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.

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

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

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

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

Hold on now, let me lay down some context. 

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

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

And THAT is today’s article in a nutshell. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

34mm is Becoming The New Universal Sweet Spot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does this mean for the industry?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That kind of exposure, although harsh, matters.

By 1892, Armand Schwob & Frère was bankrupt.

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

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

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

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

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

Merci Mr. Rexhep & the Akrivia team.

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.

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 are precise. Others are beautiful. But Venezianico watches well, they feel. They don’t just tell time; they whisper stories. They remember places. They connect people.

What began in Venice as a dream shared by two brothers, Alessandro and Alberto Morelli, has grown into something quietly revolutionary: a brand that places humanity at the center of horology. And in a world where most watchmakers speak through catalogues, Venezianico speaks through conversations—real ones.

From the first moment I came across their creations, it was clear this was something else. Their designs had heart, but also curiosity. I didn’t just see watches, I saw journeys. I didn’t just feel tempted, I felt invited. You don’t browse Venezianico the way you do other brands. You explore it, like a city. Like Venice.

The dial is often where a watch reveals its soul. And Venezianico dials? They are pure soul. I remember wearing their  Ultrablack for the first time. That texture of black absorbing 99.4% of light was a celestial void… It was like wearing a fragment of the universe. And then came the

Aventurine dial, a dial that seems alive, like a night sky glazed over with infinite depth. With each glance, it changes. It breathes. These dials don’t just impress you. They move you.

Their Special Editions are stories sculpted in steel. The Nereide GMT Emirates Edition, with its warm mother-of-pearl dial and elegant complexity, feels like a tribute to movement and modernity. And the Redentore Marco Polo 700th is not a watch. It’s an artifact—a sculpted homage to exploration, dialogue between worlds, and adventure.

These are not watches created to impress algorithms or chase trends. They are made for people who feel. And perhaps what’s most telling is that even those with extensive collections from Rolex to AP are now drawn to Venezianico. And not as a novelty, but as a must-have. Why? These watches transcend them and bring something fresh to a world that so often repeats itself.

And what truly cements that feeling is the relationship you build with the brand. I’ve never seen founders so present, humble, or engaged as the Morelli brothers. Alessandro and Alberto are not there as figureheads, but as voices. Whether replying personally to collectors in the Venezianico Facebook group or offering thoughtful recommendations at watch events across the globe or through WhatsApp, they treat every interaction as meaningful. It’s not a pure marketing strategy but a genuine closeness. You don’t feel like a customer, you feel like you belong.

Their innovation, too, flows from that human touch. They don’t innovate for headlines, but innovate because they listen. The bold shapes of the mighty  Arsenale remind us they’re not afraid to challenge tradition. They take risks. They dare (No Pun intended, Tudor).

But their finest expression yet is one that blends every element, craftsmanship, poetry, and soul into one object: the Redentore Utopia. A project born from years of dialogue, built entirely in Italy, powered by their first proprietary caliber, and finished with painstaking, artisanal care. From the hand-guilloché dial by Riccardo Renzetti to the leather strap crafted in Tuscany, every detail is slow, deliberate, and honest. There’s no flash. No excess. Just pure, essential beauty. A watch that feels less like an accessory and more like a philosophy. A Utopia not just named, but realized.

Because behind every detail, every stone dial, every limited edition… There are two brothers present, passionate and profoundly human. They’re not watching from afar. They’re walking with you. Listening. Creating. Evolving. Together with their community. And that’s why Venezianico is unlike anything else.

It’s not just a brand. It’s a family that opens its doors. It’s a story you don’t just admire. It’s one you join.

È arte. È familia. È Venezianico.

It is no secret that I am a japanese watchmaking fanatic. I mean, every watch enthusiast in their right mind and with some kind of knowledge would be. 

These people have mastered the art of precision. Not only in their movements and calibers —since that’s a given in the field of high watchmaking— but also in their finishings and every microscopic element of aesthetic perfection. 

Names like Grand Seiko — considered the face of high japanese watchmaking — and Naoya Hida & Co — the company that in my humble opinion is the equivalent of 1930s Patek Philippe with their extremely-limited-production artisanal masterpieces — are testaments to everything you’ll ever need to witness to believe in the miraculous work of japanese watchmakers. 

But here’s the catch. 

These brands are not an approachable option for the regular Joe. Meaning, this is dangerous and intimidating territory for beginner collectors who are not willing to spend the large sums of money necessary to acquire entry level pieces from these companies. 

Plain and simple. 

The equivalent ? 

As of these past few years, we have been witnessing the popularization of a new kind of Japanese watch brands. Affordable ones. Affordable small charming watch brands that can make a lasting impact on a beginner collector. And this is where Karl Leimon comes to play. 

Karl Leimon is a young Japanese watch company founded by two friends in 2017. Karl and Leimon aimed to fill a gap in the market by offering high-quality, classically designed watches at accessible prices. 

Their vision was strong and convincing enough and the brand gained significant attention through a successful crowdfunding campaign in Japan, raising over 100 million yen (approx $1 million USD).

The vision was clear and is very present to this very day: “Keep Modest Classic”. A brand slogan that can only be applauded, since the watch world is clearly in need of such fresh perspectives on more approachable timepieces like Karl Leimon’s.

My relationship with the brand.

If you have been following our instagram pages, I have taken it upon myself to introduce more niche/smaller brands to our Time-Telling community. You guys. I am thankful and grateful for the impact we have had on the African horology community, and I decided to take a more direct approach on you guys’ collecting journeys. 

So when I got in touch with the kind people of Karl Leimon, I couldn’t be happier. The variety of options really impressed me, and the impression I got was one of a company that is NOT slowing down. Quartz collections for the amateurs of precision as well as automatic ones for those who are always on the go… There is literally everything for everyone. 

The Standout Piece.

Speaking of collections, their latest is the automatic Classic Field. An assortment of field watches with the classiest of designs (pun intended). And that’s the one I have currently on my wrist while writing this article. 

Let me tell you, this watch is going to get a LOT of wrist time. Why ? It’s everything someone as active and as “On the go” as I am would ever want to accompany them. 

Quick spec run before I get into the details of my passion for this piece: 

The Ice Blue Applied Indices Classic Field

• Case Material: 316L Stainless Steel
• Case Finish: Polished, satin-brushed
• Glass: Anti-reflective sapphire glass
• Case Diameter: 38mm
• Case Thickness: 9.5mm
• lug to lug: 46mm
• lug width: 20mm
• Water Resistance: 10ATM
• Screw down crown
• Movement: Miyota 9039, Automatic and Hand winding, 42 Hour Power Reserve
• Strap: Rubber, Pin buckle + Navy Blue Calf Leather strap

Let me dig into my personal reflections.

So when I got the watch and went through the very pleasant unboxing experience, I took a second to go back to the website and look at a few pictures and details in order to see if anything jumps off. I wanted an authentic and strong first impression. 

And boy was it strong ! This watch is exceptionally more beautiful in real life. 

I could talk about the quality, about the dial, about the finishing… but what I’d rather do is congratulate Karl Leimon for their excellent work on the case of this watch. 

More specifically, its dimensions. As mentioned before, we’re talking about a 38mm, 9.5mm thick case. And THAT was the deal breaker for me. 

This watch wears so thin and by extension SO LIGHT. 

I know a lot of you guys here love your dress watches to be as slim and sleek as possible. This Classic Field scratches that itch in every possible way. 

I’m wearing it today with a quarter zip and an oxford shirt, with that Navy Blue Calf leather strap, and I could not feel more complete. 

Yesterday ? on its original blue rubber strap while I was out at a construction site. A place where the “field” in its name truly comes out. Having full confidence in its 10 ATM water resistance, I did not shy away from putting it into the test. 

As with all construction sites, the lack of light is to be expected. But with the Classic Field’s powerful super luminova, one can not complain.

A very robust and reliable tool, yet such a classy and sleek upgrade. 

As you can tell, I wrote this article/ review with incredible passion for this microbrand. I’m known among my peers as the person who’s going to point out every single flaw in a watch (AKA a hater), but here, and while trying my best, I really can not bash down anything about this piece. 

Okay, maybe the movement, yes. But for $550, you are not going to get anything fancier that a 42 hour power reserve Japanese caliber. Let’s not fool ourselves here.

Check out https://karlleimonwatches.com/en/ for more incredible options ! 

We are excited. 

About this event. About the innovations. About these watches. About Cartier… But mainly about this new way of transmitting this excitement to you, our dear readers.

This article is a collaborative effort between myself, Walid, and Ms. Inass Akisra. The beloved Time-Telling Magazine writer and editor that never seizes to nail design oriented articles. So for something like the Cartier Tank à Guichets, or Cartier in general as a design driven brand/studio, we had to link up.

We had to link up for a good old “Cartier history lesson” article, from the sleek outsides to the intricate insides.

Inass here !

There are reissues, and then there are resurrections. Cartier’s 2025 revival of the Tank à Guichets falls firmly in the latter category — a design by Louis Cartier, so ahead of its time in 1928, it’s still on top of the design game nearly a century later. Originally conceived as a defiant rejection of traditional timekeeping aesthetics (hands? visible dials? overdone.), the Tank à Guichets ditched everything ornamental for a full metal face and two small windows: jumping hours, dragging minutes. It was modernism on the wrist — the horological equivalent of a steel skyscraper in a world of Edwardian mansions.

This year, Cartier brings it back under the Privé collection, and it’s as sculptural and self-assured as ever. The 2025 edition lands in platinum, rose gold, and yellow gold — each with a vertically brushed façade that makes the case itself the dial. But the real flex is in the details: a limited edition of 200 pieces features the apertures offset at 10 and 4 o’clock — a deliberate break from symmetry that feels both measured and subversive. The minute disc now drags horizontally. There’s no logo. No numerals. Just presence. More on the technicality in a minute with Walid.

In a landscape flooded with maximalist skeletonized timepieces, this watch brings us back to the basics. Pared down, precise, and quietly radical. It’s Cartier doing what it does best: power in understatement. You already know what time it is — what matters is how you wear it.

About that “You know what time it is”… one of the major “personality traits” about the Tank à Guichet is, well, how you tell the time (pun intended). And that’s the thing… 

Okay, Walid here.

Let’s get one thing straight: the Cartier Tank à Guichets isn’t your average Tank. No Roman numerals, no blued steel hands, no dial even. Just two tiny windows cut into a brushed metal face—like a time machine trying to stay incognito. Behind those Guichets (that’s French for “little windows,” by the way), Cartier is hiding a very specific kind of mechanical chaos: a fully mechanical jump hour and jump minute complication.

Now pause. About visibility and legibility. 

Due to its dimensions, and those of the apertures, an instant read of the time is not what one should expect with this watch. Although it’s what it’s designed for… 

Christian Zeron from Theo&Harris made a comment that I couldn’t stop thinking about. He said that on the legibility spectrum, A Luminor from Panerai and the Tank à Guichets fall on opposite extremes. 

While handling a vintage 2817 a few months ago in a private collectors’ dinner, one thing was on my mind. Of course aside from the wow factor of holding an art piece, I kept saying to myself “Walid you are too blind for this”.

But anyways, here’s how it works.

 Instead of hands rotating around a dial, the time is displayed on two spinning discs—one for the hours, one for the minutes—that jump to their next position instantly. The hour jumps every 60 minutes. The minute disc, every five. The result is this very stealthy, very snappy digital time readout. 

That sudden “click” isn’t just for drama—it’s what watchmakers call an instantaneous jump, and it takes a lot more finesse than you’d think. The whole movement has to build up tension over time, storing energy in a spring-loaded cam system, then SNAP releases it at just the right moment to throw the disc forward exactly one notch. Miss the timing or mess up the torque, and the whole illusion falls apart.

This clever complication goes way back. The first Tank à Guichets dropped in 1928, and it was one of the earliest digital wristwatches—mechanically speaking—in history. Back then, Cartier most likely used a LeCoultre ébauche as the base and modified it in-house or through their U.S. branch, the European Watch and Clock Co. These early pieces were hand-wound and charmingly temperamental. 

The jump mechanisms were kind of energy hogs, meaning they drained power like a phone on 3% running Google Maps. Jumps weren’t always crisp, power reserves were short, and timing could get a little fuzzy. But even then, it was clear: this was a radical little machine hiding in a classy case.

When Cartier decided to bring it back in the 2000s under the CPCP (Collection Privée Cartier Paris) line, they gave it a movement makeover. The Caliber 9752 MC, a hand-wound movement based on the ultra-thin Piaget 450P. Cartier took this sleek little base and reworked it to handle the stress of the jumping discs—no small feat considering how much punch those jumps need and how tight the case tolerances are. It offered around 40 hours of power reserve and was finished like a show car: Geneva stripes, beveling, and a platinum case to match.

Then came the 2021 reboot, and Cartier didn’t just update the look—they built a new engine for it. The Caliber 9917 MC was developed in-house specifically for this model, and it’s got that lean, modern movement vibe. Manual wind, 36-hour power reserve, and a beat rate of 4 Hz (28,800 vph), which means it’s ticking fast and steady—perfect for precise jumps. It’s got skeletonized bridges, optimized energy flow, and super-clean engineering focused purely on making those discs land with pixel-perfect alignment, every single time.

And speaking of those discs—they’re not just random rotating plates. They’re made of super-light materials like aluminum or titanium, which matters a lot because heavier discs mean more torque is needed to move them, which in turn messes with the rest of the movement. By keeping them feather-light, Cartier makes sure they jump smoothly without dragging down the balance wheel. The numerals are either engraved and filled or perfectly printed, and the discs are laser-aligned during assembly to make sure they always land square in their windows. No half-jumps, no bounce, no blur. Just clean digital readout, Cartier-style.

None of this works without serious attention to energy management !!

The movement’s mainspring doesn’t just power the time—it also has to deliver bursts of energy strong enough to flip those discs without throwing off everything else. That means cams that build and store tension, intermediate wheels that act like mechanical buffers, and precisely shaped gear teeth that reduce friction and keep things moving like silk. Every five minutes, a miniature mechanical explosion happens inside this watch. And it doesn’t even break a sweat.

With no dial to hide behind, the discs and their positioning have to be flawless. There’s nowhere to tuck a misalignment or cover a mechanical hiccup. So Cartier engineered fixed guides inside the movement to keep the discs perfectly concentric. They use ultra-precise positioning during assembly, and some modern versions even include shock protection to keep your time aligned even if you knock it against a doorknob. The margin for error? Basically zéro…

So yeah, the Tank à Guichets may seem like a “chill girl” but lemme tell you she IS working hard under that brushed façade. It’s been a masterclass in minimalism waaay before it became an aesthetic. 

Whether you’ve caught a glimpse of it on the wrists of seasoned collectors like Mr. Auro Montanari, or immortal artists like the infamous American pianist and composer Mr. Duke Ellington; the Tank à Guichets could fairly be classified as the most emblematic Tank ever made. Some even dare to say, the best Cartier watch ever made. 

Either way, you are not wrong. Because this article was only about the basic concepts that make the à Guichets what it is. However, one thing we have deliberately abstained from discussing —Or else this would become something else rather than an enjoyable story— is the large catalog of configurations and references that fall under the Tank à Guichets umbrella. 

And as with significant pieces like these, rarity is often of second nature. Especially since production for these watches ceased from the 1930s, when they were a special order model, then back in 1996.

First joint article was fun. Let us know if you want more !

*We do not own the rights to any of these photos. please note that all images and copyrights belong to their original owners. no copyright infringement intended.*

Let me get this out of the way: I’m really happy the TAG Heuer Formula 1 is back.

I didn’t live through the 80s hype, but I’ve always had a soft spot for that cheerful, racing-inspired watch that didn’t take itself too seriously. And while the vintage versions always looked a bit too plasticky for me (don’t cancel me, collectors), this new one? I love it. It keeps the spirit, but finally looks like a watch I’d actually want to wear every day — and not just ironically.

TAG did a great job capturing the retro vibe without falling into the trap of making it a museum piece. The shape? Nailed it. The colors? Spot on. The energy? 10/10. Even the fact that they went solar is kind of cool. Eco-friendly, no battery changes, and still feels like a legit sports watch. So far, I’m all in.

But then — oh then — comes the price tag.

€1,850. For plastic. (Sorry: biodegradable polymer. My bad.)

Now don’t get me wrong, I get it. The materials are better. The solar movement is neat. The sapphire crystal adds points. And hey, it’s a TAG — not a cereal box giveaway. But still, when I look at this cheerful little thing and its vibe that screams “collect me all,” I can’t help but think… isn’t this watch begging to go full MoonSwatch mode?

Swatch got people queuing for plastic watches like it was the new iPhone. And TAG could’ve done the same — Formula 1 liveries, team editions, tracks of the world. Gotta catch ’em all. But instead, they priced it like it’s already on the podium with champagne in hand. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still charming. But that charm hits a little different when it costs the same as a nice night in Tokyo… for two.

Also, side note: I stumbled across the KITH collab and literally said “meh.” Which is shocking, considering I usually say YES to anything Ronnie Fieg touches — like, he could collab with a toaster and I’d ask for the colorways. So if I wasn’t excited, maybe that says something.

All jokes aside: Am I still excited? Definitely. Do I want one? Absolutely. But will I be daydreaming of a £650 version that makes me feel like I’m building a collection of pit lane champions on a budget? You bet.

Final thought? The Formula 1 is back, it looks better than ever, and deep down, I’m not rooting for this price tag. Not even close. I’ll just keep waiting (and hoping) for another Snoopy MoonSwatch livery, because at least that’s what I call funny, collectible, and budget friendly — all the things a Formula 1 watch revival should be.