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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The JB200 Marégraphe II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Laco and the Origins of the Pilot’s Watch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Handwound 39mm Laco Pilot Watch ORIGINAL KEMPTEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

Final Thoughts:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A while ago, I wrote about Sero’s Signature collection from the perspective most of us, watch journalists, experience new watches nowadays: press photos, specs, renderings, conversations, and instinct. It was one of those releases that immediately felt different. Not louder. Just…aware. A watch clearly shaped by people who spend too much time obsessing over old Calatravas, obscure pocket watches, case profiles, handset shapes, and the tiny details most brands stopped caring about years ago.

Now I’ve actually been wearing the blue Signature. And the dangerous thing about this watch is that the more time you spend with it, the harder it becomes to wear anything else.

Not because it’s trying to dominate your wrist. Quite the opposite. The Signature quietly worms its way into your routine until suddenly you realize it’s been four straight days and you still haven’t felt like switching watches.

That almost always comes down to proportions. On paper, the dimensions are excellent: 37.5mm wide, around 46.5mm lug-to-lug, and under 10mm thick including the crystal. But numbers don’t explain why this thing feels so right once it’s actually strapped on. The watch has presence without ever feeling oversized, and elegance without becoming fragile or overly formal. That balance is unbelievably difficult to get right.

A lot of brands think making a dress watch smaller automatically makes it refined. Sero understood something better: refinement comes from shape, spacing, and restraint.

The case has this beautiful softness to it. The slightly domed sapphire crystal smooths out the profile, the polished and brushed surfaces break up the light perfectly, and the thin mid-case keeps everything compact against the wrist. Nothing feels forced. No exaggerated vintage cues. No attempt to cosplay as a 1950s watch. It simply carries itself the way great dress watches do.

Naturally, the dial is where things become genuinely impressive.

The blue tone Sero chose is exceptional because it avoids the trap almost every modern blue dial falls into. It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t try to look electric or sporty. Instead, it behaves more like dyed metal than paint. Under daylight, the vertically brushed texture comes alive with this cool metallic shimmer, but indoors it deepens dramatically, becoming darker, richer, and more serious.

There’s a calmness to it, and then your eyes land on the numerals.

This is the detail that completely sold me on the watch in person: The deeply engraved Breguet numerals have an absurd amount of character. Not printed. Not stamped-looking. Actually engraved with enough depth to create real shadow and contrast across the dial. You notice it immediately when light moves across the surface. Certain numerals disappear slightly into darkness while others catch the light, giving the entire dial a constantly shifting personality.

Photos genuinely don’t capture how dimensional this thing looks. The engraved minute track adds even more texture without overcrowding the dial, which is impressive because this could have very easily turned into visual overload. Instead, everything feels measured. The spacing is perfect. Nothing competes with anything else.

And the hands…honestly, the hands are ridiculous. Sero calls them sculpted spade hands, but what matters is how alive they feel. The thermal bluing gives them incredible color variation throughout the day, shifting from almost black to vivid cobalt depending on the angle. More importantly, they have actual shape to them. The concave and convex surfaces completely change the way light interacts with the handset, which gives the watch a level of visual richness you normally expect from brands operating at a much higher price point.

This is the kind of watch where you’ll check the time and then stare at it for another five seconds afterward.

What surprised me most is how emotionally warm the Signature feels despite being so clean and restrained. Some dress watches can become cold objects. They’re beautiful, but distant. The Sero avoids that entirely. There’s something deeply human about it. You can tell collectors designed this watch because it focuses on the things enthusiasts irrationally fall in love with: the curvature of the crystal, the exact tone of the blued hands, the depth of the numerals, the way the lugs sit, the tension between brushed and polished finishing.

Inside sits the manually wound Sellita SW210-1b Elaboré, which feels like exactly the correct movement for this watch. Not because it’s exotic or flashy, but because hand-winding suits the personality of the Signature perfectly. A watch like this should ask for interaction. The daily winding ritual becomes part of the experience, and the SW210 delivers that satisfying mechanical resistance that makes you actually want to engage with it every morning.

Through the sapphire caseback, the movement gets tasteful finishing including Geneva stripes, blued screws, and snailed wheels, with production models receiving gilt engravings as well. Again, Sero showed restraint here. They didn’t attempt to oversell the movement or pretend it’s something it isn’t. Instead, they refined it enough to match the rest of the watch aesthetically.

That honesty matters. The leather strap deserves credit too. The slightly padded construction near the lugs gives the watch a fuller vintage silhouette on wrist, and combined with the improved buckle curvature planned for production, the whole wearing experience feels surprisingly mature for a debut release.

That’s really what keeps circling in my head with the Signature.

This doesn’t feel like a “good first attempt”, It feels like a watch designed by people who already knew exactly what they wanted before they ever started the company.

At its current €999 preorder price, the Signature occupies a strange space where it almost feels underpriced relative to the amount of care poured into it. Not because it’s trying to compete with haute horlogerie, but because so few modern watches at this level feel this coherent.

Every part of it speaks the same language. And after wearing it consistently, I think that’s the real reason I keep reaching for it.

The Sero Signature doesn’t rely on gimmicks, nostalgia bait, or hype. It succeeds because it understands something many modern watches don’t: Subtle watches become unforgettable when the details are right.

There’s something really cool about seeing a small independent brand slowly figure itself out in real time. That’s probably why following Anders & Co over the past year has been genuinely interesting for me personally. Alex, the founder, and I have had countless conversations about watches, collectors, design language, and where the brand should head next. And honestly, one topic kept coming back every single time: mechanical watches.

Because no matter how good a quartz watch is, enthusiasts still look at a mechanical release differently. It adds credibility. It shows intent. It tells collectors the brand actually wants to play in this space seriously.

The AC2 Volcán Manual Wind is exactly that moment for Anders & Co. And I honestly think it’s the release the brand needed.

This week marks 1 year of Time-Telling’s relationship with Anders & Co. So let’s make this special.

I already liked the AC2 before this version came out. The proportions were right, the case had personality, and unlike a lot of microbrands trying too hard to look “luxury,” the AC2 always felt pretty restrained and confident in itself. Nothing about it felt forced. But moving the platform into a mechanical direction completely changes how people see the watch.

The good news is they did it properly. Honestly.

The biggest surprise for me when handling the watches was how thin and sleek they still feel on the wrist. That’s usually where brands mess up when they convert a quartz watch into a mechanical one. Suddenly the case becomes chunky, the proportions get weird, and the elegance disappears. For example, the crown becomes huge all of a sudden, and they justify it with “ease of grip”. None of that bs happened here.

At 6.65mm thick with an open caseback, the AC2 still feels sleek and balanced on the wrist, which is seriously impressive considering they’re using the ETA 7001 manual wind movement.

And honestly, the ETA 7001 was the right call.

There are brands that throw in a mechanical movement just to say they did it. This doesn’t feel like that. The 7001 actually fits the watch. It’s thin, reliable, classic, and has the kind of history enthusiasts respect. More importantly, it keeps the proportions intact, which was essential for the AC2 platform.

And the experience of winding the watch genuinely adds something. It sounds simple, but it changes your relationship with the piece. The AC2 suddenly feels more alive. You interact with it differently. It becomes more personal than just grabbing a quartz watch and throwing it on. Which I don’t mind! It feels great to know your watch is 10000% accurate.

The three dials also each bring a completely different vibe.

The grey dial is probably the most versatile one in the lineup and maybe my personal favorite overall. It has enough texture and depth to keep things interesting. Depending on lighting, it can feel sporty, industrial, or surprisingly dressy. That’s hard to pull off. A lot of textured dials today look overdesigned.

The white crackled dial is probably the most unique of the three. It has this slightly vintage feel that works really well with the polished Breguet numerals and dauphine hands. The texture gives the dial personality without making it look busy. And that’s important because the watch still feels clean and wearable every day. Doesn’t disturb legibility either.

Then there’s the salmon dial, which I think will probably end up being the fan favorite. Salmon dials are everywhere right now, but most brands either go too pink or too copper. Anders & Co actually found a really tasteful middle ground here. The metallic enamel finish catches light beautifully without becoming flashy or trendy looking. It feels mature. Great for every skin tone as I mentioned on my instagram reel.

One detail I really appreciated across all three watches is the small seconds display at six o’clock. It completely changes the personality of the AC2. The original quartz version looked clean and minimal, but the small seconds complication instantly gives the watch more mechanical character. Watching that subdial move is a constant reminder that this is now a proper hand-wound watch.

The finishing also deserves credit because this is usually where smaller brands expose themselves a little. But the AC2 feels well thought out. The brushing and polishing transitions are clean, the case sides have a nice presence, and overall the watch feels more expensive than you’d expect at this price point.

What I also respect is that Anders & Co didn’t suddenly try to become a completely different brand just because they went mechanical. The DNA is still there. The watches still feel restrained and Scandinavian in the way they approach design. The movement just elevates the whole thing.

And honestly, that’s why I think this release matters: The AC2 Volcán Manual Wind gives Anders & Co another level of legitimacy with enthusiasts and collectors. It feels like the brand crossed an important line here.

And after all the conversations Alex and I have had about the direction of the company, I genuinely think there’s still a lot more potential ahead. I’d love to see this same approach applied to other models like the AC1 because that case design absolutely deserves a mechanical version too.

I’d also love seeing the brand experiment with more interesting movement choices down the line. Not because the ETA 7001 isn’t good, because it absolutely is, but because Anders & Co clearly has the design maturity now to support something even more ambitious in the future.

That’s the exciting part.

The design language already feels established. The proportions are there. The identity is there.

Now the mechanical credibility finally is too.

If you’re trying to mindfully navigate through the sh**strom that’s surrounding the watch world these days regarding the Swatch X AP Royal Pop collaboration, then you, dear reader, have reached an intellectually neutral destination.

Because I’m not here to tell you whether to camp outside of your local Swatch store or not, or whether AP is “falling out”, or show you more AI slop designs… 

But you already knew that before clicking on one of the Time-Telling Magazine articles. 

This article puts things in perspective for you. Because Audemars Piguet and the Swatch Group are not complete strangers. It is true that this previous “relationship” wasn’t commercialized, but it is nevertheless something crucial to keep in mind, if you’re someone interested in horology and not the noise of the 2000 watch influences you follow on Instagram.

So, before people started debating whether a Royal Oak-inspired plastic watch is “good for the culture”, it’s worth remembering that AP and Swatch Group had already collaborated on something infinitely more important than a hype release.

The hairspring. Tiny component. Massive significance. And unless you’re the type of person who spends evenings reading technical patents instead of Reddit arguments, you probably never heard about it.

Back in the early 2000s, the Swiss watch industry quietly entered what was essentially a technological cold war. Not against smartwatches, not against fashion brands, but against magnetism itself.

Mechanical watches were suddenly living in a completely different world than the one they were designed for. Phones, laptops, tablets, speakers, airport scanners, magnetic handbag clasps, induction chargers… modern life had become a minefield for traditional movements.

And the problem was serious because a magnetized hairspring can completely destroy the accuracy of a watch. The coils begin sticking together, the oscillation changes, and suddenly your meticulously adjusted luxury timepiece starts running like it just drank three espressos and developed anxiety.

This is where the story becomes interesting, because the hairspring is not just another watch component. It is the regulating organ of the movement. The literal heartbeat of a mechanical watch. And historically, one company controlled that beat more than anyone else: Nivarox-FAR, owned by Swatch Group.

For decades, even brands competing directly against Swatch Group depended on Swatch infrastructure to manufacture accurate mechanical watches. Which created a strange dynamic within the Swiss industry. Publicly, brands sold independence, exclusivity, identity. Behind the scenes, many of them were sourcing critical components from the same industrial ecosystem.

And during the 2000s, tensions surrounding that dependence started growing.

Nicolas Hayek had already made it clear that Swatch Group wanted to progressively reduce external supply to competing brands. Suddenly, the entire industry realized something uncomfortable: if Swatch controlled the hairsprings, then Swatch indirectly controlled Swiss mechanical watchmaking itself.

That fear triggered one of the most important unseen technological races in modern horology. Rolex developed Parachrom. Patek Philippe pushed Spiromax silicon technology. Omega went all-in on anti-magnetic engineering. And then, in 2018, Swatch Group and Audemars Piguet officially announced the development of Nivachron.

Yes. Audemars Piguet. The fiercely independent Le Brassus manufacture that collectors love to portray as existing on its own secluded mountain above the rest of the industry had quietly collaborated with the largest watch conglomerate on earth.

And the funny part is that almost nobody noticed. Probably because there wasn’t a queue outside a boutique for it.

Nivachron was different from silicon solutions because it preserved a metallic architecture while dramatically improving resistance to magnetism, shocks, and temperature variations. In simple terms, it modernized the traditional hairspring without abandoning traditional watchmaking altogether.

That matters more than it sounds. Because silicon, despite being technically brilliant, has always created philosophical debates in high horology. It’s difficult to reshape, difficult to regulate traditionally, and for some purists, simply feels too industrial. Nivachron became a middle ground. Advanced enough for the realities of modern life, but still mechanically familiar.

And here’s the part that makes this entire story fascinating. Audemars Piguet did not collaborate on a limited-edition hype product. They collaborated on infrastructure.On metallurgy. On chronometry. On the survival of the mechanical watch in the digital age.

The same technology partially developed alongside one of the most prestigious names in haute horlogerie would later end up inside watches from Tissot, Hamilton, Longines, Mido, and even Swatch itself. Which completely breaks the fantasy most people have about the Swiss watch industry.

Because watchmaking has never been as isolated as marketing wants you to believe. The brands compete, absolutely. Ruthlessly, sometimes. But they also coexist within an interconnected industrial network where suppliers, research laboratories, movement manufacturers, and technical patents constantly overlap behind the curtain.

Nivachron simply exposed that reality publicly. So whether the Royal Pop collaboration excites you, horrifies you, or simply exhausts you, remember this:

AP and Swatch Group already worked together long before colorful bioceramic cases entered the conversation. They just did it somewhere infinitely less visible. Inside the heartbeat of the watch itself.

And this is SO cool to me and my fellow watch nerds. I made an instagram reel an hour ago and the response is just amazing. People really didn’t know about this. Even big journalists and creators. And that tells you something.

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

Watch collecting is just another way of justifying the overconsumption culture that capitalism feeds on. 

I know, huge statement. Especially in an article about buying watches.

This article is me, your friendly neighborhood watch connoisseur, recommending a few watches I would spend my hard earned money on. Nothing crazy, nothing niche or experimental or weird. But definitely cool and useful. Because you should never forget that watches are tools. Tools that serve a purpose in a certain context. 

Disclaimer: “Without breaking the bank” doesn’t mean cheap. It means taking your time to pick a watch that works for you and your lifestyle, and that you’ll be wearing for a couple of years and build an emotional bond with.

Anyway, here are the 7 chosen watches (tap on their names to discover each one):

1. Unimatic UC1

Unimatic is what happens when industrial design nerds start making watches instead of furniture. The UC1 is pure Italian tactical minimalism. Big lume plots, matte surfaces, chunky proportions, zero unnecessary decoration. It looks like military equipment somebody accidentally turned into a collectible. And somehow, despite the brutalist look, it’s still pretty elegant.

This is also one of those watches that reminds you why tool watches became cool in the first place. Automatic movement, 300m water resistance, clean legibility, no fake vintage gimmicks. Online, people constantly compare Unimatic to old military instruments, which honestly feels accurate. It has that cold functional beauty a James Bond fanatic like myself is a sucker for.

Price: €640.

2. Nomos Club Sport Neomatik Worldtimer Ref. 792

I already said during Watches & Wonders 2026 that this watch would probably end up in my collection soon. Still true. Nomos somehow managed to make a worldtimer that does not feel like it belongs to a finance bro explaining airport lounge access. At 40mm wide and only 9.9mm thick, this thing is absurdly wearable for a worldtime complication.  

The best part is the dial layout. Technical without becoming messy. A lot of collectors online compared it to aircraft gauges and vintage dashboard instruments, and I completely get it.   The DUW 3202 movement is also genuinely impressive for the price point, especially considering most brands would make a watch like this twice as thick and twice as expensive. This feels like a real daily watch for people who actually move around. 

Price: €4,260 retail.

3. Charlie Paris Initial Coeur Ouvert Vert

I had this watch on my wrist for more than a week and it completely surprised me. This is the perfect spring and summer watch. The green dial absolutely wakes up under sunlight and the open worked section slowly grows on you the more you wear it. Usually open heart watches try way too hard. This one feels balanced and relaxed.

Charlie Paris also understands something a lot of brands forget: not every watch needs to scream “luxury.” This thing is approachable, comfortable, easy to style, and honestly just enjoyable to wear. Linen shirt, sunglasses, coffee outside somewhere warm. That is the vibe. It feels very French in the best possible way.

Price: €485.

4. Minim MN01 CNY LE 

Minim is for people who are slightly tired of safe watches. Not weird for the sake of being weird, just creative enough to feel refreshing. The MN01 limited edition has a really strong visual identity without sacrificing wearability. Sharp case architecture, interesting dial execution, modern proportions. You can tell actual design people worked on this.

I’m also paying extra attention to Minim recently because I’m working on something pretty exciting with the brand. And honestly, I like seeing smaller independents take risks while bigger brands keep recycling the same three sports watch designs over and over again. This is the type of piece that gets noticed by actual watch enthusiasts instead of people just recognizing a logo.

Price:  €1,200–€1,400

5. Anders & Co AC2 VOLCAN Manual Wind

The manual wind AC2 VOLCAN collection is probably what Anders & Co needed the most. It gives the brand more credibility. Manual winding changes the whole experience of wearing a watch. You interact with it. You slow down for five seconds every morning instead of treating it like another object you throw on before leaving the house.

The open caseback also helps a lot. Being able to actually see the movement makes the watch feel more honest somehow. Design wise, Anders & Co continues mixing vintage inspiration with modern execution without becoming cosplay or homage coded. That balance is harder to achieve than people think. I’ll go deeper into this collection in another article because there is way more to unpack here.

Price: €1780.

6. Jacques Bianchi JB200 Poulpro

This might genuinely be my favorite modern dive watch brand right now. The founder is a friend and I’m excited to spend more time with the watches soon, but even without that connection, the JB200 Poulpro would still be my pick from the catalog. I got the chance to handle it at Chronopolis Watch Fair in Geneva and It has real old school Mediterranean dive tool energy. Rough around the edges in the best way.

Most modern dive watches feel overly polished and sterile now. This one still has soul. The asymmetrical case, oversized hands, our octopus friend ofc, and overall design language feel rooted in actual diving history instead of “luxury ocean lifestyle” marketing campaigns. It also somehow works ridiculously well as an everyday watch, which honestly matters more than most collectors admit.

Price: Around €1,162.

7. Arsène Lippens Artigiano Collection

I saw the Artigiano collection during Chronopolis at Geneva Watch Days and the dials immediately stole the show for me. I was ready to skip the rest tbh. These watches impress emotionally because it plays with textures and colors that have a ridiculous amount of depth in person, and the way light hits the dials makes them constantly change character.

What I like most is that the watches still feel elegant despite all the visual work happening on the dial. A lot of brands overdo texture and end up making something exhausting to wear. Arsène Lippens keeps things controlled. This feels like the kind of smaller independent brand collectors will suddenly pretend they always knew about in two years. Because they always do…

Price:  €1,109.

If you end up getting any of these watches, please email me or DM me on instagram (@walid.benla) your experience and first impressions!