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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Check it out here

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Check them out here.

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

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

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

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

Not much more to say if I’m honest.

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

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

Under the (annoyingly) bright spotlights.

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

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

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

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

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

Not perfect, but charming nonetheless.

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

Photo credit: Christie’s Hong Kong

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

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

An unobstructed view of the stage!

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

Until next season!

Em –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s work through some trays, shall we?

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

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

What an elegant way to house an EWC movement…

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

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

Dainty yet exuding presence, even on my wrist.

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

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

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

The main man himself, fixated upon his telephone bidders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

直到下次！

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

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

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

The acquisition by the Damiani Group is a structural event.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Where was Baume & Mercier Before the Sale ?

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

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

Let’s Reminisce About The Good Ol’ Days.

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

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

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

And with that came the icons.

Riviera 1973

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

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

Classima 1960s onward

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

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

Capeland late 1990s

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

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

Hampton 1994

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

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

Clifton 2013 and the Baumatic Era

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

The movement:

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are some projects I cover for Time Telling Magazine because they are interesting, and others because they feel like an ongoing conversation between me and the people behind them, and this one definitely belongs to the second group. Especially because it sits in a place I personally love, a place where Arabic artistic identity meets European watchmaking know-how (le savoir faire), and I always feel like that combination creates something that feels both ancient and modern at the same time. Whenever Abdulaziz and Arnaud work together, it feels like two worlds meeting somewhere in the middle, one driven by emotion and language, the other by precision and craft, and I think that is exactly why I naturally found myself pulled into this new story (again).

So when Abdulaziz told me about this new watch, he started the story very casually, the way he always does. He said his brother in law is the typical tech person who loves devices and numbers, but really hates having anything on his wrist. Nothing at all. Which already makes the idea of building him a watch kind of funny. But before his birthday, Abdulaziz’s sister told him she wanted a watch made specifically for her husband. Not bought, made. Something personal enough that even a person who does not like watches would probably wear it anyway. I immediately understood what she meant because their relationship has this warm and positive energy that you can actually see.

Their family even has a phrase that belongs to them. They always say “أبرك الساعات”, and for anyone who does not speak Arabic, it means something like “the luckiest hours” or “the most blessed moments”. It is the short version of another phrase they say, “أبرك الساعات اللي شفتك فيها”, which means “the most blessed hours are the ones in which I saw you”. It is one of those lines that becomes part of a couple’s identity, very natural, sentimental in an effortless way, and extremely personal. That is why Abdulaziz placed the short version on the dial. It belongs there. It carries their warmth.

Since the phrase needed to look as meaningful as it sounds, he asked Jassim Alnasrallah to write it. If you know Jassim’s style, you already understand why he is the right person. He writes calligraphy like he is building a structure. He chose Thuluth script, which has a formal and elegant tone, and he composed the words in an oval shape that guides your eyes naturally around the dial. Even the tiny details, like the dots and the little hamza and the miniature kaf (look these up), were arranged so that they line up symbolically with the main hours on the watch, meaning three, six, nine and twelve. It’s the type of detail no one notices unless someone points it out, but once you know it, you feel the intention behind it.

Then the whole thing went to Arnaud from L’Artisan Horloger, who now knows exactly what happens each time Abdulaziz brings him a new idea. The first thing he told me was that this was his first experience with something like this, and that it was eye opening, that Abdulaziz always pushes him to new places. 

They are actually developing four different stone dial variations for this calligraphy collection (hence my journalistic involvement), Lapis Lazuli, Meteorite, Tahitian mother of pearl with a blue tone, and white mother of pearl. 

The calligraphy itself is laser cut in a very thin stainless steel, brushed so it has texture, and it is extremely delicate. Arnaud told me it was the most fragile and meticulous part he has ever worked with, especially on the meteorite dial which has an uneven surface that makes everything more difficult.

Inside, they used the Miyota 9015, which beats at four hertz, has hacking seconds, and is accurate and reliable. It is a nice upgrade compared to the usual entry level movements people expect, and it fits the whole spirit of the watch, which is emotional on the outside and practical on the inside.

Before we finished our conversation, Abdulaziz told me to share one last message with my readers, and he insisted on it. The calligraphy watch is now available for order! 

Anyone who wants one can contact Arnaud directly, either on the website or through the brand’s Instagram. It is not a mass piece, it is simply the continuation of the creative relationship I have been lucky enough to witness up close.

And that is honestly what I enjoy most about writing these stories. The watches are beautiful, of course, but it is always the people and the emotions behind them that stay with me the longest.

Some watches arrive with the whole fanfare of a launch, press releases flying around, and a dozen Instagram reels ready to flood your feed. Others? They slip into your life through something far better: friendship. That’s how the Anders & Co AC2 Volcán in Bronze Jade landed on my wrist, before the rest of the world even saw it. The brand’s founder gave me an early look, and from that first moment, I knew this one was going to stick.

The Volcán isn’t loud or over-designed; it’s confident enough not to scream for attention. The bronze case immediately sets the stage. Warm, alive, destined to patinate over time (which is already happening as we speak). But the real show is the dial. Jade, not just “green.” Natural stone that feels rich, layered, and unpredictable. In some light, it’s deep forest; in others, a lighter glow, like it’s breathing under the sapphire. It makes you look twice, and then again, because no two moments on the wrist feel identical. That’s not marketing fluff, that’s the kind of subtle detail collectors dream about.

At 37mm across and just 5.65mm slim, the Volcán wears like it was designed to disappear under your cuff and reappear just when someone asks, “Wait, what are you wearing?” That thinness comes thanks to a Miyota quartz tucked inside. Some purists will sniff at quartz, but in this case, it’s the right call. The movement keeps the watch razor-slim, maintenance-free, and honest. This isn’t a piece pretending to be a tool watch, it’s a refined daily companion, happy to follow you from a coffee shop to a dinner without fuss.

Living with bronze is always a story in itself. Fresh out of the box, it shines warm and crisp. Weeks later, it starts to darken, soften, and carry your life on its surface. Pair that with jade, and the watch feels alive, evolving. It’s the kind of watch you don’t just wear, you grow into it. And that feels very Anders & Co.A family based on continuit, just like I said about the AC1.

Of course, watches like this can’t live in a vacuum; pricing always comes into play. The Bronze Jade Volcán is set at 6,700 SEK (roughly €600 or a bit over $600 depending on where you’re based). In today’s microbrand scene, that puts it in interesting company. Plenty of brands at that price point offer stainless-steel cases with sunburst dials and maybe a Miyota automatic. Few give you a natural stone dial, bronze case, and this level of finishing. Against other microbrand dress-leaning pieces, the Volcán feels different,more personal, more intentional.

And that’s exactly why this watch works. It doesn’t try to be everything to everyone. It just delivers texture, character, and wearability in a package that feels rare at this price point. For us at Time-Telling Magazine, the Volcán Bronze Jade is more than just another microbrand release. It’s a reminder of why we do this: because watches are personal, because friendships shape this hobby, and because sometimes the best pieces don’t just launch, they arrive as secrets shared between friends.

 Creating a memorable and iconic watch brand is not something you achieve in a whim. Such watch brands come to fruition thanks to one thing and one thing only: Being different. 

For those of you who have been following us at Time-Telling magazine, you guys know that each time I write about a new/up-and-coming brand, I make it personal.

Well, because it often is the case. Personal. 

My story with Beda’a was one of complete coincidence. I’ve been quietly following the brand from a distance as I do with each one of those whose names I write down in my “keep an eye on” list. 

Fast forward a couple of months to Geneva Watch Days 2025, the Beda’a Angles Meca Line is resealed to the public. A gem. A hit. A fantastic watch. And as a watch influencer/journalist does, I had to publicly show love to the company.

My initial contact with the brand was with the founder, Mr. Hader Alsuwaidi himself. 

I have, through my humble career in this field, met some of the most successful, interesting and influential leaders in the industry. Yet so few of them are as welcoming and genuine as my new friend Mr. Hader. 

We met in Dubai (where I currently reside and am building some life changing projects) a few days ago and let me tell you, this company has a bright future.

Again, I say this because I have seen how the industry’s leading names work and think, and I’ve been in the kind of rooms where you have to sign an NDA to step a foot inside. 

Beda’a should be— to the Qatari, Arab and overall horological community— a brand to keep and eye on and support with whatever means possible. 

Let’s talk watches now.

Beda’a Eclipse 1 is nominated for the « Challenge » category at the 2025 GPHG. AKA the watch world’s Oscars.

Huge is the word I’d use to describe this nomination. Talk about solidifying a young brand. The Eclipse, as described by the GPHG people is “Capturing the soul of the beautiful natural phenomenon”.

To the academy this watch “uses the concept of “less is more” to present a fresh take on time-telling, a watch that covers most of its dial to emphasize the necessary information to its wearer.”

I’ll let you guys discover the watch more here. But to flex on you, my dear readers, let’s just say that I tried the “Dubai Bling” version, as the watch’s designer Sohaib Maghnam put it.

Look at those Baguettes… 

But who is Sohaib Maghnam?

If you’re new to the Beda’a universe, you need to know this name. He’s not just a designer brought in to “add flavor.” Sohaib, a Palestinian watch designer, is one of those rare creative minds who can blend cultural identity with contemporary watchmaking language. 

That’s what he did with the Eclipse, and that’s exactly what he’s done with the new Angles Meca Line.

Speaking of the Meca Line. Let’s be honest: this is where things got serious for me. And here’s the truth: I haven’t taken it off since the day I got it. 

I’m currently living the busiest times of my professional life. Ever. And in such troubled times, one need a reliable and trusted companion.

I’ve worn my Angles Meca Line on casual coffee runs, in boardrooms, at life changing dinners that ended way too late, and especially during early morning writing sessions like this one. The Meca Line— hand wound (ETA 7001), 37mm x 34mm and 6mm in thickness, doesn’t feel like a piece I rotate into my collection; it feels like my watch. A signature. A partner-in-crime. 

And that’s the magic of Beda’a.

The brand is young, but it already knows what most established houses have forgotten: people don’t wear watches for precision anymore (your phone already won that race). They wear them because of feeling. Story. Identity. And in the case of the Meca Line, the feeling is addictive.

So, let me wrap this up where I began.

Great brands don’t just happen. They’re born from difference, from vision, from a refusal to follow the obvious path. Hader Alsuwaidi planted the seed. Sohaib Maghnam is shaping its design language. And Beda’a, as a whole, is proving that Arab watchmaking has a seat at the big table.

As for me, and for us at Time-Telling Magazine, we’re not just covering Beda’a, we’re growing with it. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that this won’t be a fleeting feature. This is the beginning of a forever friendship between our magazine and the brand. Because when you find a watch you don’t want to take off, you also find a story you don’t want to stop telling.

Specs:

• CASE
  MATERIAL: 316L STAINLESS STEEL
  DIMENSIONS: 37 MM X 34 MM
  CRYSTAL: SAPPHIRE
  THICKNESS: 6MM
  LUG WIDTH: 19 MM
  WATER RESISTANCE: 3 ATM (30 METERS)
  MOVEMENT: ETA 7001
  FREQUENCY: 21,600 VPH (3HZ)
  JEWELS: 17
  POWER RESERVE: APPROX. 42 HOURS

• DIAL
  INDICATIONS: HOURS, MINUTES, SMALL SECONDS AT 6 O’CLOCK
  HANDS: DAUPHINE-STYLE
  STRAP: EPSOM LEATHER, STITCHED, PIN BUCKLE; 19MM WIDTH
  REF: BQAM0525-37
  
  And SWISS MADE ofc…