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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The JB200 Marégraphe II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The acquisition by the Damiani Group is a structural event.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Where was Baume & Mercier Before the Sale ?

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

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

Let’s Reminisce About The Good Ol’ Days.

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

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

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

And with that came the icons.

Riviera 1973

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

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

Classima 1960s onward

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

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

Capeland late 1990s

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

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

Hampton 1994

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

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

Clifton 2013 and the Baumatic Era

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

The movement:

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are 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…

When I launched Time-Telling Magazine, my goal was simple: to tell stories. Not just the stories of watches, but also those of the people who imagine them, wear them, live them. Very quickly, the magazine established itself as a fresh voice in the watchmaking world, with a tone that is free, curious, young, and above all, sincere.

What also makes Time-Telling Magazine even more interesting is the fact that it’s the first African watch magazine. An independent platform born out of a deep passion for watches, but also out of a need to broaden the conversation beyond the traditional centers of luxury. Today, our readers come from over 50 countries, and the feedback is often the same: “Finally, we African watch enthusiasts are being represented.”

However, there was still a missing link between this project and my roots. I’m Moroccan. And that’s precisely why I’m very proud to announce today our partnership with L’Opinion newspaper and its digital magazine L’ODJ (L’Opinion des Jeunes).

This partnership is much more than just a content exchange. It’s a tangible way to bring the world of luxury watchmaking closer to a Moroccan and African readership: young, educated, curious, and eager to discover. Starting today, Time-Telling Magazine articles will be published both on timetellingmagazine.com and on lodj.ma. And this is only the beginning.

I had the pleasure of telling my story in an exclusive interview recorded with L’ODJ, which will be available soon. In it, we talk about watches, of course, but also about culture, editorial independence, and what it means to “take your time” in a world obsessed with speed.

One of the goals of this collaboration is also to open the pages of L’Opinion and L’ODJ to a world that is often unknown but incredibly exciting: that of luxury, and more specifically, fine watchmaking. A world of artisans, traditions, and fascinating details, far from the clichés.

To spark your curiosity, here are a few fun watch facts: Did you know there’s a Swiss watchmaker who creates timepieces inspired by Arabic calligraphy? Or that one of the rarest watches in the world was sold to a collector based in Casablanca? These are the kinds of stories we’re going to keep telling right here, at home.

This partnership is a way to discover the world of watches without even moving your wrist. And more importantly, it’s an invitation for every Moroccan and African reader to claim and dive deep into this fascinating universe. Because watchmaking, at its core, is about rhythm. And now is the right time for ours to resonate louder than ever.