Mr. Hader — Beda’a’s founder — didn’t show me this watch before its release. Not even a glimpse.

Which, if you read any other article of mine about Beda’a, usually means one thing: it’s gonna be epic. There’s no halfway presentation, no “what do you think of this direction?” moment. We’ve had enough conversations over our friendship, going back to my time in Dubai, for me to recognize when something is being built with intent versus when it’s playing safe or extending something that’s usual. That silence already framed the watch before even seeing it. Even the teaser video was dreamy.

Because the Angles Guichets is not an isolated release. It sits inside a short but already structured trajectory for the brand, and more specifically for the Angles line, which has become Beda’a’s core design platform in under three years. What’s important to understand is that this is not just “a new model with a complication.” It’s the first time the Angles architecture is forced to deal with the constraints of an aperture display, which is a completely different problem than a central-hand or small seconds watch.

The Angles case is already established at this point. You’re dealing with a 37 mm format, but more importantly a multi-plane octagonal construction with three distinct stepped levels. It’s not a flat octagon in the Gérald Genta sense, and it’s not trying to echo the Royal Oak or Nautilus lineage. The geometry is sharper, more segmented, and it integrates the lugs into the case body in a way that removes the visual break you typically rely on to reset proportions. That becomes critical here because once you remove hands and most dial furniture, the case becomes the primary and only visual regulator of the watch.

Previous Angles executions had hands, a clear hierarchy between dial and case, and enough familiar elements to stabilize the composition. With the Guichets, that hierarchy disappears. The dial becomes a surface with two apertures, and everything else has to carry meaning through proportion, alignment, and negative space. This is where Sohaib Maghnam’s involvement becomes obvious, not in a superficial way, but in how controlled the watch feels. He is Beda’a director and designer after all.

If you’ve followed his work under his own name, you already know he doesn’t design in a “traditional” fashion. His watches are about geometry, futuristic elements, and a very deliberate use of empty space. That language translates directly here, but under much tighter constraints, because aperture watches are unforgiving.

Historically, they’ve always been a niche within watchmaking. Early 20th century pocket and wristwatch executions experimented with digital-style displays, but it’s really with pieces like the Cartier Tank à Guichets that the format becomes codified. You reduce the watch to windows, remove hands entirely, and force time to be read through apertures alone. Later interpretations, like the Audemars Piguet Star Wheel or F.P. Journe Vagabondage, take that concept further mechanically, but they all share the same constraint: once you remove hands, the case is everything. Alignment, spacing, and motion all become immediately visible.

Beda’a approaches this through a relatively low-key technical base, which is where things get more interesting than they first appear. They’re using a modified Peseux 7001, one of the most respected ultra-thin hand-wound calibres still in circulation. At around 2.5 mm thickness, it has been used across independent watchmaking precisely because it offers a stable, slim foundation. A characteristic of the Angles collection. 

Here, the gear train has been modified to run on a 24-hour cycle, effectively halving the rotational speed of the hour wheel. That changes the behavior of the entire system. When you alter ratios like that, especially in a manually wound calibre with a 42 hour power reserve, torque distribution becomes a real consideration. And that’s before accounting for the fact that you’re now driving discs instead of hands, which introduces additional inertia.

The display itself confirms that this is not a traditional jump hour watch. The upper aperture uses a continuous 24-hour disc where the sun and moon travel across a scale from 6 AM to 6 PM, then transition into night. Mechanically, this places the watch closer to a rotating disc display than to an instantaneous jumping system. There’s no sharp jump, no snappy transition. Instead, the indication is progressive, almost imperceptible, which aligns with the conceptual approach of the watch.

The lower aperture handles the minutes unconventionally. The disc moves, while a fixed arrow integrated into the dial serves as the reference point. This inversion, where the indicator remains static and the scale moves, is simple in principle but extremely sensitive in execution. Any play in the disc or inconsistency in alignment becomes immediately visible. Beda’a limits the display to five-minute increments, which is not a shortcut but a necessary constraint given the scale and the visual language of the watch. With apertures this reduced and a dial this closed, legibility depends on restraint.

The dial itself plays a bigger role than it might initially seem. It’s not a flat surface but a closed structure that follows the geometry of the case. Without that relief, the watch would collapse visually. By introducing depth through form rather than additional elements, the watch maintains its profile while still offering a sense of structure. 

Contextually, Beda’a occupies a very specific position. It’s part of a small but increasingly relevant group of Middle Eastern independent brands that are not just assembling watches, but building identifiable design languages. That distinction matters. For a long time, the region has been associated with consumption of high horology, not production. Brands like Beda’a are shifting that narrative, and they’re doing it through consistency rather than isolated releases.

The Angles collection has already demonstrated that it resonates with collectors. Limited executions selling out within 24 hours is not just a marketing point, it’s an indication that the design language is understood and accepted. Introducing a complication into that framework is always a risk, because it can easily disrupt what made the original pieces work. Here, that balance is maintained.

Which naturally leads to the question of positioning, and inevitably, the GPHG. At around 1,800 CHF, the Angles Guichets sits in a segment that has historically been competitive, particularly in categories focused on time-only or light complications. What works in its favor is not mechanical complexity in the traditional sense, but clarity of concept. The watch has a defined objective and follows it through without unnecessary additions. That kind of coherence tends to resonate with juries when it’s executed properly.

Sohaib Maghnam’s role in this shouldn’t be reduced to aesthetics. The constraints imposed by the Angles case, the modified 7001 architecture, and the demands of an aperture display mean that every decision is interconnected. If you look at his independent work, the same principles appear consistently: controlled geometry, careful use of space, and a refusal to rely on decorative shortcuts. Check out the new Moharib piece. Here, those principles are applied within the structure of a brand that already has its own identity, which is a more complex exercise than designing from scratch.

The Angles Guichets is clear and strong competitor in the indies scene. It operates in a more interesting space, where design discipline, mechanical adaptation, and price positioning intersect. At 1,800 CHF, you’re entering a range where comparisons become unavoidable, from Nomos complications to other entry-level independents. What Beda’a offers here is not finishing excess or mechanical spectacle, but a controlled integration of design and mechanics that is rarely this resolved at this level.

Beda’a has been on the magazine before, and it will stay there. Not out of familiarity, but because it’s one of the few young brands that is actually building something coherent over time. The Angles Guichets doesn’t try to redefine the aperture watch. It simply shows that Beda’a understands exactly what it’s doing, and more importantly, where it’s going.

Specs: 

• Movement: modified Peseux 7001 for 24-hour day and night indication, hand wound.
• Dimensions: 34 x 37 x 6.3 mm (L x W x H)
• Case Material: 316L stainless steel with a matching buckle.
• Dial: lacquered, 24-hour cycle.
• Hands: Sun and Moon indicators, Day and Night, polished
• Water resistance: 3 ATM
• Sapphire crystal
• Strap: calfskin leather, embossed,stitched.
• Reference: BQAS0526-37
• Swiss Made

Visit bedaawatches.com to discover the new collection.

The image above—of this splendid piece of art—marks the starting point of the journey that became this article. A tumultuous one, to say the least, as I found myself haunted by it—as if it insisted, no, demanded—to be brought to life. And so here I am, on an evening meant for rest, frantically tapping away at my keyboard, heeding its call.

The Piaget Essentia collection is mesmerising to behold; its beauty transcends the traditional aesthetic standards and golden ratios of horology, embracing instead sinuous, almost topographical contours. Truthfully, these pieces are more art than watch. This is no accident. Piaget exists at the crossroads of haute joaillerie and watchmaking, merging two breeds of elite maîtres artisans: joailliers and horlogers. Think of it as S.H.I.E.L.D. assembling the Avengers—different powers brought together, each complementing and amplifying the other.

If the Essentia is a fusion of crafts, it is through its materials that this fusion becomes visible. The collection is built around a consistent architecture: a rose gold bracelet integrated into the case, with a diamond pavé framing the dial. Its variations feature ornamental stone dials—including turquoise, malachite, tiger’s eye, and black opal—each selected for its distinct visual identity. Their presence also traces a subtle chronology: turquoise, among the earliest stones worn by ancient civilizations; malachite, associated with imperial ornament and power; tiger’s eye, long regarded as a protective talisman; and black opal, a more recent fascination, prized for its shifting, almost electric play of colour.

At Watches and Wonders 2025, Piaget presented the collection not as a standalone novelty, but as part of a broader heritage narrative—alongside the reinterpreted “Rainbow Aura” and the “Swinging Sautoir” and “Hidden Treasures” collections. In this context, the line reads as a contemporary extension of Piaget’s 1960s experimentation with ornamental stone dials—a modern revival of its most expressive period.

Some pieces, in my eyes, belong to the realm of Fabergé Eggs: inaccessible to most, but for all to admire throughout time. The Essentia collection, in all its variations, feels destined for that space.

Like those eggs, these watches transcend their function. You do not wear an Essentia primarily to tell time; time becomes almost an afterthought, a secondary courtesy offered by an object whose primary purpose is beauty.

The value of such objects lies not in their utility, but in their existence. The Parthenon still stands, even for those who will never visit Athens. The Fabergé Eggs remain in museums, admired by all who encounter them.

Some will object, of course. They will speak of price, of accessibility, of a world with more pressing concerns than luxury watches. They will be right—and they will also miss the point.

The point is creating for the sake of unleashing one’s creativity—to make the most beautiful thing possible, in pursuit of excellence; creating because we can, creating to be remembered, so that our creations may outlast us. It is, perhaps, the most human and noble thing one can do—something we have been doing since the earliest cave paintings, which still endure tens of thousands of years later.

Perhaps that is why the image lingered—why it refused to be forgotten—because it was never just a watch, but a reminder of what we are capable of, when we choose to create.

*All images used above are sourced externally and remain the property of their respective copyright holders.

Inass AKISRA

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

As a second entry, chronologically in terms of stories being presented to the readers and as I visited the day after my initial visit to Phillips, Christie’s was always going to be an interesting one. We saw the depth of their catalogue – quite Patek-heavy as expected – while coming off the back of successful sales for all auction houses in Geneva, creating ripe conditions for compelling lots. I had been shown the catalogue a little ahead of time, and thanks to a close friend who works out of the NYC office I was able to have my mind set on seeing specific lots well in advance. Scrolling through the PDF file on the flight over, I made a vague mental list of lots I should absolutely handle, while understanding that I ought to remain curious by examining all of the display cases while in the room.

I knew that the John Shaw collection was one to look at, as my love for the Louis Cottier complications runs deep. My first experience with his work came at Sotheby’s in Geneva a year ago, in which their sale included a ref. 1415. Having been mistakenly presented with a 1st series ref. 2499 – somehow they shared lot numbers – my short time with a watch which has compelled the aesthetic and mechanical curiosities within me left an indelible impression on my understanding of Patek, much like their enamel signatures from that reference’s period. Christie’s sale included not just one, but two Cottier movements, cased in two different sizes; one being another example of a ref. 1415, but also to my excitement one of the two (or three, or “few”, depending on the source it seems) known ref. 542HU’s. Set within a tiny 28 millimetre yellow gold case, I knew it was one I absolutely had to handle, despite knowing it was far from a pristine example.

A side by side comparison of the 542HU and 1415: what stands out are the differing lug designs and hour hands

After a brief walk over from Admiralty MTR station, through crowded malls and elevated footpaths, I eventually found my way to the lobby. Quite imposing in its scale, it differs drastically from the more cramped and traditional confines of the Geneva preview spaces. Unhindered by the restrictions of hotel venues, Christie’s went positively bananas in their choice of space. The high ceilings guide one’s view through undulating sconces (of sorts?), while soft edges create a very sterile and serene atmosphere. A giant red Jeff Koons sculpture anchors the space, almost blocking the view down towards Central, which remains rather unappealing to my eyes but who am I to judge how to fill such a cavernous space… 

Not much more to say if I’m honest.

Now for the meat and potatoes of the visit, a trip up to the seventh floor to the preview space! I am welcomed by… apathy. Rather surprised by the cold shoulder, I walk up to the display cases to have a look at the lots. While I did have an initial list, I allowed myself to remain curious to let other watches catch my eye. The space wraps around the corner, with private viewing spaces occupying the centre. It’s quite linear, compared to some of the more square spaces of Sotheby’s in Geneva or Phillips in New York, so there was a mild sense of intrigue and adventure to turning left. While the Christie’s employees remained polite and attentive towards my trays, the specialists showed a distinct lack of interest in me. Despite having the entire preview space to myself for around half an hour, I was not greeted or given eye contact until I had to ask an employee about winding a watch. While I understand that auction houses aren’t the best environment for fostering community, a point I discussed with a friend who works out of their New York office, I still felt a little hard done by with such an attitude of disinterest. It contrasted heavily with my Phillips experience, where I was greeted warmly and given the time of day when I was around. To be honest, that made me want to return to their auctions, while with Christie’s I merely went as I had to meet people who happened to be bidding. First impressions matter, and I have never demanded undivided attention from specialists at any auction house, and it shows in the fact I didn’t exchange contacts with any of their specialists.

But enough about the space and people while lightening the mood, time to take a seat at their suede-lined tables and let’s get into some trays!

Under the (annoyingly) bright spotlights.

What appeared before me were some of the greatest Pateks that I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. Now, we have to remember that I’ve only been in the auction world for the last year so I don’t have any of the fantastical stories of years prior like others in the room, however I think I know an important watch when I see one! I settled upon three trays with an average of five lots per tray, and I took full advantage of having the preview room to myself in order to spend as much time with these watches as I could. The cover lots from within vintage Patek were true “money-no-object” pieces of brilliance, with my personal highlights being the ref. 1595 with a stunning cloissonné dial (Lot 2436) and a ref. 2524/1J minute repeating wristwatch (Lot 2240). Both watches seem very apt to highlight as some of the finest examples to demonstrate the brand’s savoir-faire at an aesthetic and technical level, but out of the lack of good pictures I’ve decided to focus on the latter.

For the 2524, most people would argue that Patek remains the standard for minute repeater complications; their tone and cadence are incredibly clear and precise, with them continuously fine-tuning the movements over many decades. Additionally, purists will raise the point that yellow gold is the best metal for such a complication, as it allows for the clearest resonance when chiming. Having handled minute repeaters in multiple metals, I am inclined to concur with them, as platinum and other tones of gold gave off a distinctly different tone (after a couple of goes and some very intense listening!). I also found its presentation within the reference to be rather elegant, letting the movement do the proverbial talking. Two dauphine hands glide over a silvered dial, with raised gold indices and an enamel signature highlighting the watch as the quintessential “Calatrava” design. The condition of the watch is stunning, with strong lugs, a clean dial with untouched enamel, all with its original buckle. Being one of the less than 50 known examples across all reference variations, such a strong example accompanied by its extract proved to be of great appeal to numerous bidders, fetching an all-in price of 3,302,000 HKD on the 26th of November.

Won’t be seeing another one of these again for a very long time…

On the other hand, I’ve chosen to include – much like my rundown on Phillips – a pocket watch! It remains quite clear that I have a penchant for their style and presence, as they stand out in size amongst their peers in the display cases. Within my hands rests a lovely ref. 600 pocket watch, sold by Parisian retailer Guillermin & Cie in 1936. Its three-tone dial stood out to me, as I have a soft spot for a mirror track… What I found most interesting in regards to the dial, is that the original sales invoice details how the pocket watch initially came with a different dial, but was subsequently changed by Guillermin “selon votre désir”, while also mentioning that it could be returned to its original specification in the eventuality that the owner did not like it. 

While the case condition remained quite strong, with visible hallmarks on the bow and a deep personalised engraving on the caseback – I’m unclear on whether it was done by Patek themselves, the extract isn’t visible on Christie’s website – it had some very clear signs of wash and wear. The all-important “accent grave” over “Genève” is missing, along with some substantial discoloration around the 12 o’clock numerals and the subsidiary seconds. The catalogue also fails to show that there is a screw missing in one of the bow latching points, which is not hard feat to overcome – my watchmaker has redone screws for some of my pocket watches – but clearly detracts from its overall appeal, that vague sense of “project” to some. Overall, the condition did not match the very strong estimate of 140,000 – 280,000 HKD, with the lot closing as unsold.

Not perfect, but charming nonetheless.

Interesting documentation: the ability to change dials back in case the original client didn’t like it!

Photo credit: Christie’s Hong Kong

As I was not putting any serious bids down, I felt rather reluctant to step into the bidding room apart for some brief observation. Much like any auction, the room itself remained rather quiet, with maybe 15% occupancy at best. The chairs were mainly taken by Asian bidders, with the odd remaining European one for some of the important vintage lots. The main point of note that I have from both auctions was the distinct lack of Americans in the room, mostly due to tariffs but also because the preference for buying – and subsequent networking around the events – tends to be better in Geneva or Monaco. The two banks of telephone bidders were consistently active, leading to yet another white glove sale this season on their first day, along with a wide global pool popping up on the screen for those manning the rostrum. Moving through their lots with relative ease and efficiency was my main takeaway, with polite persuasion by specialists and the auctioneer fuelling the bids. 

Overall, I realise I don’t have terribly much to add on to it; it felt like any other prestigious auction experience, especially as I was mostly alone save for one day when I went with an Italian dealer. His reputation precedes him, which became abundantly clear as staff rushed to get him a catalogue. It was mildly amusing, but I had also realised that auction fatigue had properly settled in. I was very happy to have seen their impressive selection, but I was more eager to get to my appointments with friends later that day. The bright lights and relatively intense atmosphere felt very claustrophobic, and I think I was tired from the facade we all put up in such professional spaces.

An unobstructed view of the stage!

My conclusion from it is that auctions are a fantastic place to see and handle watches, however the environment itself is not always the most welcoming. This was the hallmark of my experience at Christie’s, while also understanding that the business of auctioneering comes before its ability to nurture community. After some reflection, I’m not frustrated by it, instead I’ve come to understand the back end of this world. With such high expectations from clients – and the house’s reputation being put on a very public line – it makes sense to have priorities organised as such. I’m very fortunate to be able to take my time and choose exactly what I’m looking to achieve, so I’m allowed to let emotions lead. The passion which I see in those who work in the space remains palpable, but does take work in itself as a potential client to bring out of them and I feel guilty for taking time out of their point of focus. At the end of the day, I cannot dwell on it too long: I’m not a frequent participant, and I am still an unknown entity to most, so why rush the relationship or lie my way into one which won’t necessarily lead somewhere? I’ve got a great network of dealers who I buy and frequently seek advice from, and that fulfils my requirements for the foreseeable future. I remain excited for the next season that I’ll get to attend in person, with new people to meet and previously unknown watches to me peering through their display cases. I got to spend a lot of time with someone I now consider a good friend and an incredible mentor, so focusing on that for next time will arguably bring me as much joy as it does to handle such desirable watches!

Until next season!

Em –

Over a coffee at the Arabica in the Henderson’s lobby, a timeless classic sits under my friend’s cuff.

Banking into the Chep Lak Kok’s approach for the first time in more than a year, a refreshing sense of familiarity dawns on me. Hong Kong was once home to me, in a stage of life where watches were never within my reach or interest. I saw the city in a very different light, one where  its cultural vibrancy and sheer visual overload obsessed me from a young age. 

As the wheels touched down, I realised that I was arriving with a completely different purpose this time around. I had booked this trip with multiple intentions in mind, with my first week revolving around the seasonal auctions from Phillips, Christie’s and Antiquorum. None of these houses were unfamiliar territory to me, likewise with the whole auction experience, however I had a strong feeling that the overall experience would differ at a professional and personal level. My experiences in Geneva and New York last year presented a frenetic, “in-your-face”, and quite frankly intimidating atmosphere. I felt like a fish out of water, watching unknown faces glide in and out of previews while greeted with smiles and handshakes by the staff… The imposter syndrome was overwhelming but it never crossed my mind as a feeling to deter me. While those stories can wait for another day, the lessons learned through previous seasons have imbued me with a strong sense of ambition, even audacity, to ply my way through such uncharted waters in Hong Kong.

It’s not a return to Hong Kong if you can’t distinguish the Ngong Ping Cable Car towers through the warm haze.

With general dealer visits as soon as I touched down on Tuesday afternoon, the Phillips previews beckoned for me on my first full day. Bleary-eyed, I dragged myself to their imposing West Kowloon building to have a look at their lots. If attending an auction in person, I tend to leave first impressions as my selling point, so looking at catalogues beforehand is a big no-no; I want to see what will catch my eye in person, as you never know what you may have missed by flipping through the pages. I pursued the traditional Hong Kong pastime of getting horrifically lost in the maze of Kowloon’s MTR station, eventually emerging via the help of the kind concierge at the base of IFC into the West Kowloon Cultural District. While it was mostly in construction during my time living in Hong Kong, I never fully got over how massive of an endeavour it is for the city. Wide spaces, tall windowless concrete channeling people towards the views over Victoria Harbour, all planned to a tee… It felt like the most blatant exercise of urban planning that I’d witnessed in a while. Eventually, I find myself at the base of their headquarters, aptly designed by Herzog & de Meuron. The house’s art gallery spans the ground floor, drawing in curious gazes from passers-by, while I take a step through their front doors and up the escalator to their preview room.

The ever-imposing monolith that are the Phillips Asia offices.

My Phillips experience was incredibly pleasant over the previews and auctions themselves, with incredibly kind specialists who were more than willing to impart their knowledge on me. Obviously, we know why they do it, but doing it with the correct amount of tact and professional encouragement can be a very fine line. Over my time as a collector, one becomes attuned to reading between the lines of both auction houses and dealers as you come to understand that they must move their selection for the sake of business, which can be tricky to build a sense of a welcoming community. Regardless of the fact, their selection was thoroughly impressive. With personal highlights ranging from a Patek ref. 2597 in pink gold in astonishing condition (Lot 993) to a monstrous 51 millimetre Richard Mille RM25-01 CA (Lot 990) – I believe the compartment for a water filtration capsule is absolutely necessary – or a bevy of pocket watches from various eras, their 10th anniversary sale had all the hallmarks of a Phillips auction: incredible rarity, strong condition, and a real sense of excitement in the air. Their landmark 10th anniversary for Hong Kong auctions allowed for a monstrously large catalogue of more than 300 lots, with many of them sourced from single-owner collections. After joking with the specialists from their Shanghai office that I’d be invoicing them directly for my unreasonably overweight bag, I got stuck into the ever-exciting event of examination.

Phillips’ ability to use natural light for daytime viewings is a fantastic change from the spotlighted spaces of Geneva.

Let’s work through some trays, shall we?

Now, what was I looking at for myself? Well, as an intentionally picky collector – much to the chagrin of the specialists – there was very little that truly compelled me. The two standouts which got me on the verge of raising my paddle were two repeater complications: a Cartier minute repeater pocket watch from circa 1930 (Lot 1039), and a Jules Audemars with a carillon minute repeater from 1998 (Lot 1119). Clearly, there’s something to unpack with my absolute adoration for a minute repeater, an experience which few consider and even fewer get the chance to experience. 

The European Watch Company movement ticking within the Cartier provides a “clear and elegant chime”, as per the catalogue’s words, which after chiming at multiple times I can concur with the specific wording: feeling the strikes from the hammers through its case into your hands is a deeply marking experience, substantiated by close friends of mine who tagged along with me. With both of them being novices in the space, their innate reaction to its function spoke in volumes to me compared to more seasoned collectors, whose experience hones in on the specific sound and consistency of the repeater. Putting aside my collector hat and switching it out for my enthusiast’s one, it’s just incredibly cool that someone made that 95 years ago, that it still works, and that it can invoke that same sense of “holy shit it actually does that?” nearly a century later.

What an elegant way to house an EWC movement…

On the other hand – for lack of a better pun –  The Jules Audemars takes the function to a whole new level, with the addition of a third hammer and subsequently squeezed into a case with 30 millimetres less of diameter. Having it on-wrist and getting the opportunity to handle it over the course of multiple days was really special, its platinum case and 33-jewel movement feeling surprisingly weighty for a watch of its size. It’s an incredibly discreet watch, which makes it all the more compelling, and wore incredibly well on my wrist, but most importantly for me is that it is one of the last compelling Audemars Piguet’s made in this day and age. Bearing very little in resemblance to current design identity, it struck me as a piece which sought to be beautiful in its presentation rather than simply choosing to impress through technical prowess. 

With my current principles for what I’m seeking to build, neither of them could truly find a place, yet I consider myself incredibly humbled and lucky to have handled them in case my mind and opportunities later down the line change in their favour. My experience in handling them has satiated my taste for minute repeaters, and I will always seek to hunt down one which fits my collecting guidelines. For now, my fixation remains on dial design through the medium of two/three-handed pocket watches from the turn of the century until the 1940’s, and best believe there’s no rush on that end either!

Dainty yet exuding presence, even on my wrist.

For something different out of their New York sale in December, a Gilbert Albert-designed Patek Philippe! Considering the price which the one fetched on Loupe This, and this bracelet remains particularly long, I remain curious to see what it’ll fetch…

Now, onto the more entertaining aspect: the auctions themselves! While I hadn’t attended the physical auctions in New York or Geneva for Phillips specifically, I had a good idea of how they tend to look and feel like. The rooms are always well under capacity unless something truly special to the wider horological space is going under hammer, and seeing the two elevated lines of telephone bidders was quite a sight. It was a veritable “who’s who” of their global offices, with Aurel presiding over the main session that I attended. The excitement of impassioned bidding is a sight to behold, watching telephones and people bid in the room in increments of life-changing sums of money makes you realise how easily you can get swept up in it all. Located on their ground floor, you walk through from the entrance surrounded by their substantial art collection. Previews for later auctions – in this case a Yayoi Kusama-themed one – dominated the path up to the bidding room, and as I turn left it feels considerably different than previous experiences. Comparing it to Antiquorum in Geneva, this tailor-made space felt grander despite its lack of ornate details. Far sparser in decoration, your eyes can only focus on the screens, displaying the lots with varying currencies beside them, along with the rostrum. There’s a certain aesthetic uniformity which has become clear to me, this sterile slate being equally present in their New York offices – it is in 432 Park Ave. after all!

While I may not know the Asian collectors well by face or name, the Italian ones were there in force. Bernardini, Zenga, Caso, di Simone,… all names we know from the big publications and news surrounding landmark sales, gathered around towards the back of the room. Their presence occupied far more than their table, with furtive glances cast their way by people such as myself. You don’t often get the chance to watch Mr. Paramico dart out for a coffee while bidding is ongoing, shuffling his way through an unknowing crowd back to his seat. There’s also the fun of recognising people in the room, mostly former Phillips specialists who moved onto working with prominent dealers in Hong Kong, so quickly scurrying out behind the crowd for a handshake and brief catch-up became the norm very quickly. Definitely a position which is not acquired by everyone, but one I definitely forged through previous auction seasons elsewhere. 

The main man himself, fixated upon his telephone bidders.

As most publications have probably reported by now and on the general state of the market, results have been very strong across the board. It’s a market which favours both sellers and buyers, as quality and quantity have emerged into a more discerning and active buyer pool. I don’t think anyone who bids at Phillips is there to find a bargain, but occasionally some things do fly under the radar; I’d argue the Cartier minute repeater represented a fantastic proposition, with an all-in price of 279,400 HKD. My friends have struggled to win bids throughout Monaco, Geneva, and now here in Hong Kong in the hopes of retailing their auction finds. Watches seem to be going into good long-term homes, as such strong and public prices make for them to be favourable long-term holds in distinguished collections. I would’ve mirrored this same mentality if there was anything which fit my tastes, but overall I remain happy for all involved parties that there’s such strong sentiments in an otherwise turbulent climate. The fact that they are able to conduct such a large sale and incur zero passed lots was tremendous, and over pleasantries at The Armoury I congratulated both Aurel Bacs and Alex Ghotbi on this. Ever-charismatic and polite, they thanked me for my kind words as we went our separate ways, yet the interaction left me marked as having the opportunity to speak with them, however briefly, outside of their usual environment makes for a different impression of Phillips altogether.

A final wrist shot from the previews: one of their specialists modelling a wonderful Patek ref. 1526, a reference which has grown on me very much since handling theirs, along with Paul Engel’s phenomenal deep dive on Hodinkee.

It dawns on me as eyebrows furrow, bidders drop out, and glances dart across the room from rivals, that this space lives an entire world apart from the one mere metres outside, on a calm and sunny Sunday afternoon. Living in the knowledge that domestic helpers are congregating on their sole day off of the week, families are preoccupied by their children flying kites and graduation pictures for HKUST students are being taken, I get to witness the pinnacle of my passion in full swing before my very eyes. Hong Kong will always have a special place in my heart for memories far beyond the world of watches, but this trip adds yet another beautiful facet to my own personal story with the “Fragrant Harbour”. Forging a sense of shared passion, whether it’s imagined in my own head or not, has been the highlight of the experience with Phillips, as the specialists were eager to show their personal favourites alongside the ones I sought for myself. My mild trepidation was wiped away quickly by their hospitality, a word which doesn’t often appear alongside Hong Kong and the auction world, however events during my time in Hong Kong have highlighted how “community” in this city will always rally behind a shared cause.

A quick 5 minutes to examine what’s on other wrists in the room leads to moments such as this!

I think it’s well worth having a more tender reflection on how these few days have marked me. Perhaps I differ from the usual crowd of journalists and dealers, who see Hong Kong as a brief 48 or 72 hour work trip which is packed with appointments, business always coming first before they board their evening flights back out to Europe or North America. Hong Kong was, and perhaps, still is the home of my passion and of a very important part of my life. It’s the city where I tried on my first “proper” watch, a small white gold Cartier Baignoire, and returning a couple of years later as a seasoned collector and auction attendee has made me realise how far I’ve come in my journey. Collecting is a privilege, but collecting with intent and focus remains a duty towards myself and the wider community. Seeing the nodding looks of approval or gazes of curiosity at what I wore to their previews and event was very humbling, but it only adds fuel to a fire which I intend to nurture over the coming decades. It can be deduced that I may not be as susceptible to the temptations of an auction space at a personal level, as what I seek simply doesn’t emerge through this lane, yet it serves as a space to congregate with fellow collectors, and to share with curious onlookers from my personal life. It also is an ideal space to gather knowledge, to try on watches you’d never consider purely from an online background, and to let my intentions be known in my collecting path.

Do I plan on attending next year’s season? Well, the sale itself is unlikely to match the grandeur of this one, so a smaller lot pool is to be anticipated, but I still believe the community matters more at the end of the day. I made some good friends and got to reinforce stronger connections with prior acquaintances, so that in itself is well worth nurturing. I plan to spend a little less time around the auction world on this subsequent trip, while also making sure to bring more friends along for the previews. The greatest joy I experienced out of my time around Phillips was watching friends taking notes while I explained the differences between print and enamel signatures, information which I’m sure will come of no substantial relevance in their day-to-day, but understanding that their intrigue came from my unbridled passion for the craft itself meant a lot to me in the moment. Any passion can be infectious if presented appropriately and without ego, so seeing the result of it firsthand was very touching. While I realise this is a very long introduction to you, dear reader, filled with personal thoughts as an anonymous contributor, I found myself writing this article with real intent; I wanted to share something a little different, with more focus on feeling rather than fact, as I wish to preserve the emotions element which draws everyone to their respective passions. I could’ve written thousands of words on a completely different interest of mine, yet writing on watches for the first time has brought me great joy. I hope to contribute again if my writing is well-accepted, but regardless I thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts on the Phillips experience. 

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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.

German style – the Leica ZM1

Other countries have their own style capitals, such as London, Paris, or Milan. In Berlin’s capital city restaurants, on the other hand, Wiener schnitzel is served, couture has long since disappeared, and although Germany still produces many cars, they no longer look german, but have to appeal to other markets. 

German style is not visible. But it exists. You just have to look for it elsewhere, not in the metropoles. A secret centre of German style is Wetzlar, about an hour’s drive from Frankfurt. That’s where Leica is based. The company invented the modern camera over 100 years ago, but above all, it still has a unique position among photographers all over the world. Not only because it can be used to take excellent photos. Perhaps more importantly, a Leica is special, and you can feel it: it is the click of the shutter; it is the tactility of the magnesium body. 

German style does not originate in a design studio with a brushstroke, but rather in the developer’s engagement with his subject. It is not the form that is beautiful, but the holistic concept. And then the beauty of the form becomes apparent when you use it. German style cannot be seen, but it can be felt intuitively.

Leica cameras have become famous for this. And now watches are following suit. This is logical when you think about German style. Both genres, cameras and watches, are part of the same family because both actually depict time. Every photo shows a moment in time, just like the secondhand passing over an index. Behind these representations of time are highly precise, complicated mechanisms consisting of wheels and gears, springs and bridges in a compact space. 

The watch was designed by Prof. Achim Heine, an experienced designer at Leica, as an evolutionary product derived from cameras. Instead of a normal crown, the“Zeitmesser 1” has a kind of shutter release, highlighted in Leica red, of course. A satisfying click of a button orchestrates the inside of the watch in a fraction of a second: it stops the movement, immediately resets the second hand to zero, and marks this with a red dot in the status display. Pressing the button again instantly starts the watch and causes the status display to jump to white.

When pressing the button, the owner feels his intervention in time, the precision of all parts. This also applies to the date, which is set using a separate button with equally high tactile quality. The concept is based on many years of development and patents. Reinhard Meis, former chief developer at Lange & Söhne, and AHCI member Andreas Strehler were involved in its creation.

The other components are also derived from cameras: the solid dial is grained like a camera body, the power Reserve indicator resembles a camera shutter, and the sapphire crystal is strongly domed like a camera lens. The ergonomic profile of the case fits comfortably on the wrist, mirroring the shape of a camera that fits ergonomically in the hand. The finish of the movement relies on the same refinements that have proven themselves in cameras for decades.

The parts of the movement are manufactured and assembled, along with the case and dial, by a hidden champion in theBlack Forest, about an hour and a half’s drive from Stuttgart, at Lehmann Präzision GmbH. The name says ist all. Everything, absolutely everything except the watch glass and the leather strap is made in Germany. With so much consistency, the only surprise in the end is the price. The ZM1 costs around 10,000 euros. That is extremely fair for the concept and craftsmanship—and for the exclusivity: only 300 to 600 watches are produced annually for customers who have discovered German style yet.

Because you can see German style after all — once you grasp it. Look for the red dot. And then press it.