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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Check it out here

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

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

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

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

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

1. Unimatic UC1

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

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

Price: €640.

2. Nomos Club Sport Neomatik Worldtimer Ref. 792

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

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

Price: €4,260 retail.

3. Charlie Paris Initial Coeur Ouvert Vert

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

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

Price: €485.

4. Minim MN01 CNY LE 

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

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

Price:  €1,200–€1,400

5. Anders & Co AC2 VOLCAN Manual Wind

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

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

Price: €1780.

6. Jacques Bianchi JB200 Poulpro

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

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

Price: Around €1,162.

7. Arsène Lippens Artigiano Collection

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

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

Price:  €1,109.

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

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.

I didn’t start paying attention to Lebond because of a launch, a price point, or a promotional Instagram reel. I paid attention because the brand felt… quiet? And in today’s watch landscape, quiet is rare as heck. Especially when the brand has more to it than just being a watch brand, hence the title.

Lebond is a young independent brand founded by Asier Mateo, and that matters. You can feel the difference between a project born from a marketing plan and one born from a personal background. In this case, architecture is the foundation. That doesn’t mean every watch looks like a building. It means decisions are made structurally, not decoratively. (Another reason for me to flex my architecture background).

After spending some time exploring the brand, something became clear: Lebond is not trying to enter the watchmaking industry. It’s trying to occupy a position closer to design culture than to traditional horological posturing. And I LOVE that for them.

Okay let’s get into the brand. There are currently two pillars in the Lebond universe: Attraction and Siza. That’s it. And that restraint already tells you a lot.

The Attraction, is the conceptual core. Inspired by Antoni Gaudí’s unbuilt Hotel Attraction project, it’s the watch where Lebond allowed itself to be the most expressive. Soft titanium case, disc-based display, strong architectural logic. It’s the piece that explains why the brand exists.

But what interested me after spending time on the brand’s website is the Siza. Because that’s where you understand that Lebond is not a one-idea studio.

The Siza is named after Álvaro Siza, and the watch reflects exactly what you’d expect if you know his work. It’s quieter. More rectilinear. More disciplined. Stainless steel case, slimmer profile, conventional hands, but still a very deliberate use of negative space. The typography is calm. The proportions are carefully balanced. Nothing is trying to be clever.

Side note (and I sincerely apologize for making this way too personal), whenever Álvaro Siza is mentioned, expect an unsolicited amount of fan girling from yours truly. You do not want to know about my 6 months project analysis project on his Huamao Museum of Art Education.

Okay let’s get back to Lebond. If the Attraction is about speculative architecture, the Siza is about lived architecture. Buildings you inhabit without noticing until you start paying attention.

What both watches share is a rejection of excess. Case sizes are reasonable. Finishes are controlled. Movements are chosen for reliability and thinness. ETA for that Swiss spice. 

What I appreciate most is that Lebond doesn’t hide behind the “independent brand” narrative. There’s no attempt to artificially dramatize production numbers or craftsmanship. The watches are well made, thoughtfully designed, and positioned honestly. That’s it. No myth-building required. 

A design studio designing like a design studio should.

Lebond feels closer to furniture design, industrial design, or even publishing than to traditional Swiss watchmaking. I mean that as a compliment actually. Just look at their packaging !

The pricing reflects that mindset. Lebond is not trying to be disruptive through undercutting, nor aspirational through artificial scarcity. The watches are priced where they should be given the materials, design work, and production quality. You’re paying for coherence, not for status signaling.

The conversation with Asier felt natural from the start. When someone builds from a personal place, the dialogue is easier. You’re not negotiating narratives, you’re exchanging references.

Lebond doesn’t feel like a brand in a hurry. And that’s probably its biggest strength. In a market obsessed with visibility, choosing to carve your own way is almost radical.

I’ll keep watching what they do. Slowly. On their terms. And that already says enough.

Sitting between design and horology, that’s what I’ve been desperately craving to see from new independent brands.

Beda’a — the Qatari and now London based watch brand — just released their new Angles-Stone collection. I’ve wrote previously about their Angles Mecaline collection and my experience with my personal Black “Onyx dial” model. 

And if you go read that article, you’ll find out just how much I’ve been obsessed with that watch. Heck, I’m even wearing it now, on the road to some meetings. 

The Stone Collection however is something special. The Angles is getting 4 new configurations with 4 new stone dials: Malachite, Aventurine, Tiger Eye and African Hawk Eye. Beautiful. 

The new collection is not just an upgrade on the aesthetics, the technical side did get a few changes. 

First thing is the movement. The mecaline, as its name, suggests is mechanical AKA hand wound. The Angles-Stone is quartz, hence the lack of the small seconds subdial. More specifically, it uses a RONDA 1062.1 SLIMTECH. 

I make the comparison because these watches look the same, and I myself was a little surprised by the difference in the movement choice. 

But some private insight tells me that it could potentially join the mechanical path.

Other than that, Togo leather rather than Epsom leather is quite interesting in this context because let’s not forget that this collection is about being grounded and rugged, so to speak. 

My thoughts and feelings? 

Honestly ? I’m happy that the Angles collection keeps evolving and expanding. Beda’a has a great thing going on and I think it’s their canvas for being as creative as possible. They recently made a diamond edition (natural btw) with alligator straps, and this is exactly what I’m talking about.

Beda’a became what it is or who they are by having great designs. So they might as well design as much as they can. 

As for my personal favorite. That African Hawk Eye is as niche as it gets. Brown undertones with all that texture. It really does scratch the itch. 

Check out the full collection on Bedaawatches.com

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

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

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

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

Not much more to say if I’m honest.

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

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

Under the (annoyingly) bright spotlights.

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

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

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

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

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

Not perfect, but charming nonetheless.

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

Photo credit: Christie’s Hong Kong

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

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

An unobstructed view of the stage!

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

Until next season!

Em –

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

By definition, a Pièce Unique or Unique piece is a “Watch produced in a single example, usually created on commission or for special events.”
So when Dr. Abdulaziz first sent me a photo of his Pièce Unique in his hand: A warm, amber dial with four horses frozen mid-stride, I felt the same thing I get when a good story starts to rearrange itself in my head.
I know enough about watchmaking to recognise a thoughtful execution: 38mm, 9mm thick, domed sapphire, an NH35 automatic inside, the sort of compact, honest package that lets a dial do the talking. But I didn’t yet know the whole story behind the art on that face, or how that art had grown from friendship into a little business of feeling and craft.

Arnaud, the maker behind L’Artisan d’Horlogerie, is precisely the kind of person who makes that possible. His Instagram and site show what he’s been quietly obsessed with for years: stone and fossil dials, tiny landscapes, and textures cut from geological time. You’ll see dinosaur-bone slices, lapis, tiger eye, and other unusual materials rendered into round micro-portraits for the wrist. It’s all there in his online presence: process reels, close-ups of banded stone, and the occasional prototype coming to life.

That’s the practical side. The thing that actually hooked Abdulaziz, and kept me listening to their story, was the personal. When they spoke about the two watches they made together, they weren’t riffing on lume or bevel angles. They were talking about family, memory, and a visual language that tied someone to a place. One of the two dials is this horse tableau on an amber field, warm, primitive, and somehow ceremonial. The other is a cooler, vivid composition: a blue field with three horses in the foreground, a building in the background, and a cluster of palm-like forms that read like memory and geography layered in paint.

Arnaud made both dials by hand, starting from sketches and material hunts. The materials matter: Arnaud’s work has always been about finding unusual raw things and coaxing them into wearable art, dinosaur bone, and tiger-iron pieces that are fragile, wasteful to cut, and breathtaking when they survive the process. The result is always a one-off or a tiny run. That’s the point: they’re intimate, uneven, and irreplaceable. You can see this aesthetic across his feeds and shop; the stone dials are the signature.

Abdulaziz’s two watches are a study in contrast and complement. The amber-hued dial reads like an heirloom: ochres and rusts arranged into silhouettes of four horses that could be carved out of a textile or painted on a fresco. It sits inside a compact, conservative case, 38mm across, 9mm thin, topped with a domed sapphire crystal, which keeps the drama on the face where it belongs. The movement is the NH35, a practical, reliable automatic chosen because the case couldn’t accommodate Arnaud’s newer, slimmer micro-rotor ideas; it keeps the piece honest and wearable, a little utilitarian so that the dial’s voice is never competing with technical showmanship.

The second dial is story-driven in a way that the first one only hints at. Here, there are three horses again, but their colours are saturated: a red, a blue, and a golden figure, placed in front of an architectural element and a palm or floral motif that reads like a cultural emblem. In their conversations, Abdulaziz explained how the four horses motif, which appears in other parts of the project’s design universe, ties back to family roles and cultural identity: four siblings, different personalities, a shared set of values; the national museum and the desert; a grandfather’s shop and a father’s memory. These are visuals that mean something, not just pretty pictures. They’re personal heraldry translated into tiny, circular paintings on stone. Those ideas are in the audio: the dials are cultural maps, and the watches are the vehicles carrying them. (You can see photos that Abdulaziz shared; his images make clear there are two distinct designs, each treated with care and storytelling intent.)

What I find compelling is how the technical choices bow to that storytelling. Arnaud could have chosen to over-engineer: exotic movements, showy cases, impossible finishing. Instead, he deliberately used a modest case profile and a dependable NH35 movement for Abdulaziz’s piece, leaving the dial to become the centre of attention. That decision, simplicity in service of meaning, says as much about the maker as the imagery itself. Arnaud’s Instagram and site show this pattern: craft that elevates unusual materials without overcomplicating the watch’s practicality.

There is another layer: how the friendship shaped the object. This began as friends riffing on ideas, not as a commission with a spec sheet. Abdulaziz didn’t walk in and demand a logo or a trend-driven hue; he brought memory, symbols and a trust that allowed Arnaud to interpret. In the studio the conversations became sketches, then scaled maquettes, then dial slices cut and polished until the images held the weight of the story. Arnaud told me about the losses in the cutting process (especially with fossils and delicate stones) and the way each success felt like a small miracle. He’s an obsessive with a craftsman’s patience, the kind of guy who will cut three different rough stones just to find the one that carries the exact red or banding he wants.

And there was beauty in their process: Abdulaziz’s cultural references, the museum’s architecture, the family horses, the desert colours, found a gentle interpreter in Arnaud’s hands. The watches became portraits of a friendship that had already started to move into business, a slow pivot from collectors’ chat to a real, collaborative practice. That transition felt natural because both men value the same rare thing: honesty. They were not trying to make a marketable halo piece. They were trying to make something honest for both of them.

There’s a practical lesson here, too: independent watchmaking is not only about inventing a movement or photogenic numerals. It’s about translating life into objects. One of the watches uses a humble, robust NH35 inside a compact 9mm-thick case with a domed sapphire, choices that ensure daily wear without compromising the soul of the design. The other dial speaks through imagery and colour, architecture, horses, personal iconography, and the watch becomes a conversation starter rather than a billboard.

If you look at Arnaud’s social footprint, you’ll see how this work fits a broader practice. L’Artisan is already known for stone dials and tiny series that sing because they are rare and tactile. The pieces for Abdulaziz sit comfortably in that lineage: singular, narrative-driven, slightly eccentric in the best way.

I’ve always thought the best collaborations are friendships that have learned to work together. This one feels that way: a collector and a maker who learned each other’s languages, who let small practicalities (case size, movement choice) bend to a larger aesthetic conversation, and who let cultural memory sit at the centre of the watch. When Abdulaziz wears the amber dial, you see something more than a timekeeper on his wrist; you see a small, wearable archive of family, time, and place. When he shows the blue, populated dial in its box, it reads as a miniature mural, a story paused in a second.

In a world that applauds shouty limited editions and technical flexes, making yours represents another type of horological superiority. They’re the sort of pieces that age in meaning, not just in patina. They are the product of a friendship that grew into a practice, and when the maker posts the cutting process on Instagram, or when Abdulaziz shares a wrist shot in a white thobe, you feel the lineage: two people making time into something that actually says something.

If you want to see the work yourself, Arnaud’s posts are a living sketchbook: raw stones, rehearsal sketches, and slow reveals of dials that survived the cut. But here’s the thing I keep thinking about: you don’t need to scroll to understand why this matters.

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.