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!

I sat down to write this article at the Madrid airport, on my way to Geneva for Watches & Wonders 2026. It was late, I was talking to the Time-Telling team about the new releases, and meditating on what this year actually meant for the watch world. 

I tend to do that a lot, because I believe that no matter how unattractive or boring a year might be — and 2026 was — it still had to mean something for the overall context of the industry. 

My meditations took me to one conclusion: Brands are going back to 34mm!! 

Hold on now, let me lay down some context. 

The general consensus of the watch world in the last few years — let’s say up until 2022 — was that 38-39mm was the small-to-medium size, safe for enthusiasts.

However, and you’ll notice while reading this article, that 38mm and 39mm are starting to seem like some big numbers. You might even cringe, like a Catier-Tank-Wearing artist might do at the thought of a 45mm Panerai. 

And THAT is today’s article in a nutshell. 

It sure didn’t happen on a whim. No no no… it was gradual and very clear. 

We had that Tony Soprano 36mm Rolex Presidential Day-Date trend, then the Patek Philippe Ellipse, and the Cartier Tank craze, and and and… 

Side note before we consider continuing this article: This has nothing to do with genders, and which watches are manly and which are feminine or whatever. I don’t care.

This year on Watches & Wonders (2026), big brands felt like they had to listen to their clients. The clients that kept slipping through their fingers because they didn’t have watches to fit under their cuffs and provide a certain comfort. 

And since we’re gradually descending to 34mm, I’d like to point out Bulgari’s amazing attempt at reducing the size of their Octofinissimo to 37mm. 

God, I loved that. Wanna know why? Because people tend to forget that to reduce a watch’s dimensions, the brand has to CHANGE THE ENTIRE MOVEMENT. But more on that in an upcoming article.

34mm is Becoming The New Universal Sweet Spot.

At Watches & Wonders 2026, Rolex, Patek, and Moser introduced 34mm watches.

And if these 3 big and respected brands see it, we’d better do so too.

Rolex gave us the Oyster Perpetual Ref. 124205, in Everose gold, Store dial, and all of it in a 34mm case. And what’s funny about it all, is that I wore to W&W (and am currently wearing) a 34mm two-tone Tudor Prince Oysterdate. This watch is from 1971. And we know how much today’s pop culture is yearning for a 70’s reboot.

This 2026 34mm Oyster Perpetual seems intentional, not new and not homage, and my favorite, not gendered. It seems like Rolex is planting a flag.

Another brand that I spent a lot of time praising on my GQ contribution and on my social media, H. Moser & Cie.

They released their 34mm Streamliner this year — with an amazing dial might I say — which I interpreted as a clear and direct attack on the oversized and heavy sports watch market.

On my wrist (tiny as it may be), it belonged. 

Patek Philippe’s 34mm release was much more subtle. The Ellipse D’or is known to be small, slim, elegant, under the radar… but they reinforced that sub 36mm sizing with a large 34.5 x 39.5mm large-size model and a 31.1 x 35.6mm mid-size model.

As in “we’ve been here for a while, you guys are now catching up”

What does this mean for the industry?

Watches are going smaller. It’s not a trend. It’s just practical. And let me tell you why.

During our press appointment at H. Moser’s booth, I asked the gentleman who was presenting and explaining the novelties about why the brand would go this low (34mm) with their most popular collection. 

He said: it’s practical to wear, people like it, and smaller watches resonate with the Asian market. 

It’s safe to say that Asian collectors are like no others. I can confidently say, based on insider information, that brands are closing branches in Europe, to expand them in Asia. So I guess the only way to profitability for them, is to respect and listen to their true customers. 

But the softer version of this would be, brands are listening, complications fatigue is real, we are de-gendering watches, and the collector maturity curve is reaching all time highs. 

While the title does sound intense, I did in fact find a fake Patek at the Rexhep Rexhepi workshop in Geneva.

My Geneva Watch Week was absolutely special. And it was thanks to moments like these. Opportunities like these. 

Opportunities like meeting and chatting with Mr. Rexhep about his work and his latest flyback chronograph release. Which I posted about here, for those who care about visuals. 

So during our appointment with the Akrivia team, we had a little time to kill. And while my partner was having some specialty tea, I got busy.

I greeted the intern (probably annoyed him too), looked around the work areas of all the watchmakers, saw all sorts of tools I’ve never seen before, spoke to the lovely team in place, checked out the new cases they make; literally the best leather I’ve ever touched.

Let me spare you the fan-girling. Let’s get to the fake “Pateck” story.

You might say to yourself that the name “Pateck” could just be someone’s name that happens to resemble that of the most prestigious watch brand of all time, Patek Philippe. You’d be completely wrong. It was a reference to Patek and an attempt to benefit from the brand’s popularity. 

And tha’ts not me saying so, it was the Swiss courts that had to deal with exactly that argument.

Because what I found sitting quietly inside one of the most respected independent workshops in Geneva, and thanks to watchmaker Mr. Jean-Marc Wiederrecht, wasn’t just a curiosity. It was what remained from a legal battle that forced the industry to define what a name on a dial actually meant.

The story moves from Antwerp to Switzerland almost immediately. In 1885, at the Antwerp Universal Exposition, Adrien Philippe came across watches signed “Pateck & Cie, Genève” inside the stand of Armand Schwob & Frère. Not a small operator, but a well-established trading house with international reach.

The suspicion didn’t come from the watches at first. It came from behavior. Schwob’s representatives restricted access to their display, presenting selected pieces rather than allowing free inspection. Once the watches were properly examined, the issue became obvious. Gold cases paired with low-grade movements. Not crude copies, but calculated ones.

This wasn’t an isolated mistake because on April 26, 1886, Patek Philippe formally filed a complaint. The case began in La Chaux-de-Fonds, where Schwob operated, before moving to the Cantonal Court of Neuchâtel.

By November 1890, after a four-day trial, the scale of the operation was clear. At least 678 watches bearing “Pateck” or “Pateck & Cie, Genève” had been produced or sold. The markings were not accidental. They were applied following direct written instructions from Schwob to his suppliers across the Jura.

Patek Philippe was represented by a Neuchâtel lawyer, Mr. Monnier. Schwob assembled a serious defense, including Léon Renaud, a former Paris police prefect, alongside local counsel.

The arguments made in court reflect how undefined branding still was. Schwob did not deny using the name. He argued that “Pateck” was different from “Patek.” That the difference in spelling was enough. That the lower quality of the watches made confusion unlikely. And that the name “Patek” itself should not remain exclusively tied to the company after the death of its founder. Valid ngl…

At the time, those arguments were not as far-fetched as they sound now. Swiss trademark law had only been introduced a few years earlier. The idea that a name could carry enforceable economic value, independent of the product, was still being defined.

On November 18, 1890, the Cantonal Court of Neuchâtel ruled against Schwob. The use of “Pateck” was prohibited. A fine of 15,000 francs was imposed, along with legal costs.

The important part wasn’t the fine. The court established that similarity, when intentional, was sufficient. Exact duplication wasn’t required. It also made clear that a name could be protected through use and reputation, not just formal registration.

Schwob appealed and the case moved to the Swiss Federal Court, which issued its final decision on February 13, 1891. The appeal was rejected. The fine was upheld. Schwob was also required to publish the judgment in multiple newspapers, including international ones selected by Patek Philippe.

That kind of exposure, although harsh, matters.

By 1892, Armand Schwob & Frère was bankrupt.

The watch I came across in Geneva isn’t just a fake. It sits directly within that group of pieces produced under Schwob’s instructions, or at the very least within the same logic. A product designed to sit just close enough to a name that already carried weight.

Finding it at the workshop of Rexhep Rexhepi makes the contrast obvious. One approach builds value through complete control over authorship. The other relies on proximity to an existing reputation.

The industry, at that point, had to decide which one it would formalize.

Cases like this are where that shift begins. Not with design or mechanics, but with the decision to treat the name on the dial as something that could be owned, enforced, and defended.

That’s what the “Pateck” represents. Not just a counterfeit, but a moment before those rules were fully in place. And honestly, I am not mad about it at all. Even Jean-Marc said that the watch was excellently made, and it was worth studying.

Merci Mr. Rexhep & the Akrivia team.

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