume & Mercier is not about absorbing a watch manufacture into an existing horological ecosystem. It is about adding a Swiss timekeeping pillar to a broader luxury narrative. Culturally, this matters. Strategically, it frees Baume & Mercier from internal comparisons it was never meant to win.

This move does not by any means signal a push toward haute horlogerie. It signals clarity and stability. Baume & Mercier is no longer required to justify its existence within a portfolio of overachievers. It is now asked to be coherent and most importantly itself.

But Where was Baume & Mercier Before the Sale ?

Before the acquisition, Baume & Mercier was stable, respected, and constrained. The brand was doing many things correctly: consistent design language, solid movements, reliable pricing, and one genuinely important technical step forward with the Baumatic calibre. What it lacked was narrative. Not because the story was weak, but because it wasn’t sticking out.

Under Richemont, Baume & Mercier often served as a bridge brand. That role comes with advantages, but also with limitations. Innovation had to be measured. Risks had to be contained. Identity had to remain broad enough to welcome first-time buyers without alienating existing clients. The result was a brand that rarely failed, but also rarely provoked serious debate. And in today’s market, that is a dangerous place to sit. Think of it as a mall brand…

Let’s Reminisce About The Good Ol’ Days.

Baume & Mercier was founded in 1830 by the Baume brothers in the Swiss Jura. Long before the modern luxury industry existed, the brand built its reputation on chronometric precision and international reach, particularly through its London branch, which served the British Empire. The partnership with Paul Mercier in 1918 marked a shift toward design direction and day-to-day elegance, placing the brand firmly within the Geneva tradition.

The Geneva Seal awarded in 1919 confirms that Baume & Mercier was once judged by the same technical and finishing standards as houses that later became untouchable icons. The brand’s historical role is a sort of stabilizer. It absorbed stylistic movements, technical norms, and cultural shifts, and translated them into watches that made sense to wear.

That role should not be underestimated. We all need that good reliable watch.

And with that came the icons.

Riviera 1973

The Riviera is the most misunderstood watch in Baume & Mercier’s history, largely because it arrived at the wrong time to be mythologized correctly. Introduced in 1973, the Riviera is one of the earliest steel sports watches with a distinct shaped bezel and integrated bracelet. Its twelve-sided bezel was architectural, designed to give the watch identity within that 70s Genta era.

Technically, early Rivieras relied on reliable automatic movements. The Riviera was never meant to compete on complication. It competed on relevance and wearability. As I mentioned earlier, it sits comfortably alongside other early steel sports watches of the era, but without the hypr that followed its peers. Its recent revival works precisely because the original concept was never stretched beyond its limits.

Classima 1960s onward

Classima is not a single reference, but an idea that matured into a collection. Emerging from Baume & Mercier’s long tradition of round, restrained dress watches, Classima represents the brand’s most consistent expression of proportion and understatement. An easy to wear gentleman’s dress watch, that’s it.

From a horological standpoint, Classima models used proven automatic and manual movements, prioritizing thinness and legibility. Their importance lies in, again, how easy they are to be worn and be lived with. This is like a Patrimony from Vacheron or early time-only Patek Calatravas ref. 96.

Capeland late 1990s

Capeland marks Baume & Mercier’s attempt to engage with sportier, more masculine watchmaking without abandoning elegance. Introduced in the late 1990s, the line incorporated chronographs, GMTs, and more assertive case profiles. Technically, these watches relied on well-regarded ébauches, often modified, rather than in-house.

The importance of the Capeland is “cultural” rather than mechanical. It reflects a period where Baume & Mercier tested the elasticity of its identity. And the 90s was just the era actually.Some executions were more convincing than others, but the collection demonstrated that the brand could expand without embarrassing itself.

Hampton 1994

Hampton is where Baume & Mercier leaned fully into design. Introduced in 1994, the rectangular case, inspired by Art Deco architecture, was distinguishable. It was a shaped watch committing to proportion.

From a technical perspective, Hampton models were straightforward. Their strength lay in case construction, dial layout, and wearability. Think of it as a Cartier Tank Americaine with a bit more spice.

Clifton 2013 and the Baumatic Era

Clifton initially presented itself as a modern classic, drawing from mid-century cues without nostalgia (Mad Men). Its true importance emerged with the introduction of the Baumatic calibre in 2018. This movement represents the most significant technical investment Baume & Mercier has made in decades.

The movement:

With a five-day power reserve, silicon escapement components (for ease of servicing), improved antimagnetic resistance, and extended service intervals, the Baumatic was intelligent and for the intelligent gentleman. It addressed real-world concerns. It also repositioned Baume & Mercier as a brand capable of meaningful technical decisions without doing too much.

This is where the brand subtly regained credibility among informed collectors.

These are obviously not all the brand’s models and important references, here’s a cool selection of watches from Baume & Mercier’s vast and rich catalog.

Baume & Mercier has never been about trends and hype. And the Damiani acquisition does not rewrite the brand’s history or diminishes it. It actually clarifies it. Freed from the need to compete internally within a watchmaking conglomerate, the brand has the opportunity to sharpen its voice. And let’s be honest, a brand like this belongs within that Italian spirit of valuing quality basics. Tiktok does not have to ruin everything guys.

And let me be clear,there is space in horology for brands that do not shout, that do not chase extremes, that understand their role and execute it with discipline. Baume & Mercier has done this before. The question now is not whether it can reinvent itself, but whether it can finally commit to being exactly what it is.

More brand and reference deep dives will follow. That’s the 2026 spirit, valuing what matters not what’s trending.

There are certain watches that benefit from being written about frequently. The Blancpain Fifty Fathoms is not one of them. Repetition has flattened it. The more it is cited as “the first modern dive watch,” the less its internal logic is examined. The Fifty Fathoms has become a reference point without being treated as a reference system, and that distinction matters.

This article exists for a specific reason and a specific audience. It is not an introduction. It is not an anniversary celebration. It is not an attempt to convince anyone of the importance that has already been established. It is written because certain watches deserve to be approached with the same analytical discipline we reserve for complicated chronographs, perpetual calendars, or early Geneva chronometric experiments. The Fifty Fathoms belongs in that category, not because of romance or heroism, but because it is one of the very few wristwatches whose architecture directly shaped an entire category without ever being fundamentally improved upon.

This project was only possible because accuracy mattered more than narrative convenience. Blancpain’s involvement here was not commercial/lucrative but corrective. Miss Patricia Cruz Orad and the team at Organic Path Communication provided access to primary documentation and internal clarifications that allowed this text to avoid approximation. Miss Alexandra Sminchise, through the Madrid boutique, acted as the human bridge that ensured this work remained grounded in facts rather than received lore. That matters because the Fifty Fathoms has suffered more than most watches from retrospective storytelling.

The Fifty Fathoms did not emerge from a design studio. It emerged from a problem. In the early 1950s, professional diving was evolving faster than the instruments designed to support it. Mechanical wristwatches existed. Waterproof watches existed. Timing underwater operations existed as a need. What did not exist was a wristwatch conceived from the outset as a unified solution to underwater timing, legibility, and reliability under pressure. Blancpain did not invent diving. It did not invent waterproofing. It assembled a coherent hierarchy of priorities.

The only way to understand how successful that hierarchy was is to follow the references in sequence. I’ve built myself quite the reputation (among my humble circle of watch nerd friends) of being “the one who digs”. The one who digs deep, looking into and for the watches/references that are painfully not “hyped”. 

I’m not pretending to be a Blancpain Fifty Fathoms messiah, I mean, look at the brand’s presence in the Asian market. However, I certainly hope that 1 or 2 out of the many watch collectors and enthusiasts this is directed to, get the spark I have for the Blancpain Fifty Fathoms.

So let’s trace this icon’s journey.

Fifty Fathoms Early Production 1953–1954

The earliest Fifty Fathoms pieces were produced in very small numbers beginning in 1953, under the direction of Jean-Jacques Fiechter. These watches were not formally referenced in the modern sense. They were built around requirements communicated by professional divers, notably Robert Maloubier and Claude Riffaud of the French Navy.

The cases measured approximately 41 mm in diameter. Yes, oversized for the period but mechanically justified. Thickness was substantial, driven by pressure resistance rather than visual proportion. Casebacks were screwed and often engraved, depending on the intended recipient. Water resistance was rated to fifty fathoms, approximately 91 meters, a figure that was conservative relative to real-world performance. 

Ps: A fathom is a nautical unit equal to six feet (approximately 1.8 meters). 

The dial design established the language permanently. Matte black surface. Large Arabic numerals at the quarters. Rectangular indexes elsewhere. Heavy radium application. There is no evidence of aesthetic balancing. Every decision was towards contrast. The bezel is bidirectional, friction-mounted, with a Bakelite insert allowing radium markings to be visible in low light. This material choice would later prove fragile, but at the time, it was functionally unmatched.

Movements varied, but the selection criteria were reliability and automatic winding.

Fifty Fathoms MIL-SPEC U.S Navy 1954–1959

Following early trials, Blancpain supplied the United States Navy’s Underwater Demolition Teams with a modified Fifty Fathoms that would later be designated MIL-SPEC. This reference introduces the moisture indicator at six o’clock, a feature unique in dive watch history.

The moisture indicator consists of a bicolored disc designed to change appearance if humidity enters the case. Its purpose is diagnostic, not decorative. It allows the diver to identify a compromised watch before a dive. This feature alone places the MIL-SPEC Fifty Fathoms in a different intellectual category than most tool watches. It does not assume mechanical perfection. It communicates mechanical status.

The dial retains Arabic numerals. Lume remains radium. The bezel remains Bakelite. The movement is typically an A. Schild automatic caliber selected for robustness, for shocks and whatnot. These watches represent the Fifty Fathoms at its most functionally honest form.

Fifty Fathoms Bundesmarine No Radiation 1956–1963

In parallel, Blancpain supplied the German Bundesmarine with a distinct execution. These watches abandon Arabic numerals entirely, replacing them with oversized luminous plots and stark geometric indexes. The result is an even more immediate reading experience.

The case construction remains similar but often heavier. Bezels become slightly more pronounced. The intent is clarity under stress, not versatility. These references demonstrate the adaptability of the Fifty Fathoms architecture without dilution.

As awareness of radioactive materials increased, Blancpain introduced dials marked with a crossed-out radiation symbol. These references replace radium with safer luminous compounds.

The significance of the No Radiation Fifty Fathoms is contextual rather than technical. The watch now responds to civilian regulation rather than military necessity. Importantly, the dial architecture does not change. Blancpain does not soften the design to appeal to a broader market. It adjusts materials and nothing else.

Fifty Fathoms Civilian Late Production 1963–1969

Later civilian references show minor refinements in finishing and dial execution. Bezels transition away from Bakelite. Case tolerances improve. These watches are often mistaken for stylistic evolutions. They are not. They represent stabilization.

The Fifty Fathoms at this stage is no longer experimental. It is a mature instrument produced within commercial constraints. Good ? Bad ? Who knows. But this is the step that got us to where we are now: Making a guide about the Fifty Fathoms, as a piece to be collected.

Dormancy and Discontinuation 1970s–1990s

The Fifty Fathoms disappears during the quartz era. 

Blancpain is a company that has vowed to never make a quartz watch. A promise they kept.

This absence should not be dramatized. A mechanically intensive tool watch cannot compete in a market driven by convenience and cost. Blancpain did not compromise the concept to survive. It waited. If you dig just enough, you’ll find that even Rolex and more legendary brands, were obliged to compromise.

Fifty Fathoms 50th Anniversary 2003

Blancpain reintroduces the Fifty Fathoms in 2003, with three limited editions of fifty pieces each. These watches are not recreations. They are proofs of relevance. Materials are modernized. Finishing is elevated. The architecture remains intact.

These references test whether the original logic can survive modern expectations: It does.

Fifty Fathoms Automatique Ref. 5015, 2007

The true modern Fifty Fathoms arrives in 2007 with the introduction of the 5015. Case size increases to 45 mm. The bezel becomes sapphire-covered ceramic. The movement is the in-house calibre 1315, featuring three barrels and extended power reserve.

Every change is functional. The size increase preserves dial legibility. The bezel material solves durability issues. The movement prioritizes torque stability. This reference does not reinterpret the Fifty Fathoms, it updates its engineering assumptions.

Fifty Fathoms Bathyscaphe 2013

The Bathyscaphe introduces a more restrained case profile and modern materials such as ceramic and titanium. The movement shifts to the calibre 1315 or 1150 depending on configuration.

This reference tests whether the Fifty Fathoms language can be reduced without losing coherence. It largely succeeds, though it marks the beginning of aesthetic diversification.

Fifty Fathoms X Fathoms, 2011

The X Fathoms pushes technical experimentation with a mechanical depth gauge and decompression indicators. It is not historically faithful, but it is conceptually aligned. It treats the Fifty Fathoms as an experimental slate rather than an ancient relic.

Fifty Fathoms 70th Anniversary 2023

The 70th anniversary releases revisit historical proportions while integrating modern materials and movements. These references consciously look backwards, but without surrendering modern reliability.

Fifty Fathoms 42 mm Steel 2025

The introduction of a 42 mm steel Fifty Fathoms into the permanent collection represents a recalibration. It acknowledges contemporary wearability without revising the original hierarchy of priorities. This is not a concession. It is an adjustment.

Another 38 mm configuration was released and let me tell you, that’s something I’d gladly buy and add to my personal collection.

The Fifty Fathoms endures not because it is “first”, but because it is complete. 

And although the company is not as hyped as it deserves to be, Blancpain is a brand we desperately need in today’s “watch world”. 

Why ? Let’s not forget that Blancpain is the oldest standing watch brand today. Since 1735. And even with a surface level attempt of research, one would understand the brand’s commitment to real horology. The Villeret collection is a direct and exact reflection of this. Minute repeaters, skeletonized grand complication pieces, perpetual calendars… etc.

 Alongside Breguet, Blancpain is a statement to the Swatch group’s potential as market leaders.

This will not be the last time we dissect an icon at this level. Some watches deserve surface treatment, yet others demand excavation. The Fifty Fathoms belongs firmly in the second category, and I hope to see more of them on your wrists, now that you understand the piece’s journey.

Thank you team Blanpain, Spain.

I have always believed that true watchmaking begins long before a movement is chosen. It starts with intention. With a reason to exist that goes beyond filling a price point or following a trend. I am naturally drawn to watches that know why they are here. Not because they are loud or technically inflated, but because they feel considered. Honest in what they try to express and disciplined in how they go about it. That is where my respect begins. And that is why the Venezianico Redentore Bellanotte resonated with me almost immediately.

This is also the first time Time Telling Magazine works with and covers a Venezianico watch, and that matters. We are careful with the brands we choose to align ourselves with. Not everything needs to be covered, and not every watch deserves a platform. Venezianico felt like a brand we genuinely want to be associated with. There is a clarity to what they are doing, a cultural grounding that feels real rather than manufactured, and that made the decision straightforward.

I unboxed the Bellanotte at home, in a quiet moment, with my girlfriend and business partner, who’s also the person responsible for the beautiful photographs highlighting the watch’s charm. 

She has seen enough watches come through my hands to know when something is just another object and when it is something else. Her reaction was immediate and unfiltered. A short pause, then a genuine gasp. Not because of a logo or a complication, but because the dial felt like a scene rather than a surface. That moment confirmed what I was already sensing. This watch communicates visually, even to someone who is not looking at it through an expert lens.

The more time I spent with it, the more that impression settled in. The Bellanotte does certainly rely on instant impact. And then, you start noticing how it is built: 

The dial is structured, layered, and restrained. The aventurine background behaves like a real night sky. Throughout the day, as the light changed, it shifted subtly on the wrist. Indoors it felt almost matte and quiet. Outside, it came alive without ever becoming loud.

The off center time display in mother of pearl turned out to be one of my favorite details in daily use. It catches the light just enough to remain legible though its size, but it never pulls your attention away from the rest of the dial. During a busy day moving between meetings, cafés, and streets, checking the time felt secondary. The watch was more often noticed by others than consulted by me, which says a lot about where its strength lies.

That day, the amount of attention it attracted surprised me. Not the usual watch conversations about brands or price, but real curiosity. People leaned in. They asked what they were looking at. Friends who are art collectors and gallery owners were particularly struck by it. They didn’t talk about watches at all. They talked about composition, depth, and narrative. About how the bas relief architecture creates perspective, how the monuments of Venice are read through light and shadow rather than lines. One of them mentioned it felt closer to a miniature sculptural piece than a traditional dial, and that observation stayed with me, as an architecture student.

In terms of proportions, the Bellanotte fits exactly where I need it to. At 40mm, this is as big as I am willing to go. I have small wrists and I am unforgiving when it comes to balance. This watch wears clean and composed. It never feels oversized or performative. It sits comfortably and disappears when you want it to. Especially for someone like me who dresses in tailored clothing. Nobody wants a lump on their wrist…

The movement inside, Automatic Cal. Seiko NH05A, does its job without demanding attention, and I appreciate that honesty. It is reliable, compact, and chosen to support the design rather than compete with it, seeing that its am “ulta-thin” movement.

This collaboration happened thanks to Elena, the marketing manager at Venezianico, who immediately understood our editorial direction and our values. There was no need to exaggerate the story or reshape the watch to fit a narrative. The alignment was natural, and those are the relationships I value most, as the magazine’s president.

Another thank you goes to my friend @thewatchcaliber for his generosity and kindness.

Here are the Specs of the Venezianico Redentore Bellanotte:

CASE MATERIAL: 316L Stainless Steel

FEATURES: Off-center dial

MATERIALS: Aventurine, mother-of-pearl, brass

DIMENSIONS: Ø40mm, 46.7mm lug to lug, 11.5mm thickness

MOVEMENT: Automatic Cal. Seiko NH05A

CRYSTAL: Sapphire crystal with antireflective coating

BEZEL: 316L Stainless steel

WR: 5ATM (=50mt)

STRAP: Genuine leather, Made in Italy

Price: 700€