The world of watchmaking intersects with a lot of other worlds, and every once in a while we find something watch related that's so interesting, that despite it not being about watches per se, we just have to run it up the flagpole for our readers. Here are five such stories – Lego bricks, insect anatomy, a really-life Martian, and more.

1. The Digesting Duck

Watches and clocks have gears, obviously, but so do a lot of other things, and not all machines are terribly interesting to watch enthusiasts (I might be wrong but I can't help but think that a story on the evolution of, say, mechanical can openers, might not make the most compelling reading for the average HODINKEE reader).

The life-imitating machines called automata, however, share with watches a certain ability to seem lifelike.  Watches do this more abstractly, of course, but the resemblance is there, and in their heyday, it seemed to the makers of automata that there was nothing you couldn't do, with just a little ingenuity, optimism, and elbow grease – including making a machine that ate, and defecated.  Our story on the famous Digesting Duck of Jacques Vaucanson looks at one of the strangest and most ingenious of men, and his equally strange and ingenious machines.

2. A Split Seconds Module Made From Lego Bricks

Really, there's not a whole heck of a lot extra we can say about this one.  Someone made a split seconds/rattrapante module out of Lego bricks.  There are two interesting things to get out of this story.  The first is that you can make what was traditionally thought a very, very fussy, intricate, and difficult-to-make complication out of Lego bricks.  Not one that will fit on your wrist, not one that actually tells the time or times anything terribly accurately, but you know, still.  The other is that there is an ongoing argument about how to render the plural of "Lego" and for that matter, whether or not to capitalize it.  For some reason saying "Legos" instead of "Lego Bricks" is as much of a red-flag-to-a-bull for some people as using "begs the question" to mean "raises the question" is to me (I've basically given up on that one, at least outwardly.  Part of me still dies inside a little when I hear it).  Anyway, check out this cheery little contraption, it'll make your day.

3. That Time Back In 2012 When We Tried To Get People Excited About A 61 Second Minute

You've heard of a Leap Year – well, every once in a while, because the Earth's rotation is actually less regular than the precision of atomic clocks, an extra second has to be inserted in order to ensure the Earth's orbit and UTC (Coordinated Universal Time) don't drift out of synchronization with each other.  Original story is here; this is probably completely uninteresting to most people but if you like keeping your clocks and watches obsessively on time, we want to alert you that the next one is coming up December 31, 2016, at 23:59:60 – plenty of time to start stocking up on champagne and celebrate something more interesting than (yawn) the New Year.

4. A Performance Artist Tries Living On Mars Time On Earth And It Makes Her A Little Crazy

In the summer of 2015 HODINKEE's Ashley Kinder heard about a very interesting project from conceptual artist Sara Morawetz, who was trying an experiment: living according to a Martian sol (day) rather than a normal 24 hour day.  Because a Martial sol is slightly longer than a day, Morawetz found herself gradually drifting out of synchronization with the world around her, which she expected. What she didn't expect was how alone it made her feel . . . as if she were living, so to speak, on the desolate red surface of a Mars of the mind.

5. The Bug That Has Gears In Its Hindquarters

The unprepossessing little fellow you see here is a leafhopper nymph, and in its posterior was something science was late to discover and which no one was expecting: a system of organic gears, presumably to better enable it to leaf-hop.  This small-seeming but scientifically fascinating story is one worth meditating on, especially for those of you who are interested in automata.  Apparently life really does imitate (mechanical) art.  Story here.

Bonus Trivia Round: The Quest For The Inventor Of The Spring Bar

Cheating a little bit here, because of course, you can't really have a spring bar story without watches, but technically this extremely drawn-out historical piece doesn't have any watches in it.  I've been at HODINKEE a year last June 1st, and this is the one story I've written that made HODINKEE founder Ben Clymer ask me "Are we really going to run this thing?" the way most people ask me, "Can you really make a living writing about watches?" What can I say, sometimes you have to follow your muse.

I'd been dying to see this one in the metal ever since it was announced early last month – the limited-to-10-pieces Galet Square Vintage 1, from Laurent Ferrier. Why? Because I don't know that I've seen a more appealing dial from a modern watch company in years. Now let's be clear, there have been equally interesting, and indeed some even more complex dials made – I am just talking about a dial that appeals to me and me alone. Why? Well, it's a two-tone sector dial – combing two of the most desirable traits found in pre-War watches.

But this isn't a pre-War watch. It's made today – and by one of the finest watchmakers in the world, with a fantastic, in-house, and beautifully finished self-winding caliber. So you have cutting edge haute horlogerie, with the practicality of an automatic movement in a steel case, but with vintage flair. Yeah, this watch is great.

Now, you can see in the pictures here that there are two different tones to the dial, divided by the sector ring. What is so wonderful about this is that the watch takes on different appearances in different lighting situations. In bright, direct sunlight, the has an almost monotone sheen, but in normal, natural light, there is a subtle difference between the colors, and in the soft, indirect light you get at dusk, the two shades are dramatically different.

What is interesting to point out also is that the sector ring here is applied to the dial, not painted. In speaking with the folks at Laurent Ferrier, doing this presented serious difficulty as they wanted it to be raised from the dial, but not too much. The result is a three-dimensional sector ring that is in fact inlaid into the dial itself. Fantastic.

What's more is that Laurent Ferrier really went the distance on this 10-piece LE, by giving it special lugs and even special screws within those lugs. While the similarities to the Only Watch unique piece are real, this is indeed a different watch.

This Galet Square, like all others, is 41 mm in diameter, so there is no confusing it for a 50 t0 70-year-old wristwatch. But the size is good, and the extended, screwed lugs on this specific model work well. Oh, and then you turn it over.

The rear view of a Laurent Ferrier gets me every time. The atypical movement architecture, that stunning floating micro-rotor, and of course that truly high-end finishing make any Laurent Ferrier a watch worth owning in my opinion – and coupled with a dial like this... well, it's just an extremely compelling package all around for anyone looking for a special, but practical every day high-end, time-only watch.

The Laurent Ferrier Galet Square Vintage 1 is a 10-piece limited edition, sold exclusively through Chicago retailer Swiss Fine Timing. The retail price is $42,700 and as of today, some pieces are still in stock. To inquire about this watch, feel free to email them here.

One of the most popular videos we ever did here on HODINKEE was Talking Watches With John Mayer. It was, in actuality, supposed to be a one-off – a look at a well known watch lover's favorite pieces. That video aired all the way back in October of 2013, and to be totally frank, we were just winging it – two guys talking about a few watches with Will there to film it. Now, 22 episodes later, it's safe to say Talking Watches is one of our benchmark editorial products; and so we thought it might be kinda fun to bring back our original guest – Mr. John Mayer – to pick up the conversation and focus on just one of his many horological passions – IWC.

John's relationship with IWC is long and storied. An IWC Big Pilot was one of his first high-end watches, and the one that most would associate with him in the earliest part of his career. He wore one on stage for years, his stage name to the tour managers was even "Big Pilot" – hell, when he won his first Grammy, he celebrated it with an IWC.

I would venture to say that without IWC, John wouldn't be a watch collector at all. It's the brand that paved the way for him to get into vintage Rolex, and eventually complicated Pateks. John Mayer and IWC are linked, though there is no formal relationship, no friend-of-the-brand status that IWC loved so much for so long – nothing, really. John just bought IWC watches because he liked them.

But as with any relationship, there are ups and there are downs. And about two years ago, John wrote what we thought was really a fan letter to IWC that we published here on HODINKEE – written in the manner you might take when telling your best friend that he's marrying the wrong girl. You kinda know nothing you say is going to change him, but you have to tell him anyway – because you love him that much. There was a comments-driven kerfuffle around it, because, you know, this is the #internet, and the world moved on.

And then IWC answered back. Less than a week after we ran the letter, they dropped a killer manually wound Portuguese. Then this year, they produced some fantastic limited edition Big Pilots, and redesigned (and absolutely nailed) their entry-level pilots watches – the Mark XVIII and 36 mm Pilots watch – both priced under $4,000, to boot. While IWC may have quickly issued a reply to John's letter here on HODINKEE, these watches were the real answer. Which brings us to today, and John is, again, for the first time in a while, wearing an IWC – not because they pay him to, but because he wants to – the relationship, after all that its been through, continues on just as it should.

For more on HODINKEE's coverage of IWC, click here. To visit IWC.com, click here.

Gallery

Video/photos: Will Holloway

"I will do science to it." – Kimiko, from the web comic Dresden Codak

Modern methods and materials have made it possible to make watches capable of resisting just about any magnetic field you're likely to encounter in real life. They also make it possible for watches to resist anything you're going to find in unreal life, too. We're looking at magnets, magnetism, why watch designers have put so much work into fighting magnetic fields, and what we as owners really get out of it – and we conduct a couple of little experiments of our own. Carefully.

Watchmakers care about magnetism because magnetism can, at worst, make a watch useless. There are a couple of different ways this can happen. Modern Nivarox-type alloys are reasonably resistant to weak magnetic fields, but if a watch comes into direct contact with a powerful permanent magnet, especially so-called rare earth magnets (the most powerful type, which thanks to their great strength, are popular as clasps and fasteners) the balance spring can become magnetized.  The coils will begin to stick to each other, which increases the tension in the spring. A magnetized watch acts as if someone's put too strong a balance spring in it, and begins to run fast, because the balance can no longer swing through a full arc. The first time this happened to me was when I put my Speedmaster down by mistake on a cell phone case with a rare earth magnetic clasp. I knew what I'd done instantly and pulled the watch off, but it immediately started to run about 10 minutes fast per hour. A trip to the Omega boutique and a quick pass through a demagnetizer fixed things, but the incident impressed on me that while the strong magnetic fields we can run into in modern life are relatively rare, they're also potentially a very real problem.

What Is Magnetism?

To understand antimagnetic watches, and to be able to compare them as a consumer, you have to know at least a little about what magnetism is, and how it's measured.

Magnetism in everyday life comes from two sources: electromagnets and permanent magnets. Electromagnets are magnets in which the magnetic field is produced by moving current; permanent magnets are those which have a magnetic field on their own, without any electric current passing through them. Both can be hazardous to watches. It was thought at one time that only certain materials were affected by magnets, but we now know that all materials are affected to some degree. However, only so-called ferromagnetic materials produce fields strong enough for us to feel in everyday life. Ferromagnetic materials are those that can be magnetized; other magnetic interactions are generally too weak to be felt and require laboratory equipment to detect.

Understanding the source of magnetism is easier when you remember that a magnetic field is generated by a changing electrical field. The opposite is also true; a changing magnetic field inside a loop of wire will create a current. This relationship was discovered by Michael Faraday, in 1831 and is the principle behind electrical generators and motors.

If you remember that moving electrical fields generate magnetic fields, you can now understand ferromagnetism. The electrons present in all materials are in motion, and, as electrons are charged particles, this motion generates a magnetic field. Electrons have a property known as spin, and usually come in pairs. Since paired electrons are forbidden by the laws of physics from having the same spin (thanks to something called the Pauli Exclusion Principle) paired electrons have opposed spins, and so the magnetic fields they generate usually cancel each other out. However, some materials have unpaired electrons – including iron, which has four in its outermost electron shell – and those unpaired electrons are allowed to have the same spin, which produces a tiny magnetic field, with a specific strength and direction (a vector field, in other words). 

In ferromagnetic materials like iron, these tiny fields can be made to line up, and add up, to a field strong enough to be felt. Put a piece of iron in a strong enough field and the magnetic "domains" inside it will stay lined up even when you take the external field away – you have a permanent magnet. The most powerful permanent magnets known are so-called rare earth magnets, which can be strong enough to injure you if you're not careful. (This is a highly simplified model of how magnetism works but it's enough to go on with, as they say.)

Above is a neodymium (rare earth) magnet purchased for the purposes of our informal science experiment. As it happens I didn't check the field strength of this little beast before ordering it, and I probably should have. It's quite large, for a neodymium magnet – far bigger than anything you're likely to run into in a consumer product – and once I got it out of the box and found out how much force it took to get it off the door of the refrigerator (both hands, and a very firm tug) I hunted around online until I found an online neodymium magnet strength calculator (truly, everything is on the Internet). As it turns out a magnet of this size and composition has a surface field strength of over 4,000 gauss, which is a significant fraction of what you'd find in an MRI machine. It takes 90 pounds of force to pull the thing off a steel plate and if you aren't careful handling it, especially around other ferromagnetic objects, it can move fast enough and hard enough, and connect with enough force, to tear skin or break a finger.

Now the reason I'm (painfully) sticking a wrench to my hand with a 4K gauss magnet is because it's easier to understand how powerful the magnet is from a picture, than from expressing field strength in things like gauss or tesla, which are more abstract. There are actually two kinds of magnetic fields: B, and H. The so-called B field is a measure of field strength in free space, and is measured in tesla, or gauss. One tesla = 10,000 gauss; a typical refrigerator magnet is about 50 gauss, and our test magnet, at about 4,500 gauss, is nearly half a tesla, which is more than enough to fry any conventional watch. Obviously, the plain steel balance springs used in watches before the advent of Nivarox type alloys would be incredibly vulnerable to external magnetic fields, but even a watch with a standard modern Nivarox balance spring would be instantly rendered unusable by a magnet as powerful as the one we used in our test. Even with the high antimagnetic ratings of both the Milgauss and the Omega >15,000 Gauss, the idea of applying such a powerful magnet was a little alarming. It's one thing to know your car has an air bag; it's another thing to deliberately run it into a brick wall to find out if it works like it's supposed to.

By the way, you may have heard resistance to magnetism in watches expressed in amperes per meter, sometimes shortened to A/m. This unit is used to express the strength of the other magnetic field, the so-called H field – as is its equivalent, the oersted. The H field is basically the strength of the B field, but including its effects inside a material on the overall field. Fortunately for those of us comparison shopping for antimagnetic watches, in air or a vacuum the B and H fields, and therefore, the gauss and the oersted, are about equal. The conversion from oersted to A/m is a little more involved but to give a concrete example, the famous IWC antimagnetic Ingenieur 500,000 A/m could resist a field of almost 7,000 oersted/gauss. A rating of 1,000 gauss resistance is equal to about 80,000 A/m.

As you can see, the B and H fields aren't really different so much as they are the same phenomenon seen from different perspectives.

Fun fact: your brain produces a field of about one picotesla, or  0.000000000001 tesla, which is so weak you need a neat gadget called a SQUID (Subatomic Quantum Interference Detector) to pick it up.

Watch Vs. Magnet

Obviously a strong enough magnetic field will physically damage a watch with ferromagnetic parts, but watchmakers, and watch owners, are worried about slightly more subtle changes.

Above is an early 20th century, size 16 Waltham Riverside pocket watch with a solid balance, and Elinvar balance spring (a forerunner of Nivarox).  The purpose of the balance spring is to do for the balance what gravity does for a pendulum – pull it back to a neutral position when it's swinging, with a force that is exactly proportional to how hard the pendulum, or balance, is pushed. Anything that interferes with that is going to upset timekeeping.

As we mentioned before, the most common effect of magnetization is for a watch to run fast. There is, however, a subtler effect. If a spring containing ferromagnetic materials (like Nivarox) is exposed to ambient magnetic fields, the gradual accumulation of magnetism in the alloy can also interfere with the temperature compensation properties of the balance spring, and it may begin to run at different rates at different temperatures. The issue was described in a 2004 story for the Horological Journal by watchmaker Gideon Levingston, who was working at the time on his "Carbontime" oscillator system, which incorporated a carbon fiber balance spring intended to address this very issue. If you've been following Kari Voutilainen's work for a while you might even remember that Kari used the Carbontime oscillator in one of his watches, as PuristsPro reported via watchmaker and horological writer Curtis Thomson, in 2006.

Obviously magnetic fields can be a major problem for watches, watch owners, and watchmakers in both immediately obvious, and more subtle ways. Now let's look at two watches built to resist this hazard.

Don't Try This At Home

For the purposes of the test, the magnet was left on its styrofoam lower box and to prevent damage to both the magnet and the watch, a folded cloth was placed in between the two. Several earlier experiments with the magnet and ferromagnetic materials (by "experiments" I mean "randomly choosing heavy iron or steel objects to pick up") had produced scratched objects, a slightly chipped magnet, and a sense of the need for an abundance of caution when handling the HODINKEE Demon Core. The results were interesting to say the least.

The first watch we tried was the Omega >15,000 Gauss. The watch was placed – extremely carefully – on the magnet and there was no visible effect at all. Allowed to run for 24 hours after exposure to the magnet, the watch showed no visible deviation on its rate, either. The solution used by Omega for this watch is the use of non-ferromagnetic materials for all critical components, including the balance, escape wheel, lever, and balance spring. Interestingly enough the entire watch, which is cased in stainless steel, showed very little susceptibility to the magnet overall – the force exerted certain wasn't strong enough to pick the watch up, which was very surprising.

Second up was the Milgauss. Now, this is the one that actually did make me nervous. Milgauss doesn't mean "resistant to a 4,000 gauss permanent neodymium magnet." It means just what it says: 1,000 gauss. Much to my surprise, and considerable relief, the visible effect on the watch was zero, and in fact, just as with the Omega, there was relatively little attractive force between the case and the bracelet. We allowed the Milgauss to run for 24 hours as well, and just as with the Omega, rate deviation, if there was any, wasn't visible.

Conclusions And Analysis

Several interesting things came out of this little test. First of all, both of these watches apparently successfully shrugged off exposure to a magnetic field far in excess of anything you are likely to encounter in real life, at least unless you are the sort of person who likes to order extremely powerful rare earth magnets and stick watches to them.

Secondly, apparently both watches are using so-called austenitic – and therefore, largely amagnetic – stainless steels. As it turns out, both 316L (presumed for the Omega) and 904L (confirmed for the Rolex) are steels in which, when they cool, the iron crystals are in a non-ferromagnetic form. Even a magnet as strong as this one produced only a minimal attraction. One always imagines a graphically terrifying result in a scenario where you're in an MRI machine wearing a Rolex, and someone switches it on, but it actually might be a lot less dramatic than many of us thought.

The third interesting point is that there was no discernible difference at all between results from the Milgauss and from the Omega. This seems surprising at first, but remember, the first 1956 Milgauss had a conventional steel lever and balance spring in its movement (caliber 1080) and achieved its high level of resistance through the use of a soft iron casing. The latest version of the Milgauss has a non-ferromagnetic Parachrom balance spring and also uses non-ferromagnetic material for the escape wheel and lever, and it stands to reason that its resistance to magnetism should exceed 1000 gauss handily with these enhancements. As a matter of fact, the use of a niobium-zirconium alloy and non-ferromagnetic escapement components was the strategy used by IWC in its Ingenieur 500,000 A/m, which is equal to nearly 7,000 gauss as we've seen.   

Rolex doesn't specify the material used for the inner shielding on the Milgauss, but it's reasonable to assume it's a type of nickel-iron mu-metal. Mu metals alloys work by providing a preferred pathway for magnetic field lines, which flow around the movement through the enclosure, rather than through the steel parts of the movement itself. (The term "mu-metal" is derived from the Greek letter mu, which is the symbol for magnetic permeability; mu-metals are highly permeable to magnetic fields.) By the way, you may have heard the term, "soft iron inner case." While pure iron is indeed relatively soft compared to steels, the term here means "soft magnetically." A hard magnetic material will stay magnetized even after an external field is removed; a soft magnetic material will conduct magnetic field lines but will not stay magnetized (which obviously is desirable when you're building a shield around a watch).

You also often hear magnetic shields in watches referred to as Faraday cages; this isn't strictly correct. Faraday cages can be either mesh or solid enclosures and are for shielding against electrical fields. You can make a Faraday enclosure out of copper, or aluminum, but these materials won't protect against magnetic fields. (There is some crossover, electromagnetism being what it is – Faraday enclosures can protect against radio frequency induced magnetic fields if the frequency is above about 100 kilohertz.) 

For consumers, the two $65,ooo questions are, which watch is better, and secondly, should I care about protection from magnetism as a watch owner?  

I think there are definitely some consumer benefits. You might think that the major difference between Omega and Rolex as far as resistance to magnetism goes, is that Omega is rolling its amagnetic movement technology out across a much wider product line than Rolex. However, it bears remembering that the watch part most vulnerable to magnetism is the balance spring – and the Rolex Parachrom is made of an amagnetic material. To objectively test the technical superiority of these two watches would require magnetic fields far more powerful than anything you're ever going to encounter in real life, and such a test would be conspicuously outside the realm of relevance.

Everyone is going to have their favorite among these two watches but choosing one over the other requires balancing a number of technical questions against preferences in heritage, and style, that are highly personal. Personally I find the lightning bolt seconds hand of the Milgauss rather irresistible, but that's me (it reminds me of Reddy Kilowatt, the anthropomorphic electrical current character used as a utilities spokesman when I was a kid, and if that doesn't date me I don't know what does). At the very least, I came away from this experiment pretty convinced that both watches will make magnetic field pollution irrelevant to their respective owners, and that the deciding factor may well be less to do with resistance to magnetism, and more to do with whether or not you want a date window. 

The green crystal on the Milgauss is pretty sweet.  I've always wondered, though, why the >15,000 Gauss didn't get nicknamed "Bumblebee."

Today, we’re proud to announce a pretty major collaboration with a pretty major brand, with the help of a pretty major designer, and we couldn't be more excited about it. We’ve teamed up with star designer Marc Newson and legendary luxury brand Montblanc to offer the Newson-designed M Pen exclusively with a Montblanc crafted pouch, sold only in the HODINKEE Shop.

You’re surely familiar with Montblanc as a watch brand – they're a favorite here at HODINKEE – but today we wanted to focus on the roots of Montblanc – as that of a top-tier producer of the world's finest writing instruments. In fact, Montblanc began as a manufacture with the introduction of their Meisterstück fountain pen over 90 years ago in 1924. Since then, the Maison has gone on to expand its offerings to include a range of leather goods, stationery, eyewear, and, of course, fine timepieces.

So what is the M Pen? The Montblanc M pen marked the first design partnership in the Montblanc’s history (ever), and with this collaboration, the brand introduced a modern take on their luxury writing instruments. Marc Newson is arguably one of the most important designers of our lifetime – known for his modern approach to design, particularly in the way that he blends form and function with fluid lines and sloping curves. He’s designed everything from the Atmos 561 (a limited edition for Jaeger LeCoultre’s 80th anniversary of the Atmos clock) to Sunbeam toasters to a concept jet. Oh, and he is currently on contract with not only Montblanc, but also a little technology company out of Cupertino called Apple. Aesthetics and touch are paramount in Newson's design, and the M Pen is one of his most simple, beautiful, and thoughtful creations. Also, it is one of his most approachable.

The polished black resin case is shaped using a diamond tool, which allows for absolutely no breaks in the lines of the pen. Even the Montblanc emblem has been welded ultrasonically at the top of the cap and the end of the barrel in order to preserve the fluidity of the design. Beyond the looks of the pen, it also just feels great in hand. The forepart of the pen is ruthenium-plated, adding weight to balance out the whole piece. Getting back to Newson’s penchant for combining beautiful aesthetics with functionality, one of the coolest features of the Montblanc M is the alignment of the clip with the “plateau” at the end of the barrel. No matter how you position the cap when closing the pen, a magnet pulls the clip to line up perfectly with the Montblanc logo at the base of the pen barrel.

So what’s special about what we’re offering in the Shop? Each Montblanc M rollerball pen will come with a co-branded HODINKEE and Montblanc pen pouch available exclusively in our set. Normally, the pen and pouch are sold separately for a combined cost of $555, but here we are offering them together for $500. There are only 100 pieces available in our initial run, and you can get yours right here.

About two years ago, we told you about 10 watch auction industry insiders that you should follow on Instagram. You guys loved it, and one of those peeps is now a full-fledged HODINKEE team member (hey Cara!). Today, as more watch industry titans are using IG than ever, we thought it'd be fun for you to follow a few of our friends that you may not know are on Instagram, but should.

1. Max Büsser – Founder & Chief Creative Officer At MB&F

Ah, Mr. Büsser. Max Büsser has held several roles within the watch industry – first heading production for Jaeger-LeCoultre, then as head of watches for Harry Winston (where he would launch the Opus series with F.P. Journe) and now, of course, as founder of MB&F. Max is a one-of-a-kind type of guy, and while MB&F and the MAD Gallery are also on Instagram, I find his personal account even more interesting. Follow along here.

2. Jean-Claude Biver – Head of LVMH Timepieces, Chairmain At Hublot, CEO At TAG Heuer

There isn't a bigger living legend in this field of watchmaking than Jean-Claude Biver. Resuscitator of Blancpain, wunderkind at Omega, savior of Hublot, and now CEO of TAG Heuer and, well, all of LVMH watches – the guy has done it all. Hell, he even told us about his massive collection of watches from competing brands on video. He does his own thing, like it or not, and you have to respect him for that. Follow along here.

3. Carol Forestier Kasapi – Head Of Movement Creation, Cartier

I bet a lot of you knew Max and JCB already, but Carole is a different story. She is, quietly, the badass lady watchmaker behind all of that innovation you've seen from Cartier over the last few years. She works on not only the commercial stuff like their in-house 1904 calibers, but also all those crazy Astrotourbillons and Retrogrades. Carole Forestier is clearly one of the top watchmakers in the world, and in arguably one of the most important roles in that world, with her hand on the helm of Cartier watchmaking, and she's 100% worth a follow. Follow her here.

4. Wei Koh – Revolution Co-Founder, Man About Town

Mr. Wei Koh, brother from another mother. Wei is the founder of our frenemy mag Revolution, but perhaps even more importantly, he's also the mind behind The Rake. On top of that, he's a world class traveler, connoisseur of hand-made things, and aesthete. He's just a good time. Follow along here.

5. Russell Kelly – Brand Manager, Tudor Watch USA

If you know Tudor, you know Russell Kelly. After stints at Blancpain and Vacheron Constantin, Russell was tapped to revive Tudor Watch USA back in 2013. To say he succeeded would be an understatement. Russell is a young, outdoorsy type of guy that is well known in the watch world, and he's one to watch, for sure. Follow along here.

6. Jean-Marc Wiederrecht, Watchmaker & Principal At Agenhor

Jean-Marc, like Carole, is a quiet force within watchmaking. He's the principal of Agenhor, which is a complication and movement maker to the stars. You know all those retrogrades from Van Cleef? Him. The Temps Suspendu and Slim Perpetual from Hermes? Him. Several MB&F Horological Machines? Him. You might not know him, but you know his work, and trust me when I tell you there isn't a nicer guy in watches. Follow along here.

It's been a big week here at HODINKEE. Yesterday we launched our new pen in partnership with Montblanc and Marc Newson and today we are bringing you 12 (yes, 12) new vintage watches for the HODINKEE Shop. This week we have a wide variety of chronographs and dress watches ranging in price and maker. Let's dig in, shall we?

A 1970s Yellow-Gold Rolex Datejust Reference 16018 With Tiffany Dial

Ok, so you may think you have seen every Datejust under the sun, but we found an incredibly special one for you this week. This reference 16018 is made of solid 18k yellow gold and features a Tiffany & Co. signed dial, which is pretty rare for such a "simple" watch. Rolex and Tiffany have managed to create an understated and elegant Datejust, all while sticking to the original design aesthetic. Read the Shop Journal post here. 

A 1940s Aristo Chronograph In Steel

Aristo Imports Co. Inc. is not necessarily a brand that we hear often, but we can tell you that they made one heck of a chronograph. This example has a 35 mm steel case with round chronograph pushers. The silvered dial has great patina and features two registers. Despite its anonymity, this watch is a true gem for $2,100. For more information, click here. 

A 1960s Jaeger-LeCoultre Memovox GT

Alarm watches from the 1960s are pretty cool, and this Memovox GT from Jaeger-LeCoultre is no different. The tonneau-form, brushed-steel case is pretty unusual and the clean layout of the dial make this watch very wearable. Not to mention the alarm function will keep you on high alert. Click here to see the full listing.

There Is More

In addition to these three watches, we have the following up for offer: a 1940s Breitling Premier reference 788; a 1960s Omega Constellation reference 14381; a 1962 Rolex Day-Date reference 1803 in yellow gold; a 1969 Omega Speedmaster reference 145.022; a 1970s Rolex Datejust reference 1601; a 1950s rectangular Longines in yellow gold; a 1980s Heuer Autavia reference 112.603 in pewter-PVD-coated steel; a 1960s Omega Seamaster reference 14763; and a 1950s Patek Philippe Calatrava reference 2584R.

For the complete listing, click here. 

Chronometers by two of England’s most important watchmakers, John Arnold and Thomas Earnshaw, set new auction records at Sotheby’s London last week. Both pocket watches, made at the end of the 18th century, were auction highlights because they feature early uses of patents submitted by their makers. They were therefore expected to fetch large sums before the auction even started. However, they did much better than that, surpassing all predictions to become the most expensive John Arnold and Thomas Earnshaw timepieces ever sold at auction.

Not only were both men rivals in making technical advances, there was a lot of money at stake too. After Harrison's proof-of-concept H4, it was clear that an accurate marine chronometer was no longer just theoretical. It was also clear, however, that Harrison's design was far too difficult to make at the scale needed, and to further advance research, the Board of Longitude made another £10,000 available to stimulate watchmakers.

John Arnold is most well known for making very accurate and reliable marine chronometers. Throughout his career, he introduced pioneering advances in the construction of escapements, as well as in the design of compensation balances and other elements of a precision watch necessary for accurate timekeeping. The watch in this lot has a number of features essential to accuracy, and would have represented the state of the art in timekeeping at the time of its creation.

Though this watch was completed in 1781, it has an extraordinarily modern appearance. The balance is almost fully exposed, except for the pierced and engraved balance cock, and there are few decorative flourishes; the overall visual impression is of a watch that's a timekeeping instrument first and foremost. The major features of interest of this watch include Arnold's pivoted detent escapement (eventually superseded by the spring detent, in both Arnold's work and that of other makers) a cylindrical balance spring, and a very ingenious, if somewhat bulky, system for temperature compensation; the extensive train jeweling is also unusual for a watch of this period.

The temperature compensation system consists of two bimetallic strips in the shape of an elongated letter S. The strips expand and contract laterally as temperature changes, and in doing so move two weights (at 3 and 9 o'clock, in the above image) in and out, to compensate for the effects of temperature on the elasticity of the balance spring. While it's a clever solution, its additional complexity relative to the later cut compensation balance made it obsolete relatively quickly, and, like so many ingenious early temperature compensation systems, it wasn't in use for very long. The watch featured in last week’s sale, which was made in 1781, is the only one of Arnold's timepieces with the double S compensation system that survives in an unrestored John Arnold pocket watch. The compensation system is identical, by the way, to Arnold no. 64, shown in Clutton and Daniels' Watches, fig, 321-2. It sold for £557,000 (or $722,318).

Arnold’s young rival, Thomas Earnshaw, is known for the improvements he made to some of his predecessor’s designs. One of his biggest contributions is the introduction of the detached spring detent chronometer escapement. Although he imagined it, Earnshaw could not afford to pay for the patent to protect the invention, so he convinced Thomas Wright, then watchmaker of King George III, to do so for him.

Interestingly, the movement of the watch looks to a modern eye much more archaic than the Arnold, despite the fact that it was made later and also despite the fact that technically, it's actually a more advanced watch. The balance cock, which completely conceals the balance, the enormous diamond endstone, and the more elaborate engraving all make this a somewhat backward-looking, if beautifully done, timepiece, at least in comparison with the Arnold (possibly thanks to the involvement of the royal watchmaker, who presumably would have wanted to make something suitably visually impressive). However, it's at least as technically advanced as the Arnold, if not more so, with a spring detent escapement, fusée-and-chain, and cut bimetallic compensation balance – the form of temperature compensation that became universal in watchmaking by the early 19th century, and which came to be found in all good watches right up until the development of Guillaume, and later, Elinvar and Nivarox-type self-compensating balance springs.

The gold pocket chronometer in last week’s sale is, according to the auction house, the only known surviving example of a watch made to Wright’s specific patent details, and you'll notice that it's signed by Wright, not Earnshaw. It sold for £305,000 (or $395,524).

The Board of Longitude seems to have recognized the efforts of both men, as each was eventually awarded £3,000 in prize money.

Last week’s sale is part of a four-part series hosted by Sotheby’s London that focuses on British watches. The next sale, dedicated to “The Genius of Thomas Tompion,” will take place in September, before concluding in December with the “George Daniels, 20th Century Innovator” sale. For more information, visit Sotheby's website here.

The summit of Deer Mountain in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, tops out at 10,013 feet, reached after a moderately challenging hike up a boulder-strewn switchback trail. The vistas are the reward for your efforts, with the view west to the “Diamond” face of Longs Peak and the Mummy Range to the north. I took a well-deserved break here to eat the nuts and fruit I hauled in my pack, watching the midday storm clouds boil over the top of the far peaks and tumble down the valley, a reminder not to linger here for fear of lightning. Before turning to start my descent, I checked both of my wrists. On one, a Suunto Vector, a multifunction “ABC” watch (Altimeter/Barometer/Compass), a venerable companion of mountaineers since the 1990s. On my other wrist was the world’s first self-winding mechanical watch with an altimeter – the Oris Big Crown ProPilot Altimeter.

Oris includes the Altimeter in its “ProPilot” collection and its aesthetics are pure aviator’s watch, from the tactical fabric strap and radially-knurled bezel to its seatbelt buckle-style folding clasp. But the reality is, if a pilot is relying on the tiny scale on his wristwatch to determine his altitude, he’s likely in a fair bit of trouble. Besides, the altimeter in the watch only goes up to 15,000 feet, whereas most commercial and military jets routinely fly twice that high (and commercial cabins and cockpits are pressurized to about 6,000 feet). So while this may be a pilot’s watch primarily in style only, where it does shine is as a useful and fun tool for hiking in the mountains. I recently took one along to test on a four-day trip to the Rocky Mountains.

The Big Crown ProPilot Altimeter is a big watch – 47 mm across and 17 mm thick – but this is by necessity. Inside the steel case are stacked an automatic movement (the Sellita-based Oris caliber 733) and a mechanical altimeter module. For the altimeter, Oris turned to Swiss instrumentation company Thommen, which also makes them for aircraft. It is an aneroid capsule altimeter, which consists of a sealed alloy disc that is highly sensitive to changes in air pressure. As the capsule expands or compresses from the minute differences that come with altitude change, it moves a lever that drives a needle on the calibrated scale at the outer edge of the watch dial. Fitting all of this beneath the movement and dial of a wristwatch was a remarkable feat, made possible in part by a very thin altimeter needle made from laminated carbon fiber that swivels in a bowl beneath the suspended watch movement.

As with any altimeter, electronic or mechanical, the Oris needs to be calibrated regularly since air pressure changes with weather as well as altitude, which can produce false readings. To do this, the crown at 4:00 is unscrewed and pulled out and then the altimeter needle set against a known altitude or barometric pressure. In the mountains, I always set it (and the Suunto) at the trailhead of each hike, where elevation was listed on a sign or map. For the altimeter to work, the lower crown must remain unscrewed to allow air to penetrate the watch case. A red band around the stem indicates that it is unscrewed and thus vulnerable to water intrusion. Oris has fitted the lower orifice of the watch with a Gore-Tex type membrane that keeps water vapor and humidity out of the case while the crown is unscrewed. But should a hike involve fording a stream or a steady downpour, it is advised to screw in the crown, which then gives the watch a healthy 100 meters of water resistance.

Despite its heft, this Oris was comfortable on the wrist as long as it’s worn snug enough to keep the top-heavy case from moving around too much. The strap can be adjusted in the clasp to any position easily, even on the go, allowing for quick tweaks as your wrist swells or shrinks, but I did find that the leather lining can get clammy on a hot multi-hour hike. A NATO strap might be a better choice, but I’m not sure it could support the weight of the watch as well.

Aesthetically, this Oris is a looker, and not only because of its massive size. The aviation-inspired dial, with its white on black markers and hands, is legible at a glance. The altimeter scale lends the sort of masculine geek chic that has made “busy” watches like the Breitling Navitimer so popular all these years. And really, who doesn’t like wearing a watch that has etched in red on one of its crowns, “ALT SET”? This feels less like a mere watch with illusions of fitting under a shirt sleeve, and more like an instrument. It felt right at home on the trail with a Gore-tex jacket and muddy hiking boots.

Over four days of hiking, many miles, and thousands of feet of elevation gain and loss, the Oris was remarkably accurate. I compared it to the Suunto on numerous occasions and against known altitude references such as trail markers or topographical maps. At some locations, it actually proved more accurate than the Suunto, whose altitude would “drift” by up to 40 or 50 feet within the span of one round-trip hike. That said, the Oris was slower to respond to changes in altitude, especially on descents, where elevation is lost more quickly than it is gained on a climb. Also, it is perhaps not a fair comparison to the Suunto, whose sensitivity is in 10 foot increments, whereas the scale on the Oris Altimeter is in 100-foot increments. So at the top of Deer Mountain for example, the yellow needle on the Oris read “10,000” whereas the Suunto said, “10,020.”

Of course, the Oris Big Crown ProPilot Altimeter is not meant to be used as an aviation instrument nor as a precise measurement tool for mapping new mountain ranges. But it is accurate enough to be a useful tool, in combination with a topo map, for hiking in the mountains. With a 15,000-foot limit, the high peaks of the Andes or Himalayas are beyond its reach, but it is perfect for the Rockies or the Alps, unless you plan to tackle Mont Blanc, in which case I suggest the Suunto.

There aren’t a lot of choices in the narrow field of mechanical altimeter watches. A few years ago, Breva released its hand-wound titanium Génie 02 Air, the first altimeter-equipped mechanical watch. But with a limited run of 55 timepieces and a cost of well over $100,000, it is out of reach of most weekend peak-baggers. So the Oris Big Crown ProPilot Altimeter is an intriguing alternative. The watch is further proof that Oris has, in recent years, found the formula for providing innovative, high quality and, at $3,800, accessible watches that are extremely satisfying to wear. And though there may be cheaper ways to get high in Colorado these days, the Oris is one you can take home with you.

The Oris Big Crown ProPilot Altimeter comes in a “feet” version and a “metric” version, and more information about both can be found here.

In the hierarchy of horological complications, there is some debate on which is the most prestigious. Some claim it is the minute repeater, while others swear by the tourbillon. But within the family of chronographs, between the standard chronograph, fly-backs, and so on, there is little contention that the most complicated of them all is the split-seconds, or rattrapante (French: rattraper – the act of recovering, recapturing).

A distinctive feature of these watches is the two – instead of one in typical chronographs – sweep seconds hands. One of them usually has an open ring, while the other has a pointed tail. These are some of my absolute favorite watches, if not for the beauty of the complication, then just for the simple fact that they're just really, really, fun to play with. Also – I'm sure there are some of you who are wondering what's so special about the Rolex 4113 that fetched over 2 million swiss francs at Phillips last May, in Geneva, at the Phillips Start-Stop-Reset auction. Well, you've come to the right place. Here, I will go deep, very deep on what makes a split-seconds so special, with a particular focus on vintage split-seconds chronograph wristwatches.

Why Are Two (Seconds) Hands Better Than One?

First of all, what is a split-seconds mechanism – and why do we need two chronograph hands? When you activate a typical chronograph, one sweep hand begins to track the elapsed time. Once a full rotation of that hand is made, the minute counter (usually the sub-dial at 3 o’clock) increments by one, and the chronograph starts to track the second elapsing minute. But what if you wanted to precisely time intermediate events – for instance, lap times of a horse race – while still keeping track of the overall elapsed time? One way to do it would be to use two or three chronographs, starting them simultaneously, and stopping/ending them as desired.

The split-seconds mechanism allows you to do just that, but in one single watch. Activating the chronograph starts both sweep hands in tandem. When the first event happens, you push a button to stop one hand (usually the one with the tail), while the other continues moving. You record the time, push the button again to make the stopped hand "catch up" to the running hand, and repeat as necessary. The seconds hands are superimposed, and then appear to split when you stop one – hence the name.

This mechanism first appeared around the 1880s in pocket watches, and debuted in a wristwatch in 1923 by none other than Patek Philippe – a 30 mm, mono-pusher split-seconds chronograph with an enamel dial. We covered that amazing piece here (and it sold for just shy of 3,000,000 USD). Most, however, were produced as ebauches by manufacturers such as Valjoux or Venus around the middle of the 20th century. 

In this article, we delve into the workings of these vintage movements but also take the opportunity to illustrate two of its less complicated, but more affordable cousins. We'd also give our take on how these movements compare to some of the split-seconds movements out there today – and their collectability. 

Understanding The Traditional Split-Seconds Mechanism

A movement by Venus is perhaps the most common split-second mechanism produced, showcasing the two distinctive prongs on either side of the center wheel in the movement – these are the jaws of a clamp, which we'll talk about in a moment. Venus movements were bought and cased by brands such as Breitling or Record Watch Co., mostly in the '40s and '50s, as production of these movements stopped soon after. 

Notice that there are two center wheels in the movement – the upper wheel connects to the split-seconds hand, while the lower wheel connects to the primary chronograph seconds hand. The split-seconds functionality is essentially achieved by a set of levers that form the jaws of the clamp we mentioned earlier. The upper wheel for the split hand is mechanically connected to the lower by a spring-loaded lever with a ruby roller on the upper wheel, that rides in the low spot of a heart piece cam (exactly like a normal chronograph return-to-zero heart piece cam) on the lower wheel.

Pushing the split button causes the jaws to close around the wheel carrying the split-seconds hand, while still allowing the lower wheel to continue turning, and hence still keep recording time. The roller and lever on the upper wheel stop moving, but continue to press against the cam on the lower wheel (which continues to turn) under the influence of a tiny spring. The split time can now be recorded. When re-activated, the jaws of the clamp open, and the upper wheel is free to rotate back into position as the ruby roller finds the low point in the cam, under the influence of the tiny spring we just mentioned. The two hands are now superimposed again.

The split-seconds mechanism is not considered one of the "high" complications because of its complexity (it's one of the three complications traditionally found in a "grand complication," along with a perpetual calendar and minute repeater). Rather, it gets its status from the fact that for it to work, everything has to be adjust extremely precisely, requiring a lot of skill from the watchmaker. 

The video below demonstrates how the split-seconds mechanism works, concurrently showing both the dial and movement. Watch carefully when the split button is pushed – you'll be able to see the jaws of the clamp closing on the upper split hand wheel, while the heart piece cam on the lower continues to rotate.

On the dial side, in the Venus 185, the button at 2 o'clock starts the chronograph; the center button is for the split function, and the button at 4 o'clock resets the entire chronograph mechanism. 

In general, what makes a chronograph so exciting to me is that it is an interactive complication. Most complications in watches, regardless of how complex they are, are passive – the moonphase, calendar, even the tourbillon, are not functions that can be activated whenever you feel like it. Part of what makes the chronograph so interesting, and even sexy in a way, is that there's a button on the watch that you can press, and voila – something happens. This physical interaction between the owner and the watch gives the watch something more, making it just a little more than something that tells time. That's not something you get from any other complication.  

With a split-seconds, you get an oversized dosage of this already interactive complication. I found myself purposely looking out for situations to use the split-seconds I had on my wrist – for example, I was grilling some thinly sliced steak one night, and each side had to be grilled for exactly 40 seconds – all the while, I had to keep track of how long a pot of pasta was cooking in the background. Guess what came in handy.

The Venus 179 And 185 – And Breitling

There are a few different members in the family of split-second movements produced by Venus. The most basic version would be the Venus 179, which came with a 30 or 45 minute counter, while the Venus 185 came with an additional hour counter. From my experience, a majority of these Venus movements seemed to be cased by Breitling in a few different references – the 762, 764, 766, 783, and 791 – and are collectively known as Duographs. These were cased in 36 mm or 38 mm gold or steel cases. 

While most of these movements were installed with little variation, Breitling included an interesting modification to the case in some references. Instead of having an additional pusher extending from the crown, as with traditional split-seconds, Breitling integrated the pusher into the crown – in essence allowing the entire crown to serve as a pusher, as well as the usual time-setting mechanism.  

To astute readers – where else might you have seen this type of integrated crown? In some early versions of the Patek 1436, that's where (one of which resides in Jean-Claude Biver's collection that we covered here). 

One interesting footnote to these watches – there is some debate in the collecting community over whether all of the dials on Breitling split-seconds must have came originally with "Duograph" printed on them. The question is whether any Breitling split-seconds without "Duograph" are re-dials, or have replaced dials from other references.

While there is little official word from Breitling themselves, numerous examples of non-Duograph split-seconds have appeared at auction, two of which appeared at the most recent Phillips Start-Stop-Reset auction in Geneva. The Breitling reference 791 belonging to Sir Jack Brabham and the reference 764 both came without Duograph on the dial, and sold for CHF 56,250 and CHF 30,000 respectively, and both near the top of their high estimates. While I believe dials with "Premier" on them are likely to be replacement dials coming from other references, given that most of these watches were built-to-order in the late '40s to early '50s, it makes sense that some of them might have left the factory with dials that were printed with just "Breitling."

Arguably The Most Complex Vintage Movements – Venus 189 And 190

Now that we've covered the Venus 179 and 185, what else is there? I'm sure most readers of HODINKEE are familiar with the Patek 5004 – the ultimate in watchmaking, combining a split-seconds mechanism with a perpetual calendar and moonphase. It was released in 1996, and was basically so difficult and costly to make that only about 12 were produced every year – with the last 50 cased in steel as we reported here. The successor to that movement, the 5204, was released at Baselworld in 2012, priced at $317,500. 

But back in the '40s Venus produced two movements that, in my opinion, remain as the epitome of vintage complications – the Venus 189 and 190. The Venus 189 was essentially a Venus 185 but with an additional date pointer at 12 o'clock, and the Venus 190 incorporated a moonphase on top of the Venus 189.

I don't know about you, but I think it's crazy that this watch was produced nearly 50 years before the debut of the 5004. Granted, the 5004 has a, well, additional perpetual calendar on top of the date function and moonphase, and granted, the Venus caliber is essentially modular in construction, with additional complications atop a similar base caliber, but still – imagine the sheer amount of complexity that the Venus 190 contains for a watch produced in the middle of the 20th century. A split-seconds is an insanely complicated thing by itself – but adding even more on top of that? An absolute masterpiece. Admittedly neither a moonphase, nor a simple calendar, introduce a lot of additional complexity themselves (especially not in comparison to a perpetual) but they're still a great addition to the complication.

As an aside, while most of these movements were produced in the '40s and '50s, it seems like someone had discovered a cache of NOS Venus Split-Seconds movements sometime in the '90s. This led a few different manufacturers, including Girard-Perregaux, Ulysse Nardin, Panerai, and Parmigiani, to produce a very small series of watches based on the discovered calibers. 

These watches were pretty much snapped up instantly when they were released in the early 2000s, and one might occasionally find them at auction or sold through forums. Some of the movements were refinished and re-calibrated by the manufacturers (such as including additional shock protection), and hence present an opportunity for collectors to own a complicated, vintage movement that has passed more modern timekeeping standards. 

But What About The Valjoux Split-Seconds Calibers?

Valjoux's answer to the split-seconds by Venus would be the Valjoux 55 VBR. Note that the "V" in VBR stands for Valjoux, and the "R" stands for Rattrapante (If anyone has thoughts on what "B" stands for, feel free to let me know).

We'll take a slightly deeper look at the Valjoux 55 VBR, primarily because there are a few different variations out there upon the original movement. For instance, the Valjoux 55 VBR found in the Rolex 4113 is slightly different than that in the Universal, which is different from those found in the Eberhard Rattrapante, each having slightly different functionalities. 

The most basic version might be found in split-second watches by brands such as Leonidas or Minerva. 

In contrast to the Venus movements, the basic Valjoux 55 VBR is a monopusher, with the center pusher controlling the start/stop of the chronograph and the pusher at 2 o'clock controlling the split-seconds functionality – essentially the reverse of the Venus calibers. The clamp for the center wheel is also designed slightly differently, with the column wheel being entirely visible (unlike the Venus movements). These movements were also significantly larger than their Venus counterparts, measuring at about 39 mm as compared to about 31 mm for the Venus. As a result, most of the watches cased with these movements measure upwards of 40 mm. 

The 44 mm Universal Geneve A. Cairelli

A modified Valjoux 55 VBR can be found in the Universal A. Cairelli. These 44 mm watches were sold by the Rome-based retailer A. Cairelli, and were largely issued to the Italian military with a few un-issued civilian models. Within the issued models, we know that some case backs were engraved with "AMI Type HA-1," which implies that they were meant for nocturnal navigation. 

The movement remains a monopusher, with the center pusher starting/stopping the chronograph, and the top pusher controlling the split-seconds mechanism. However, it is modified to show time on a 24-hour scale (instead of the usual 12 hours), and presents a "16" minute counter instead of the traditional 30 minutes. You can see how the wheel at 3 o'clock on the Universal V55 has significantly less teeth than the one presented previously. The movement is also found without Côtes de Genève.

As an aside, while these are certainly the most well-known watches that Universal Geneve made for A. Cairelli, they were not the only ones. Universal Geneve also made a waterproof, flyback chronograph for the Italian Air Force, an example of which sold recently at Phillips for CHF 65,000.

Rattrapante By Eberhard

The Eberhard Rattrapante is an interesting movement, one which might technically not be called a Valjoux 55 VBR primarily because it shares more similarity with the Valjoux 65 (or the Eberhard caliber 16000). 

These movements were almost exclusively designed by Valjoux for Eberhard. In addition to the crown pusher, the Eberhard above has an additional pusher at 4 o'clock. However, it is still a monopusher chronograph – that is, the pusher at 2 o'clock still controls the start/stop of the chronograph, while the button in the crown is for the rattrapante function. So what does that extra pusher do then? 

For those of you familiar with Eberhard watches, you might recall a particular "sliding lock" mechanism on the pusher at 4 o'clock, one that is very distinctive and almost only available in Eberhard watches. This slide locks the chronograph, preventing accidental activation or reset of the chronograph. 

A side-by-side comparison of the two calibers – the original and the split-seconds – is shown above. The screw and lever placements highlighted with yellow boxes are remarkably similar between the two watches, and significantly different as compared to a the Valjoux 55 VBR. This shows that the Eberhard rattrapante could be thought of more as a modified Valjoux 65 (or caliber 16000) rather than a modified Valjoux 55 VBR with a sliding lock mechanism. 

Note that the Eberhard rattrapante came with both two and three registers, the latter having an additional hour register, similar to the two different versions in the caliber 16000.

And of course, besides the oh-so-common conventional rattrapante made by Eberhard (in wristwatches), we have also a (likely unique) Eberhard rattrapante "Modello Magini," sold to the Italian Air Force, running a monopusher rattrapante with a date function. Most of these calibers – purportedly 10 in total – were likely designed for pocket watches, an example being seen here, but one seems to have found itself into a case for a wristwatch. Interestingly, it bears a remarkable resemblance to the Universal A. Cairelli – perhaps while the Universal A. Cairelli Rattrapante was used in wristwatch, the Eberhard versions, with a date, were used in pocket watches. There probably is a wonderful story here that deserves some deeper digging. 

Remember when I said that these movements were made almost exclusively for Eberhard? The example above shows an identical monopusher rattrapante, with a sliding lock mechanism, but for Hugex (or Huga S.A.). If anyone has an idea of the story behind this particular watch, we'd love to hear it here as well. 

The Big, Bad Rolex Reference 4113

Of course, one cannot have a discussion about split-seconds without mentioning the big elephant in the room – the Rolex 4113. We were shown this rare piece in one of our Talking Watching Episodes with John Goldberger. Without a doubt, this is the split-seconds watch that is most talked about, most desired, and, within the Valjoux 55 family, also the most expensive (the most expensive split-seconds watch ever sold is a Patek 1436, sold at Phillips in 2015 for just over CHF 3.3 million). This used to be the only Rolex that broke the $1 million mark at public auction, back when it sold for $1.17 million in 2011. Well, guess what, today it is the only Rolex that broke the $2 million mark, when it sold for an epic CHF 2.4 million at the Phillips Start-Stop-Reset auction in May 2016 (another Rolex came close – the Paul Newman Oyster Sotto – also sold at Phillips for a whopping CHF 1.9 million). 

Not only is it the only split-seconds watch ever made by Rolex; not only are there only 12 examples made in 1942, of which eight have surfaced; not only is it huge, at 44 mm; but it also features a Valjoux 55 VBR movement that is hands down the most advanced configuration amongst the ones we've already highlighted. Here's a short video of how it works.

As you can see, this is no longer a monopusher split-seconds. The center pusher starts the chronograph, the top pusher activates the split-seconds, and the lower pusher resets the chronograph. Note that the previous versions of the Valjoux 55 VBR could not be "paused" (like all monopushers), but the Rolex 4113 has that functionality. In my experience, the Rolex 4113 seems to be the only "two-pusher" Valjoux 55 VBR out there – all other iterations of the Valjoux 55 are monopushers. If anyone has seen differently, please let us know as well.

Beyond the added functionality, the Rolex 4113 is also relatively thinner as compared to the other Valjoux 55s we've seen.

What was the Rolex 4113 used for? This particular reference was never publicly available and never illustrated or appeared in any Rolex advertisement from its period. However, we know that there were 12 pieces made in consecutive serial numbers from 051313 to 051324, all in 1942. 

Interestingly, most of the surfaced examples can be linked to Sicily, home of the famous "Giro Automobilistico di Sicilia." For instance, a particular 4113 with serial number 051313, sold for CHF 82,500 at Christie's Geneva in May of 1991, and was then consigned by a family member of the renowned driver Stefano La Motta, Barone di Salinella (1920-1951). Another example, no. 051318, which came to market in England and sold for £27,500 at Christie's London in October of 1991, was consigned by the widow of a gentleman working for a racing team. Most educated guesses link this rare but well-known rattrapante to motorsports. 

And as you can tell from the historical and recent auction results, this is one of the most appreciated watches in vintage watches today.

Something Pretty Esoteric

I came across this interesting-looking movement while browsing on the internet – a split-seconds by Butex. I'm not entirely sure who manufactured it, but I'd guess it's Landeron by the general layout of the levers in the movement. Here, the split-seconds mechanism seems to be activated by a pusher at 10 o'clock – a completely different design as compared to either the Venus or Valjoux calibers (and coincidentally similar to the modern versions of the rattrapante by IWC and Lange). If anyone has more information, we'd love to hear from you.

These watches, just like traditional chronographs but perhaps more so, harken back to a time where watches were meant as more than just pieces of jewelry on our wrists. They were functional and were used for timing things. With the rattrapante, I imagine myself sitting in the grandstands of a derby or championship, and wanting to know the split times of the favorite pick.

Adding to that, the mechanical sophistication of the movement is just amazing. I think these are some of the most stunning and complex movements ever made for wristwatches, and in my opinion, one of the two ultimate vintage, mass-produced collectible chronographs out there. The other would be the Longines 13ZN – a couple of which fetched record prices a few weekends ago. With no regards to finishing, the 13ZN might edge out ahead in aesthetics and design, but the Venus 185/Valjoux 55 VBR is definitely ahead in complexity.

The Bovet Valjoux 84 Mono-Rattrapante

While there was some demand for split-seconds mechanisms in wristwatches, the typical split-seconds watch was inaccessible to most due to its price. These were very complicated watches, and one can imagine how servicing them might be a somewhat complex task. Therefore, thought was given to produce movements perhaps more economical and easier to regulate. We profile two such mechanisms below, beginning with the Valjoux 84 primarily produced for watches cased by Bovet in the 1940s.

As you've seen above with the Venus 185 or Valjoux 55 VBR, a split-second mechanism typically has two sweep hands. In 1936, Charles Jeanrenaud-Bovet of Fleurier received patent no. 185465 for a chronograph with only a single sweep hand, but still retained a similar functionality as a split-second chronograph. This was known as the mono-rattrapante, named for the single sweep seconds hand.

From a glance, the Valjoux 84 looks very similar to an early monopusher version of the Valjoux 22 movement. However, one easily notices the additional spiral hairspring at the 9 o'clock position – this is the key component that allows the chronograph movement to accommodate a sort of “catch-up” mechanism on the sweep hand, without the delicacy of the roller-and-heart-piece system.

Once the chronograph mechanism is started with the button at 2 o'clock, holding down the pusher at 4 o’clock stops the sweep second hand temporarily, but the chronograph mechanism is still running. During this time, tension begins to build in the hairspring. When the pusher is released, tension unwinds in the hairspring and hence allows the seconds hand to “catch-up” to the actual time elapsed by the number of seconds the wheel was held stationary, registering the total time elapsed since the chronograph was started.

However, because the catch-up mechanism is essentially engaged by a small stud that pulls the hairspring while it rotates, the possible split time is limited to 60 seconds, or one full rotation of the seconds wheel. For any longer period of time, the stud would block the rotation of the wheel, and the entire movement would stop.

Why was this mechanism useful? It allowed the user to record the timing of one event, while still allowing the chronograph mechanism to continue tracking the total elapsed time. This essentially acts as a split-seconds mechanism but without the additional sweep seconds hand, and of course, without the considerable additional complexity. The movement was significantly simpler to produce and regulate or service. As you might be able to tell, the movement does not have the significant overlay of extra components and hence avoids the precise adjustments that a traditional split-seconds mechanism requires. It could be built on other single pusher movements as well. For instance, some watches produced by Lowenthal have a similar mechanism, but placed on movements by different manufacturers, such as Landeron.

The Dubey & Schaldenbrand Index-Mobile System

The Bovet system with the tension spring was an interesting horological innovation, and there was great interest within the watchmaking community to produce a two-handed version with a similar technology. In 1948, Georges Dubey and Rene Schaldenbrand received a patent issued as no. 253051 that also utilized a stud and tensioned hairspring, mounted on a Valjoux 77, but incorporated with an additional sweep seconds hand. There was a spring under the center chronograph wheel that essentially served a similar purpose as that of the Valjoux 84. Two subsidiary patents followed, each simplifying the system, with the second and final patent allowing for a the split-second mechanism to be built up utilizing a mere generic one-button chronograph movement as the base. That patent developed into what we know as the Dubey and Schaldenbrand "Index-Mobile."

How does it work? The Index-Mobile contains an additional spiral hairspring mounted above the dial, connected to the second sweep seconds hand found in a split-seconds mechanism. While the typical split-seconds mechanism has significant modifications within the movement, the work-around Dubey & Schaldenbrand developed essentially shifted much of that outside the movement and onto the dial. Within the movement, the most significant modification was simply an additional center wheel and lever. The wheel is connected to the extra sweep seconds hand, and is connected to the original center wheel by the spring. The lever, when engaged via the pusher at 3 o’clock, brakes the additional hand by stopping that wheel. This allows for the timing of the first event to be read. When desired, the button can be released and the hand will return, via the spring on the dial, to the one still running. The basic principle is very similar to the Bovet, but allowing for a true split-hand functionality.

You can easily see why this was more cost effective, even as compared to the Valjoux 84, as it essentially added components onto a base caliber instead of modifying the entire movement. As compared to the traditional split-seconds, the Index Mobile was cheaper to produce, with few additional functional downsides as compared to the Valjoux 84, though it did also suffer from a similar 60-second limit on the split-seconds mechanism.

Interestingly, most Bovet Valjoux 84 watches I've seen are cased in chrome, with fewer in steel. Those in steel are typically in larger 38 mm waterproof cases (sometimes referred to as "hermetic" or impermeable cases within the collecting community) that I see used by a few other manufacturers such as Vetta. I've also seen some Lowenthal mono-rattrapantes in solid-gold cases, though those seem to be rarer. The value of these watches depend significantly on condition – I've seen prices range from under $3k to over $8k for premium examples.

On a more curious note, there seems to be no particular reason why the D&S Index-Mobile systems are in significantly lower demand than watches which house the Valjoux 84. I recall a period in time when they were "cool," but it seems like interest for these have fizzled out. It might be because of the larger number of gold-plated D&S watches, but the Index Mobile is nevertheless a fascinating horological invention that deserves some recognition.

The Modern Split-Seconds

Having gone in depth on the different types of vintage split-seconds movements and watches, how do the modern versions fare in comparison? In general, we can divide the modern split seconds approaches into two general categories: one utilizing ebauches, and another using in-house designed calibers. 

In the first category, the most popular (and affordable) modern split-seconds chronograph is based on the caliber ETA (or Valjoux) 7750, which debuted at Baselworld 1992 in the IWC Doppelchronograph, designed by Richard Habring.

Habring’s solution was simple and effective. As he explains, “we got a hamburger, took off the upper bun, laid a slice of cheese inside and closed it again.”

Prior to 1992, the split-second mechanism had to be operated with two column wheels. That design was both expensive to produce and expensive to regulate. For instance, if the split-second pusher was not pushed in fully, the brakes around the center wheel might open or close prematurely, causing the column wheel to get stuck. Habring’s solution was simple and effective. As he explains, “we got a hamburger, took off the upper bun, laid a slice of cheese inside and closed it again.” Instead of utilizing the column wheel, he designed the split-seconds mechanism atop the 7750 that could be operated by a lever-and-cam system. This allowed for both easier regulation and service, and was cheaper to produce. In contrast to the vintage pieces, the split-seconds mechanism in the 7750 would be operated by an additional pusher at the 10 o'clock position. 

Wait a second – does the name Habring sound familiar? This is the same Richard Habring who in 2012, as the 20-year IWC patent on the modified 7750 finally expired, set up his own company, Habring2, and released a limited 20 pieces of the Habring2 Doppel 2.0, an updated version of the original ETA 7750 split-seconds that won the Sports Watch Prize at the Grand Prix d’Horlogerie de Genève in 2012. For a detailed look at the history of this movement and the updated version under Habring, we wrote an article on this back in 2012 (Habring has since released the Doppel 3 – see here for more information).

IWC premiered the modified Valjoux 7750 movement with the Pilot Doppelchronograph in 1992, and incorporated the same movement in versions of the Portuguese Chronograph, the iconic Da Vinci (which received its tenth hand with its tenth birthday in 1995), and most recently, a titanium Ingenieur Doppelchronograph. This is not to mention the Il Destriero Scafusia – still to this day one of the most complicated, serially produced wristwatch ever.

Patek Philippe And Vacheron Constantin's Modern Splits

As we leave ebauche and go in-house, we leave the $10,000 mark and go deep into the (very) expensive. In 2015 Vacheron released the Harmony Ultra-Thin Grande Complication Chronograph, the world's thinnest self-winding monopusher split-seconds chronograph, in a limited run of just 10 pieces. This utilized the caliber 3500, which measures 33.4 mm in diameter by just 5.2 mm in thickness. A total of 459 components make up the movement, some of which are really, really small (e.g. springs that measure 3/100ths of a millimeter). 

And we have Patek Philippe's take on the rattrapante – beginning with the 5959P, launched in 2005 and featuring Patek's first fully in-house chronograph movement with the caliber CHR 27-525 PS; then the 5950, which launched in 2010 and uses the same caliber as the 5959P. 

The CHR 27-525 PS was a monopusher rattrapante, similar in functionality to the basic version of the Valjoux 55 VBR. It was not until 2015 that Patek released a pure two-button, split-seconds chronograph – the reference 5370P. It uses a slightly modified in-house caliber CHR 29-535 PS, which was before then only found in the 5204.

And of course, we cannot ignore what Lange has to offer: the Lange Double Split, the first and only chronograph in the world to feature a double-split-seconds mechanism, allowing the wearer to time not only two individual runs of seconds, but also split times up to 30 minutes. 

And of course there is mighty Lange 1815 Rattrapante Perpetual Calendar – see our coverage of this watch here.

What do all of these watches have in common? Besides having insanely nice movements, mostly cased in precious metals, and of course, being highly collectible, they're all pretty darn expensive. The "cheapest" is the Lange Double-Split in Platinum, which one might be able to obtain for around $90,000 at auction. The MSRP for the newer version in rose gold is a hefty $128,400. The Vacheron? Priced at $369,200. The Patek 5370P? A nice $249,200. These aren't average numbers, and are certainly not targeted at the average watch collector. 

At a more fundamental level, however, the fact that these are largely cased in precious metals is in contrast to the functional purpose of what the movement is designed for. Unlike other complications such as moonphase or calendars, chronographs are meant to be actively engaged, and used during circumstances that require it. Of the high complications, the only other that offers the same degree of interactivity in everyday use is the minute repeater. That's why many of the vintage split-seconds watches were designed with functional purposes in mind – horse or car racing, aviation, and so on – meaning one would actually wear them (and use them) at a race track, or flying a helicopter at night, with all the potential dirt, grime and damage that comes along with it. That's also a reason why so many of the vintage split-seconds chronographs were cased in steel, and not in softer precious metals. 

That's why, at some level, if I had to choose a modern split-seconds, I would prefer the IWC Doppelchronograph, or the Harbring Doppel 2.0/3.0 – not simply because the design philosophy behind those split-second watches more closely relates to the original intent of the invention, but also because they are positioned at a price point where they could (potentially) be used for those original intended purposes.

Final Words, And Some Thoughts On Collecting

Vintage split-seconds chronographs are some of the rarer chronographs out there. While I don't know about the exact number of Valjoux 55 VBR or Venus 185 movements produced (if someone does, please feel free to add to the discussion), they are definitely not in the same ballpark as the Valjoux 22 or 72. While I can never exactly explain why certain things happen in any form of collecting, I think there is a tremendous value differential here when "sporty" watches, such as the Heuers or Universal Geneve Nina Rindts, running the venerable but relatively common Valjoux 72, go for prices significantly above what these split-seconds command right now.

But even when compared to the modern split-seconds available, I find it absolutely puzzling that some of these vintage splits are currently priced nearer to the lower end of their modern counterparts (say, the 10-20k mark), while being on a level of complexity closer to the higher end of what is now available commercially.

But maybe that's a good thing. Personally, I find these movements absolutely fascinating – and the current price environment makes them affordable to more collectors. Take a look at the pictures and videos above, and tell me you don't feel a similar attraction to the pure complexity of the movement. Whenever I open up the case back on one of these watches, it amazes me how such complicated movements were produced in the early to middle 20th century (without 3D modeling!), and it sometimes makes me wonder why one might choose to pay upwards of $15,000 for "in-house" but simple chronograph movements by major retailers, when these vintage split-second pieces might be had for a roughly similar amount.

But that is a discussion left for another day.

PH Zhou graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where he studied economics and computer science. He currently resides in New York City and works in finance. He is a devoted enthusiast of vintage watches – in particular early- to mid-20th-century chronographs.

There are probably as many different ideas about what constitutes a collection as there are collectors. In our inaugural installment of The Two Watch Collection, we looked at two watches that have incredibly rich, long histories, as well as offering functionality and versatility that allow one or the other to work in just about any situation imaginable (well, maybe not black tie). Those two watches are the Seiko 5 and the Casio G-Shock Tough Solar. Today we're going in almost a completely opposite direction. The Grand Seiko SBGW033 and the Saxonia Thin 37 mm are both demonstrations of a certain kind of obsessive, narrow focus, with a lot of similarities, as well as differences, that show just how a shared philosophy about watchmaking can produce different, but complementary, expressions.

In a general sense, the way in which these two watches are alike is obvious; both are simple time-only watches, and the idea their designers clearly had in mind was to take the basic elements of a simple watch, and see how far they could be pushed in terms of quality. This is a pretty difficult task, because it's not an additive one – you're not giving anything extra in terms of functions, or complexity. Instead, you're reducing the watch to its essentials, in order to show exemplary execution of craft. At its most extreme, despite the reductiveness of the approach, this can be an extremely expensive way to do things, because it means, at least in theory, that you're not worrying about time or money; it takes as long as it takes and it costs as much as it costs. From a practical perspective, this is a tough thing to do in a series-produced watch, because unless you plan on having just one extremely wealthy client, who has infinite patience to boot, some compromises are always there. As a two watch collection, then, these two watches are all about making a choice about what to focus on, and that means having a clearly articulated idea of what your objective is.

Let's take a look at how these two watches do what they do.

In certain respects the Saxonia's the easier of the two to understand. If you're looking for a watch that really delivers when it comes to making the idea of a classic luxury dress watch a reality, it's hard to think of anything that does it better. You've got two hands, no lume, baton markers, and very little else on the front side of the dial except the company's name and the legend, Made In Germany. The trick here is to bring everything to the highest possible level of execution but not go too far, and I think Lange's done that very well. There's a kind of subdued, bespoke sheen to the whole thing, but it's extremely unostentatious. The goal for Lange in putting this design together and calculating what impression it makes, seems to have been to avoid attention getting pyrotechnics. It manages to be luxurious, but without abandoning its fundamental instrumentality; that is, it stays a watch, not an ornament. It's beautiful, but not from the pursuit of beauty per se; rather, it's the sort of beauty that emerges naturally from a well made object. It's not great art, but it is great design, which has a dignity of purpose art doesn't.

The Grand Seiko looks nearly identical in approach to the Lange – okay, you might say, the case material is different, and there's that center seconds hand, and it says Seiko, not A. Lange & Söhne, on the dial. However, it also says Diashock 24 Jewels, which is an interesting bit of anachronism. Nobody would ever advertise the presence of a shock system in a modern watch; it's a given, and to state that there is one right on the dial means this watch is going for nostalgia, in a way the Lange is (apparently)  not. The Lange could have been made – at least, looking at it from the dial side – almost any time between, say, 1920 and today; there is virtually nothing in its design that places it in any particular year or even decade.

The Grand Seiko, on the other hand, is a watch that some horological Sherlock Holmes could probably deduce was made at the very least, post-Quartz Crisis. (This is deliberate, in general, for both the Lange and the Grand Seiko, although in the case of the GS, there's a specific watch it was designed to very closely resemble: the original GS 3180, from 1960.) You might be led astray a bit at first by the Diashock script, and start your chain of deduction some time in the late 1950s or 1960s but then you'd look at the quality of the whole thing, and know you were looking at something more recent. It's just a shade too good – that immaculate dial, those eerily sharp markers, those you'll-cut-yourself-just-looking-at-them hands, are all way too crisp to have come out of anything other than a modern factory, with extremely modern manufacturing methods. This isn't so much a watch as it would have been made in the middle of the 20th century, as it is an illustration of what such a watch would look like, seen through what's achievable with the latest high-precision tooling and quality control. It's not a literal reproduction of a vintage watch; instead, it's what you get when you marry the design vision that was behind a vintage watch, with where you can get when you hook up obsessive perfectionism with the near perfect results you can produce, right now, in a machine-made object.

It's when you turn things over that you get an interesting twist in the story. While the dial side of the Lange is not really localizable to any specific point in the history of wristwatches (which, arguments about bracelet watches aside, is only about 130 or so years of the 500 or more years of mechanical horology in Europe and Asia) the movement side is a dead giveaway that this is a modern – and by that I mean, post-Quartz Crisis, mechanical horology renaissance era – wristwatch. 

In the details of its construction this could easily be, at first glance, a pocket watch movement. But screwed-down chatons in a wristwatch-sized movement are something virtually never seen in the entire history of wristwatches for a reason: they offer nothing in terms of a performance improvement, and would only be included by a watchmaker who was either a masochist, or was – and this is the giveaway – trying to make a point. The point is actually points, of course – the demonstration of craft, a connection to tradition, and so on. You can say the same for the engraving on the balance cock; again, it's archaic; again, it's beautiful; again, it's there to send a message. And, as with the dial of the Grand Seiko, the whole thing is just a little too good. This is not (as other writers, notably Walt Odets and John Davis have remarked) a late-19th-century pocket watch movement per se, so much as it is an illustration of one – made by obsessive perfectionists armed with the latest in modern, high precision manufacturing techniques, and quality control methods.

Now the fascinating thing about the case back of the Grand Seiko is that its signals are actually very different from those of the dial – but also, very different from those of the case back of the Lange. Unlike the dial, the back of the Grand Seiko doesn't give any clues at all as to when this watch was made. Viewed from the back, this could be, in all the details of its execution, a watch made any time between, say, the mid-to-late 1930s, and the present. It's not an illustration of anything; it's a closed case back on a stainless-steel watch, which basically says, move along folks, nothing to see.

The irony is, of course, that with Grand Seiko there's always something to see.  You won't see the lovely, minutely detailed hand finishing of the Lange of course, but what you will see is as precisely executed a piece of high precision machinery as you are likely to see anywhere. That's very much a part of the impression you get from the Lange, as well, so at least in that respect, the two watches are alike. So what gives? Why not put a display back on the thing so we can see the goods?

The answer is that this watch is, as a whole – and as the dial already tells us – an exercise in nostalgia. It doesn't make much sense in a modern luxury watch to not let the owner take a gander at the movement; it does, however, make a lot of sense, if what you're doing is appealing to the nostalgic idea of a high quality, every day, the-only-watch-you'll-ever-need wristwatch. Like the gold chatons in the movement of the Lange, the solid case back is a way of making a point.

Perfection, obviously, isn't something you get in any sort of physical object; it's an ideal. Since you have to make compromises, inevitably, due to constraints of time and money, the trick is to make as few compromises as possible. Both these watches measure up to that yardstick beautifully. But that doesn't make them a two-watch collection. What does, however, is that both are also at first glance one thing, and at second glance another. Both appear, at first, to be watches that stand outside any particular time or place – but both are very much of a specific time, and a specific place. It's impossible to imagine the Lange coming from any place but Germany, and while the clues that the Seiko is a product of Japan are a bit more subtle than a German silver three-quarter plate and rather baroquely engraved balance cock, the incredible geometric precision and blindingly flawless mirror finish of the hands and dial furniture is at least a strong hint.

And, taken as a whole, they both give away their contemporary origins, but in different places – the Seiko, on the dial, and the Lange, in the movement. Both the dial of the Seiko and the movement of the Lange, in essence, imply the presence of a connoisseur – or at least, someone who knows watches – and moreover, of a nostalgic connoisseur. This is not to the detriment of either watch, by the way; they're both on a continuum with what their makers have been doing, between the two of them, for over 200 years. That they both speak to the nostalgic connoisseur is, in fact what gives them their interest; certainly, much more interest than either would have if they were simply extremely well made watches. To take an analogy from the movies, that Lawrence of Arabia is an illustration of Lawrence's desert campaign, doesn't make it a bad movie. (Certainly, the real campaign was very probably one hell of a lot less fun the film, and indisputably longer and more uncomfortable). 

Watchmaking isn't an art, but sometimes the effect of a watch – or in this case, two watches – rises to the level of art, and that's what makes these two timepieces a fascinating Two Watch Collection.

If you know anything about Piaget, you know they are a serious and true manufacture with some notable achievements. From the ultra-thin 9P movement developed in 1957, to being one of the first major Swiss houses to use the Beta-21 movement, to their more recent ultra-slim introductions, they have a small but dedicated following among serious watch lovers. What you may not know about is the Polo, a solid gold watch released in 1979 with truly the epitome of jet-set chic in the late 70s. This heavy metal timepiece weighed 130 grams and was powered by the then-prestigious 7P quartz movement (gone are the days where quartz was considered prestigious). The Polo was the watch to own and wear in the 1980s, and in fact, made up for one-third of Piaget’s watch sales.

The Polo has continued to be a part of Piaget's collection, but with little fanfare. Today, that changes. Say hello to the Piaget Polo S (the S stands for steel, the style of the watch, and that it is a signature of the brand). The new and improved version of the Polo is different in many ways, all while maintaining the same sporty elegance that was so loved in the first version. 

The time-only version is powered by a newly developed in-house movement, the automatic caliber 1110P. It is 9.4 mm thick and features a date at 6 o’clock with center seconds. Piaget has always been ahead of the trends with their movements, and it is nice to see that they continue to create new movements for their new watches, like the Polo S. 

The same goes for the new chronograph, which is fitted with a new automatic caliber 1160P movement, and features a two-register dial layout with date at 6 o’clock. Furthermore, both watches come with a polished steel bracelet with integrated folding clasp, and clearly aimed squarely at the luxury sports watch market dominated by AP's Royal Oak and Patek's Nautilus.

The Polo S Automatic retails for $9,350 and the Polo S Chronograph retails for $12,400. This is a somewhat disruptive price for a watch of this caliber, and it's clear the Polo S marks a big push into the younger segment for the traditional Swiss brand. For more information on Piaget you can visit their website here.

Eclectic would be the proper word to describe this week's selection; we've got well known models (a Rolex chronograph, anyone?) but also, some more obscure watches, such as a "Disco Volante" from Omega, and the sporty Vacheron Constantin reference 222. There is also a very dressy Leroy & Cie and a very colorful Dugena – all in all, a bit of something for everyone. This is your Bring A Loupe for July 15, 2016.

An Omega "Disco Volante" From An Ethiopan retailer

With its flat stepped bezel and fully round case, this Omega looks like a UFO (or as the French say, OVNI/Objet Volant Non-Identifié) but a beautiful one. To remain within horological terms, its shape is reminiscent of the "Disco Volante" – "flying saucer", a term used to describe several oversized Patek Philippe from the 1950s. This Omega's 39mm size was huge for the 1940s, and its dial lets us understand how special this watch really is. Indeed, it bears a double signature, with the retailer "Orlogeria Centrale" from Addis Abeba, Ethiopia. It would be fascinating to find out who ordered this watch and for what purpose, as it very much looks like a unique piece

The dealer Vesper &  Co just listed this outstanding Omega for $9,950 here.

A Rolex Chronograph Reference 6238

The reference 6238 is often referred to as the pre-Daytona since many design cues of the emblematic Rolex chronograph can already be found, at the exception of an external scale on the bezel. As this clean example from 1965 shows, the reference 6238 was even produced alongside the first Rolex Daytonas. Currently, the 6238 is less popular; however, it recently got the the spotlight when a detailed presentation by the Omega Museum's Petros Protopapas, about the watches submitted to NASA in the early 1960s, revealed that the model provided by Rolex was not the one many had thought – you can read more about the insights here. This revelation fueled the speculation that the reference 6238 was actually this opposing chronograph that did not manage to beat the Speedmaster to become NASA's official watch. In any case, this silver chronograph exhibits dashing looks, which explains why it was James Bond's choice in the movie On Her Majesty's Secret Service. 

A Rolex dealer in the US is offering this Silver 6238 for $30,000 here.

A Leroy & Cie Chronometre, With Oversized Case And Guilloche Dial

It is the second week in a row that a chronograph from the French company L. Leroy & Cie is featured in Bring A Loupe, and my Parisian bias has little to do with that. This watch is truly outstanding, from its large yellow gold case, to the sumptuous guilloche dial. Up to and including the handset, there is something very Breguet about it, and I  mean it as a (huge) compliment. The hunter case back reveals the former Parisian address, and if you go in another layer, a gorgeous manual wound movement appears. The overall condition of this piece from 1943 is stellar.

The Italian dealer Andrea Foffi offers this masterful chronometer here.

A Dugena Chronograph, With Caliber 15 And The Funkiest Dial Ever

Far from the classic looks of the previous watch, this chronograph resolutely comes from another time, with exuberant design and audacious color combination. This just might be the most 1970s watch ever, with a peacock blue dial with orange accents, and the absolutely psychedelic sub-registers. It also comes from an era where the challenge of creating an automatic chronograph had just been accomplished, and this Dugena houses the caliber 15, also used by Heuer after the caliber 12 (more info can be found here). Dugena might be considered the poor-man's Heuer; and here it offers a fantastically bold design that would be hard to forget.

This chronograph is listed on eBay here, it is offered at 1,690 Euros or around $1,880.

A Vacheron Constantin Reference 222, In Stainless Steel

Contrary to watchworld's rumors, this distant cousin of the Royal Oak and the Nautilus was not designed by Gerald Genta, the father of the two emblematic models. Nonetheless, the Vacheron reference 222 does rely on the same aesthetic, with a lavishly polished stainless steel case and an integrated bracelet. Its automatic movement is even based on the same Jeager-LeCoultre ebauche as the ultra-thin calibers of the AP and Patek. Yet, the resemblance stops there, as the 222 is resolutely faithful to the patrimony emblem of Vacheron Constantin : the Maltese Cross, which adorns on the dial, lower right lug, case back and clasp. On the wrist, it wears magnificently, explaining why this rare watch was Paul Boutros' choice back in 2013, as you can read here. 

This rare Vacheron is available on Matthew Bain's website here.

A Breitling SuperOcean Reference 2005, With A Faded Yachting Bezel

This Breitling offers a pretty unique take on a diving chronograph, with a 60 minute central chronograph hand, and a function indicator. It was engineered from a pure utilitarian standpoint, which explains that the focus is on the elapsed minute of the chronograph; crucial information where you are underwater. The large dot above the 6 o'clock index allows you to see whether the chronograph is running, paused, or re-set to zero, since it's not easy to tell just by looking at the slow chrono hand. This watch further comes with the rare (and for some collectors, controversial on a 2005 as it was not present on official documentation) yachting bezel, with its characteristic 5-minute countdown that would be more apparent with less fading. The overall condition shows some aging, and the crown has been replaced. The case back exhibits the correct SuperOcean logo, but I was not expecting to find a serial number here, and see the reference number so close to the center. Maybe it denotes an early production – research in progress.

This vintage SuperOcean 2005 is listed on eBay here; at the time of publishing bidding was below $4,000.

This is a big one, guys. Actually, it might be one of the biggest. Phillips, in association with Bacs & Russo, sent us word about their top watch of the upcoming November, 2016 Geneva sale, and wow. We're talking a perpetual calendar chronograph, from Patek Philippe, in steel. Yes, Phillips will offer one of four steel 1518s in the world this fall. Not sure why that's such a big deal? Read on for more.

Phillips And A Short, But Insanely Strong History With Complicated Pateks In Steel

First, one must understand what the 1518 is. It is, for the uninitiated, the very first serially produced perpetual calendar chronograph, ever. This watch is the forefather of the 2499 (Eric Clapton's platinum 2499 was covered by us here) the 39 and 5970, and of course the 5270. Patek's family of perpetual calendar chronographs is is truly considered an almost holy grouping of watches, combining great design and technology with timeless aesthetics and collectability. For more on these, be sure to watch our video explaining them all here.

And the 1518 is the first of them, period. Mostly found in yellow gold, rose gold examples of the 1518 are exceedingly rare, and when they come up for auction, they do well. But, the 1518 is not interesting only because it the progenitor of the family, or because it is the least common, with just 281 pieces made in over a decade worth of production – the 1518 is the only perpetual calendar chronograph from Patek ever to be made in stainless steel. And that means this watch will be the fifth mega complicated Patek in steel to be offered by Phillips in association with Bacs & Russo since its launch in May of 2015. Let's quickly recap what happened the other four times a steel, complicated Patek hit the block at Phillips.

Reference 5016 With Blue Enamel Dial For Only Watch – 7.3M Swiss Francs

Ok, so this one is a little different because it's a brand new, modern watch – but still, Phillips sold this unique 5016 Patek a Only Watch of 2015 for a truly momentous 7.3 million CHF. That is, of course, a world record for any wristwatch ever. Now this watch was made entirely for charity, and this watch is indeed tax deductible, but still.

Reference 130 Single-Button Chronograph - $4,987,000

This watch, sold in the inaugural Phillips w. Bacs & Russo sale in May of 2015 is an interesting one – it is next to unique, being one of two examples produced with a single button chronograph, in steel, with sector dial and vertical registers. The other is in the Patek museum will clearly never be available for purchase, so we expected this watch to be in the millions, but I'm not sure many expected it to break $5 million. It did, and though it is not a watch often compared to the 1518 steel as one of the most collectible in the world, it may in fact end up being a more valuable watch – we will see. It is an earlier watch, and more rare – there are four known steel 1518s – but far less complicated.

Reference 1436 Split-Seconds - $3,301,000

The next multi-million dollar, complicated steel Patek came in November of the same year – a split-seconds chronograph reference 1436 – that sold for over $3.3 million. Again we are talking about a watch where there are less than five known in the world, and split-seconds is arguably one of the cooler complications out there.

Reference 1463 Chronograph - $1,210,000

Now this watch, a later production waterproof chronograph reference 1463 was a bit of a shocker. Nobody I know had any intuition that this watch – generally available in the market for about $350-$500K – would sell in the million dollar segment, and arguably similarly fine examples have since come back to the "normal" range, even at Phillips. Still, this result shows the power of Phillips with a great watch, in particular a steel Patek. Oh, though it's not a complicated watch, it's worth mentioning Phillips sold a time-only steel PP for almost $1.5million in the black dial reference 530.

And Now, The 1518 In Steel – Maybe The World's Most Perfect Wristwatch?

The 1518 in steel is, in my own opinion, much more than any of the watches mentioned above. It may be less rare – there are four of them known – but it is everything a Patek should be, and the grandfather of so much greatness for us in the collectible watch world. Also, in many ways, the 1518 steel is the ultimate grail watch, because it's something of a brand unto itself. The reference 130 mono-pusher is an insider's watch, and it shares a reference with the far more pedestrian reference 130. The 1436 steel is a rare reference, but not as well known as the 1518, and a split seconds is an entirely different thing from a perpetual calendar and a chronograph. (We should mention that there actually is a 1436 rattrapante, and a 1463 standard chronograph; confusing but correct.) Further, there is one example of a steel 1436 out there, advertised not long ago on the internet, that many believe to be recased or inauthentic in some way – and it was offered for a price well below what a fully correct steel 1436 watch should be selling for. That hurts that watch, for sure, because onlookers may not be able to tell the difference. A steel 1518? There are no recases out there (that I know of). And people know the 1518 because they know the 5970, the 2499. People also know of the steel 1518 on a larger level because famed collector Alfredo Paramico recounted the purchase of one for Bloomberg Magazine in 2012 – he paid 2.2 million euro for it in 2007 (Paramico sat with us for Talking Watches here).

The 1518 steel is easy to understand, and it's honest. We know its history, and we know what it is. We also know that there are no other stainless steel perpetual calendar chronographs out there – at least according to generally accepted thought. In fact, there are no other vintage perpetual calendar chronograph in any white metal, except the platinum 2499). This pretty much makes this watch, coming up for sale on November 12 and 13th in Geneva, arguably the most desirable reference one can imagine. Yes, there are three other examples out there, but they are buried deep in the world's greatest collections. And this is the only of the four to have never previously seen an auction block.

Right now, Phillips has supplied just one image of the 1518 for sale (seen above) but you can be sure we will follow this one closely. Also, if you want to see more on the steel 1518, all four examples are well documented in John Goldberger's cardinal Patek Philippe Steel Watches. The estimate on this one? In excess for 3 million CHF. Yup, this is gonna be good.

Last week, I gave you six friends of mine – all of whom happen to be watch industry insiders – to follow on Instagram (find it here). You guys really seemed to like it, and in fact it became one of the most popular stories of the last week. So, it's Monday, and I thought we'd do something similar, but focusing on the vintage side of things. To take it a step further, we're only going to show you Italian vintage dealers, because, after all, that's where this whole vintage craze was born. Here are six Italian vintage watch dealers to follow on Instagram, and as you likely know, most of the best stuff they post on IG doesn't even make it onto their websites – it goes that quickly, so be sure to follow closely.

1. Elvio Piva of Tempus Orologi

Elvio Piva is located in Padova, Italy, and specializes, I'd say, in Daytonas and other vintage Rolex. He always has an interesting stock of manual chronographs, the occasional Royal Oak, and more. He and his lovely daughter, who you can also find on Instagram, run a tidy shop of interesting old watches. Their website is here, and you can follow along here.

2. Stefano Franceshetti

Stefano is newer to the vintage watch game, but he's one of my favorites because of that. He's a young guy, and has exceptional taste, as you can see by the mryiad of multi-scale chronographs seen on his Instagram. He does not have a website, nor a shop, so IG is his selling vehicle. His English is certainly not fluent, but he's a warm and friendly guy with some great watches. Follow along here.

3. Watches In Rome

Watches in Rome is one of the more internationally established Italian vintage watch dealers, and we've featured 'em before, here. Run by two brothers and their fathers – the De Simones – you'll see a wide range of fascinating Pateks and Rolexes, among others. Their website is here, and you can follow them on Instagram here.

4. Only Vintage / Corrado Mattarelli

Only Vintage is run by well known Italian dealer Corrado Mattarelli, one of the friendlier guys in the game. Corrado has a wide range of vintage pieces from Patek and Rolex to the more obscure brands like Breguet and Universal. He has just opened up a retail location in Monaco, runs a website here, and you may follow his Instagram here.

5. Davide Parmegiani

There isn't a bigger player in the vintage watch game than Davide Parmegiani. He is one of the true originals, and is well regarded as the ultimate market maker. There are likely more than a few multi-million dollar watch from the past few years that, at one point or another, passed through Davide's hands, which makes it all the more amazing that he's only recently embraced the web as a selling vehicle. He is close with many of those nameless European mega-collectors that few of us ever run into, and has helped pieced together many of the world's largest and most important collections. You can follow his personal Instagram here, his website here, and his new official account here.

6. Alex Ciani

Alex Ciani was born and bred in Italy, but has since relocated to Los Angeles. This means he is one of the rare US-based dealers that has regular and deep ties to the Italian watch world in a way the American dealers don't. He doesn't specialize in any one area in particular, but he gets some true gems. You can follow his website here, and his Instagram here.

The Supersonnerie is a super-watch; one of those concept car projects companies produce not because they expect to sell them, but to show that they can. Building something like, say, Cartier's ID One and Two, is like building a Formula 1 car; you don't expect to make money selling them but what you find out making them, might help you sell more cars, or watches, down the line, with better engineering that helps you keep your edge over the competition. The thing about the Supersonnerie – a minute repeater that AP has been working on for eight years and that's the most recent chapter in over a hundred years of repeater manufacturing – is that you can actually buy it. (Well, maybe you can't. I sure can't. But somebody can).

Seeing the Supersonnerie in person and actually hearing it chime isn't easily done – viewing and hearing the finished watch, which is now in production, involved a trip to Le Brassus – and in fact the Supersonnerie came into the world very slowly, through a two year long series of teasers. The first indication AP gave that they had been working on a game changer of a repeater was all the way back in November of 2014, when they released a press image and information about a watch they were calling the Royal Oak Concept Acoustic Research RD1, and which, in January of 2015, some of us got a chance to hear, and hear a little about, in a specially constructed sort of multi-media pod AP had constructed inside its stand at the SIHH – the idea was to both provide an acoustically clean environment for listening to the RD1, and to keep prying eyes and ears away from what represented an eight year R&D investment.  The sound was impressive, all right – loud, but also warm, clear, and rich – but at the time there was almost nothing in the way of explanations about how RD1 did its thing, or how it was technically different from other repeaters.   

However, this time around, it was as if AP was determined to make it up to us and we got a wealth of information on the development process. To see why AP did what it did in terms of engineering solutions, you have to understand something about what goes into making a repeater in the traditional way, and why making a wristwatch repeater is as much of a challenge as it is. In order to do that, let's take a look at some repeaters from the AP Museum's extensive repeater collection.

The two pocket watches above are part of the AP Museum collection, and they were state of the art for their time.  The one on top is a quarter repeater with grand strike, and it was made by Jules-Louis Audemars, prior to the partnership with his childhood friend Edward-Auguste Piguet that led to the founding of AP in 1881.  The watch shown below is a very complicated, early AP, signed on the movement and dial – a rattrapante chronograph minute repeater.  

The upper movement was made for Dent – the English watchmaking firm that also did the clock for the Palace of Westminster, better known as Big Ben, and it shows how early, and how international, the trade was for complicated movements from the Vallée de Joux and from Audemars Piguet.  In fact, AP specialized in repeaters almost from the beginning and in AP's archives, which begin around 1882, you see a lot of them recorded – of the 13 watches on the first page of the record book, 9 are repeaters, and in the 19th century fully half the watches AP made were repeaters. 

So let's say you're a watchmaker, it's 1882, you're up in the Vallée with a nice fat order in the books for a pocket repeater, and you want it to sound great.  You can look at a repeater in a lot of ways – as a problem in musical instrument making; as a physics/acoustics problem, and so on.  But let's try and see it from a maker's perspective.

First of all, the case is important.  Different metals produce different quality sounds, but in 1882 you'd have used gold or rose gold. Not only does gold produce a rich sound, you can also make it thin enough that it transmits sound well.  You're a watchmaker, so you don't know much about the physics of sound transmission but you do know that you need a relatively thin, relatively rigid gold case to get the best sound out of the watch.

Second, the gongs are important.  Unlike the case, which acts like a string instrument's sound board (amplifying and enriching the sound by providing a large, resonant surface area) the gongs are responsible for receiving energy from the hammers and creating the basic sound of the watch.  Like the case, they need to be thin, and relatively rigid – traditionally repeater gongs were made of drawn steel wire, and tempered in horse urine (or so says oral tradition).  To tune the gongs, you'd carefully file the outer end of each gong down until you got the right note, and the foot of the gong, where it's attached to the movement, would be filed down to a tapering shape as well, to allow the gong to vibrate longer (too rigid a connection to the block holding the gongs to the case produces a dead, short-lived sound, though if the screws holding the gongs in place are too loose, sound transmission to the body of the watch also suffers).

Third, the speed at which the gongs are struck is important. To control the tempo, every repeater has a regulating mechanism that determines how fast the gears turn in the repeater gear train. The most common and in fact, only system for many decades was a kind of anchor escapement. A series of gears runs from the spring barrel that powers the repeater train, and ends in an escape wheel and anchor. As the escape wheel turns, the anchor catches and releases its teeth. The only problem is it makes a noise like an angry bumblebee the whole time the chimes are ringing, but as pocket repeaters usually have pretty good volume going for them, everyone more or less lived with it.

So what you have at the end of a very long process that involves everything we've mentioned, plus a whole lot more (there's a separate adjustment you have to do to control how far the hammers recoil after hitting the gongs, to mention just one) you have something that sounds great if the guy making it didn't have a tin ear and if the casemaker did his job right and if you tuned the gongs correctly, and on and on. That's why repeaters – good ones, anyway – are accorded so much respect; a thousand things have to be just right for the magic to happen.

Wristwatch Repeaters

The immortally crabby Samuel Johnson once made the ungenerous observation, on Boswell telling him that he'd seen a woman preacher, that such a thing was like a dog walking on its hind legs: "It is not done well, but you are surprised to find it done at all."  Wristwatch repeaters are like that.  The wrist is a dumb place, really, for a watch, where it's exposed to damage, violent shifts in temperature, sudden movements, and on and on; it's a terrible place for a repeater.  Moreover, putting a repeater in a wristwatch case means taking away everything that makes a repeater sound good: a big enough case to resonate properly; decent sized gongs; powerful enough hammers to get a good sound, and on and on.  Which is why miniaturizing repeaters was so tough, and required such great technical skill – and those demands were passed on to consumers; in the late 19th century, and for much of the 20th, the smaller a repeater was, the more expensive it was.

Just to give you an idea, in 1910 a Grand Complication pocket watch from Audemars Piguet cost 2200 francs. A pendant chiming watch with a miniaturized repeater movement, 8 lignes in diameter (a ligne is 2.2558 mm, so that's a movement 20.464 mm across) cost 2700 francs. Think about that for a minute – a lady's pendant repeater watch cost more than a Grand Complication. The first wristwatch repeater was completed for Louis Brandt (the predecessor to Omega) in 1892 (with an AP movement) and the first wristwatch repeater signed by Audemars Piguet was completed in 1925. According to AP's archives, the 8 ligne repeater movement was actually twice as expensive as the slightly larger, 9 ligne version. You paid a lot, back in the day, for shaving off 2.558 mm from the diameter of a complicated movement.  

Above is an example of the state of the art in wristwatch repeaters, from 1932.  This is a platinum unique piece, with a 9 ligne (20.2022 mm) movement.  The case is only 26 mm x 26 mm.  The amazing thing about it is how good it sounds.  First of all, it's tiny and secondly the acoustic properties of platinum can charitably be described as challenging.  It's a very dense metal that readily deadens sound energy and all other things being equal a platinum repeater's just never going to sound as good as one made of gold, but this one, though slightly muted relative to the gold repeaters we heard, was amazingly clear.  We actually got to hear, during our visit, more repeaters in one day than most people get to hear in a lifetime; my own life has been blessed with a fair amount of exposure to repeaters and I think my total doubled in one afternoon.  The pocket repeaters (all the ones you see in this story, plus several others we didn't have time to shoot, were in working order) were far and away the best, with a room-filling volume and room-filling presence, but even the smallest repeaters from the pre-World War II era had a clarity and quality that a lot of modern repeaters would struggle to match.  At least some of the newer repeaters that I've heard that have much-touted volume, seem to sacrifice quality of sound to some extent – sure, they're loud, but also rather brittle and a little too bright in tone for their own good.

Production of wristwatch repeaters basically ceased in the years leading up to World War II, by the way, at AP and elsewhere – between the Depression and then the war, ultra-delicate, very expensive chiming watches were not much on people's minds, and the era of the elegant wristwatch gave way to the utility watch era, as shock protection and waterproofing became ubiquitous.  However, the Quartz Crisis had the unintended consequence of reviving interest in watches, and mechanical horology, as a craft, and in 1992 AP brought out its first new repeating wristwatch in decades: the Jump Hour Minute Repeater, with the 9 3/4 ligne caliber 2865.  As wonderful as this was, a lot of questions remained open in minute repeater design.

Benchmarking The Minute Repeater

At this point Audemars Piguet Renaud & Papi enters the story.  APRP got started in 1986 when Dominique Renaud and Giulio Papi, frustrated at being told it would take about twenty years for them to work their way up to complicated watches at AP, decided to head out on their own.  Interestingly enough what started as a divorce ended up as a mutually beneficial marriage; AP bought 52% of Renaud & Papi in 1992 and today, owns 80% of the firm – with the understanding still in place that was established in '92 that APRP would continue to pursue outside clients.  Today they're one of the most important movement specialists in the world.  Giulio Papi is still running things there (Dominique Renaud left the firm to pursue his own projects) and he's a surprisingly warm, outgoing guy for someone who spends his working day around small, temperamental machines.

Papi explained to us that when they first decided to attack what he calls, "the repeater problem" nine years ago, the first step was finding a watch that represented, sonically, the ideal.

It's pretty significant that the watch they chose was this one, from 1924.  It's got all the technical disadvantages of a watch from the Roaring '20s; it's fragile, neither dust nor waterproof, has no shock protection, and so on.  What it does have – and it's something you have to hear to believe – is the voice of an angel.  I've heard this watch do its thing twice now – once on this visit and once, two years ago – and while most vintage wristwatch repeaters do great in terms of sound quality, they're generally very much a sotto voce crowd.  This one won't shake the rafters but it delivers so much more volume than you might expect that you almost want to look around the room for the hidden speakers.

HODINKEE recorded this watch during our 2014 visit to the AP Museum, and you can hear it in the video around 3:45 mark, as well as, starting at 3:00, hear about the famous John Shaeffer minute repeater.

With technical help from the École polytechnique fédérale de Lausanne (which works extensively with the watch industry) a recording was made (in an anechoic chamber, to eliminate distracting echoes) and analyzed. "We wanted to understand the whole process," said Papi, "what the sound depends on." 

Innovations In The Supersonnerie

Armed with a target frequency spectrum, APRP then went ahead and developed a group of innovations intended to make the resulting watch robust, water resistant, and with good volume, but also with very high quality sound.

Making sure that the gongs produced the optimum tones (the Supersonnerie is a traditional, two gong repeater) was the first step.  The gongs themselves are pretty traditional; round in cross-section, circular, tempered steel (no word on whether or not APRP still uses horse urine).  Papi tells us that a circular cross-section and shape are the best; any angles in the shape of the gongs will tend to cause sound energy to be lost, and adversely affect sound quality and volume.  All the traditional aspects of crafting the gongs are still important, but with benchmark frequencies to go by, it's much easier to hit the best target, and moreover you can do it consistently without relying so much on human judgement.

One of the most interesting new parts in the Supersonnerie is the regulating device.  As we've mentioned, the traditional solution is an anchor, which as it does its job makes a distinctive buzzing sound (you can hear it easily in the video).  The fly regulator used in some repeaters (basically, a centrifugal speed governor) has some advantages.  There's no buzzing noise, but it's not totally silent and as it relies on friction, the tempo of the repeater will change over time as the lubricants used age.  AP has in general stuck with the anchor regulator, up until now; here's what one looks like.

The new version of the anchor looks rather different.

In investigating the noise from the anchor, APRP discovered that most of it doesn't actually come from the interaction between the anchor and the escape wheel in the repeater train whose rotation it controls; a lot of it actually comes from the pivots.  What you're seeing above is basically a traditional anchor regulator, but with a shock absorption system added.  The complicated little spring shaped like the letter B is what does most of the work, and it's a very, very small part.  The whole thing is only 1.5 mm across its longest dimensions and at its thinnest, the shock spring is 0.08mm thick.  The upshot, though, is that you have a regulator that's both consistent in the tempo it produces and virtually silent.  Sound is well below the audible threshold and we simply couldn't hear it at all when the Supersonnerie was operating, which is pretty amazing considering how clearly you can usually hear it.  The system has been tested for wear to a period equal to fifteen years' use in real life, so it looks very reliable as well.

Now let's talk about how sound actually gets out of the Supersonnerie.

Above, from the top down, are views of the dial side and rear view of AP caliber 2937, the movement in the Supersonnerie.  This isn't the first tourbillon, chronograph with minute repeater from AP but it's sufficiently different to merit its own movement designation.  You can see the tourbillon, as well as a lot of the repeater train, on the dial side up top, and in the lower picture you can see the chronograph system, with its column wheel and lateral clutch, along with the two hammers for the repeater (lower left).  One big difference, however, between this movement and a traditional repeater, is that the gongs are not attached to the movement plate.

This is an exploded view of the Supersonnerie's case back arrangement, and as you can see, the gongs are not attached to the plate, but to an inner case back that actually acts as a resonating membrane.  It's a huge advantage over other modern repeaters.  The membrane is rigid enough to resonate at the natural frequency of the gongs and also light enough that it doesn't absorb too much sound energy.  This inner membrane was the subject, as you can probably imagine, of a lot of thought in terms of material, and AP tried everything from copper alloys (too prone to oxidation, though they sounded great) to, believe it or not, synthetic sapphire, which was great for sound transmission but way too easy to break (Papi says the sapphire membrane was only .01 mm thick and basically gave us to understand it would shatter if you looked at it funny, so sapphire was a no-go).  The membrane has a gasket between it and the main body of the case, so the watch is pretty water resistant for a repeater – 20 meters, which may not sound like much until you remember that for most of the history of repeaters, water resistance was zero.

There's one more thing we should mention.  In a conventional repeater, after the hours strike, if there are no quarters to strike there is a pause in chiming while the mechanism passes through the interval where quarter striking would usually take place.  In the Supersonnerie, the minutes are struck, in such a circumstance, immediately after the hour strike is completed; the silent interval is still present but is mechanically shifted to the interval after the minutes have struck.

Of course, what you really want to know is, how does it sound?  Here's where we would have loved to put a short video showing the Supersonnerie in action, but while AP did allow some recording during the SIHH they seem to have decided they didn't care for what ended up online (varying degrees of distortion and ambient noise, which is what you get at a trade show, unfortunately).  We do hope to be able to do a recording of a finalized model under better acoustic circumstances and while it's a little frustrating to end with a bit of an anticlimax, I understand where AP's coming from.  

When we are able to do a proper recording, hopefully it'll be worth the wait, and in the meantime hopefully readers won't think I'm trolling them when I say it really sounds amazing.  It's easily audible across a noisy room, above the sound of normal conversation, which is great, and it actually sounds louder on the wrist than off (this is due to a peculiarity of sound wave transmission through layers of different materials – if they're different enough in composition the sound will be reflected back; when you don't have the watch on sound disperses more or less in all directions from the watch, but when you have it on the boundary between skin and caseback actually reflects sound forward).  Not only is it loud, though, it's also beautifully clear; instead of a loud but harsh sound you get something with lots of pleasing overtones, and no distracting buzzing from the regulator to boot.  If the Supersonnerie were an opera performer, you'd say it was in that magic period when a singer's voice is both powerful and supple, when the voice is mature, but before age begins to take its toll – except age is never going to take its toll on the Supersonnerie.  

Watches like the Supersonnerie are not so much about ownership, except for a very small group of extremely wealthy individuals who have mid-six figures to spend on a wristwatch.  What does make this class of watches interesting, however, is how much they have to teach us about basic problems in watchmaking and how to tackle them creatively, and you don't need to own a Supersonnerie to learn from it (which is lucky because most of us have no choice anyway!)  It's one of the best flat-out teaching tools for learning about a pretty arcane field of watchmaking I've seen in a while, and it's also a part of a history in making this complication that's a deep part of the story of the Vallée de Joux, and of Audemars Piguet.

The Audemars Piguet Supersonnerie: minute repeater, chronograph, with tourbillon. Case, titanium with ceramic crown and pushers, water resistant to 20m, 44 mm in diameter, with inner sealed “sound board” and case back apertures to allow sound to escape. Movement, hand-wound caliber 2937, 29.90 mm x 8.28 mm; 3 hz balance (21,600 vph) with 478 components running in 43 jewels. Black rubber strap with AP folding buckle. Price on request.  See it at Audemars Piguet online.

The original Fifty Fathoms wristwatch was one of those watches that helped to define the original, mid-20th century idiom of the modern dive watch: stainless steel case, timing bezel, simplicity in design with every other consideration subordinated to practicality (which is what you generally should do when you make something someone's life might depend on). It's common nowadays to say that the mechanical diver's watch is obsolete, and unlike many commonly held views this one is actually partly true; the primary wrist instrument for marine exploration is the digital dive computer. However, depending on which diver you ask, an analog dive watch is a great backup, with mechanical movements often preferred for their non-reliance on a battery.

Though I'd be comfortable betting heavily that the majority of diver's watches will never dive, the non-divers who buy them do so for a reason, or reasons – among these, that they want something that has all the technical properties of a real diver's watch, including toughness, reliability, accuracy, and of course, a no-frills style that says, I'm such a man's man I can't be bothered with style. Therefore, whatever else a diver's watch has or does, we expect it to conform to what, to dive watch enthusiasts, is Holy Writ: that series of specifications known as ISO 6425, and its commandments.  There being many ways to skin a cat, however, manufacturers nowadays often start with the ISO and end up in an almost infinite number of different destinations.  The Fifty Fathoms Bathyscaphe Plasma Grey Ceramic is a Fifty Fathoms in name, but it's a thoroughly modern dive watch in materials, design and execution.  What I was curious about was whether, being a Fifty Fathoms in name, it was, if not in physical details, a Fifty Fathoms in spirit as well.

The ISO lists minimum specifications, and nowadays, manufacturers like to push past those anyplace from a little to a lot.  The minimum depth qualification required is 100 meters, which, when you can buy a 200m mechanical diver for under $500 easily, seems barely adequate.  However, even for the few dive watch owners who are going to actually do some recreational diving, 100m is overkill; recreational diving typically takes place at much shallower depths.  Subscribing to the idea that it's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it, nowadays most makers will go for something over 200 meters, and the Fifty Fathoms Bathyscaphe Plasma Grey Ceramic is rated to 300m.  The movement is the self-winding Blancpain caliber 1315 which has a a five day power reserve out of three mainspring barrels, and a silicon balance spring which certainly gives the watch resistance to magnetism better than the minimum requirement of the ISO (4,800 gauss).  

An extremely pleasant surprise is just how good looking this movement is; after all this is a diver's watch.  We've seen this caliber in other watches from Blancpain but still, it's fantastic to see how well it holds up under close inspection.  It's extremely difficult to find any manufacturing flaws or defects at all, even under high magnification, and the sober sheen of the bridges contrasts beautifully with the subdued glow of the rotor, which is 18k grey gold (a great stealth-luxury feature that while present, doesn't seem out of line with the general technical flavor of the watch).  Sure, you're not going to see hand finished sharp inner corners but to be honest, in a technical watch I think that sort of thing would be more of an affectation than anything else.

Thanks to the ceramic case, this is a very easy watch to wear, even at 43.60mm x 13.83mm.  This is where, however, I have to repeat my plea to  Blancpain to please re-introduce smaller versions of the Fifty Fathoms.  Manufacture caliber 1315 is a terrific piece of work but it's a large movement, at 5.65mm thick and 30.60mm in diameter (about 5mm more than the ETA 2892/2824 calibers) and while the three barrels and 120 hour power reserve are great, using this movement throughout the 50 Fathoms line, which includes (hold onto your seat) 57 different models right now, means Blancpain is a bit painted into a corner in terms of bringing in something under 43mm.  

There's nothing wrong with a 43.60mm dive watch in itself, of course, but having something smaller available as well, in the style of the original FF, would be fantastic (they could sell one to me in a heartbeat, especially if it were along the lines of the Fiftieth Anniversary model, which bore a very, very close resemblance to the original, but with a sapphire bezel; it used the Blancpain/Piguet caliber 1151 and it was just delicious, at 40mm).  

However, that quibble doesn't have anything to do with this watch per se, which taken on its own merits is pretty terrific.  It's a lot of fun to wear; Blancpain not only got all the details right but they also made something that has fantastic aesthetics, while at the same time, not seeming too designed per se, which is a fault a lot of luxury mechanical dive watches unfortunately have.  Depending on how the light hits it, the dial can look anything from an almost peacock blue to nearly black but the shifts in hue never cross the line into looking flashy just for the sake of being flashy. 

As good as it looks, a dive watch always has an obligation to deliver on its utility as a tool watch.  There are no issues there with this piece; as has been our experience in the past with the caliber 1315, accuracy is a given (+2 seconds over an entire week, worn on the left wrist during the day and left crown up at night) and you can read the time easily under any conditions, day or night.

Overall, I think this is a great addition to the Bathyscaphe lineup, and a watch worth looking at seriously if you're in the market for a luxury level dive watch.  It's not necessary, of course, to spend twelve thousand dollars to get a useful, tough diver's watch, whether you're a diver who wants a backup to a digital dive computer or a landlubber.  But it's always nice to see a luxury level tool watch that brings a lot to the table technically.  Blancpain really got the balancing act between luxury and technical qualities right here; there's great attention to detail all the way through, and while this definitely feels like a luxury watch, its luxuriousness doesn't feel imposed on it, but rather like the natural consequence of thoughtful design and careful manufacturing.

The Blancpain 50 Fathoms Bathyscaphe Plasma Grey Ceramic: case, satin brushed grey ceramic, 43.60mm x 13.83mm; water resistance, 30 bar/300 meters; transparent caseback; one-way rotating timing bezel.  Movement, Blancpain caliber 1315, 30.60mm x 5.65mm, 120 hour power reserve, silicon balance spring; 120 hour power reserve.  Currently available at Blancpain boutiques; price, $12,800.  See it at Blancpain.com.

Men's Fashion Week, New York edition, wrapped up just a few days ago, and during the five day, men's fashion only event there were, as always, quite a lot of watch-spotting targets of opportunity. Brian Sacawa, founder of He Spoke Style, was on the scene for HODINKEE and pulled in a harvest of wrist candy.  

There were more than a few who went Rolex, but in a very wide range of watches.  It was far from being an all-Sub or all-Daytona party, and some iconoclast out there even chose one of our favorites, a Milgauss.

While a lot of guys went the Rolex route, there was still a lot of representation from both the vintage and modern sides of the fence, ranging from IWC to Chopard, to Cartier, Omega, and LeCoultre.

But one unknown Fashion Week warrior and less-is-more style maven gets a special hat-tip from HODINKEE for rocking none other than a Seiko SKX007, dive watch of dive watches, on a leather strap.  A gentleman who knows you don't have to be a Rockefeller to rock a great watch.  Kudos, sir; and as they used to say at NASA (and still do for all we know) you're a steely-eyed missile man.

All pics shot for HODINKEE, on the run, by Brian Sacawa, founder of He Spoke Style.  Check out his Men's Fashion Week 2016 coverage and other men's style coverage right here.

We take a lot of watch photos here at HODINKEE, and we see a lot of watch photos as well. Some are great, some are ok, and some are terrible. However, a lot of the terrible ones aren't terrible because the people who took them can't tell good from bad – they're terrible because a few basics are being ignored, often by folks who are distracted, or in a rush, or just haven't taken the time to think about those basics. As a person who's taken his own fair share of lousy watch pictures over the decades, here are a few things to think about making sure you don't do when you snap a picture of your favorite timepiece.

Let's take a look at the shot we used above one more time, and analyze what's wrong.

This is a little bit of an exaggeration of some of the faults I and others have been guilty of over the years – but not by much, I'm bound to say.  Let's tick off the goofs.  The most obvious is that the watch is out of focus, and yet, despite the fact that critical sharpness on critical elements of a watch should be the first consideration, you'd be surprised how often this essential trait of a usable watch picture is absent, to one degree or another. (Remember, we're not trying to take a great picture here, just a usable one).  

The second problem is that, in choosing cute props, the photographer has overdone it, and created clutter (irrelevant clutter to boot) instead of an attractive environment that avoids having a contest for your attention with the watch itself.  To add insult to injury, the photographer has also chosen a cluttered background, with unwanted and overt branding (in the form of our beloved, but here, excessively distracting, HODINKEE license plate).

Finally, the composition is . . . well, there isn't any.  All too often a well-meaning would-be watch photographer forgets that a watch photograph is supposed to show us a picture of a watch, not make it an element in some abstractly appealing composition.  As is the case in writing, if the goal is to try to impress with your artistry rather than communicate clearly, you end up doing neither.

Now let's see what we can do to fix this train wreck.

Our photographer has realized that the intrusion of his ego, and desire to be thought of as creative, has been exactly that: an intrusion, and he has thankfully removed the irrelevant visual impedimenta.  Alas, though the image is improved, it's still basically unusable.  The lack of focus, glare obscuring the watch face, and cluttered background are still fatal flaws.

However, here improvements begin to create an almost usable image.  The watch is (thank heavens) more or less centered in the frame now, and it's actually in focus.  Our photographer has also used, whether through luck or design, a wide enough aperture to create shallow depth of field, so that the cluttered background is softened (though we would still be better off without it).  But the watch is simply too far away, and unless the idea is to honor the history of the Speedmaster in space flight by evoking the emptiness of interplanetary space, this still won't do. Moreover, the slight deviation from horizontal of the shelving is irritating. A nice effort, but still a long way from usable.

Here, we are actually getting close – so much so that the remaining flaws are all the more visible, alas.

The watch is no longer too far away, but that nemesis of the amateur watch photographer – glare on the crystal – is now woefully apparent.  The image is also poorly cropped, with the greyish band at the top offering an unecessary distraction.  And the watch seems rather dirty as well, which becomes even more apparent if we slightly shift the light.

Ack.  Greasy fingerprints, dirt, and of course, a dial reflection so bad that it makes this picture basically as bad as the one we started out with.  If there is one thing everyone who takes pictures of watches learns the hard way, it's to clean the damn watch before you shoot it.  A few stray grains of dust can be relatively easy to do away with in post, but fingerprints can make an image file unusable and nothing is more heartbreaking to look at a picture of a watch that you'll never have an opportunity to shoot again, and realize you can't use it because of fingerprints.  

Five minutes cleaning will save you an hour in post (after which you may find you have to give up anyway).  This emphasizes the key point in shooting a watch: make sure you have everything right before you fire the shutter.  Post-processing is for making minor tweaks, not for wasting hours trying to make a marginal or unusable picture less marginal or minimally usable.

Also, the coffee stain on the table is probably something no one wants.

Now at last, we have a usable image.  We've got the watch in focus, we've cleaned the worst of the grime off, we've folded the strap back so it's less distracting.  The cluttered background and foreground are gone and you can actually see the face of the watch.  You are no longer aware of the photographer's attempts to be creative, and you can see what we all want to see when we look at a picture of a watch, which is . . . well, a watch.  This is not to say this is great product photography, which is an entirely more complicated craft – for one thing if you're shooting a campaign for a client, they will expect high enough resolution size images to print poster size, if necessary, which means things like medium format cameras and master-slave flashes and all sorts of stuff you're just not going have.  But for the purposes of creating a usable image for a blog, or to share with friends, or even to print on an A4 magazine page, the above points are good ones to bear in mind.

One final point: know your gear.  Twice in the last month I've had images submitted to me by two different people, both using the same camera, both having set it to macro.  Both then tried to shoot watches in poor light, with the lens wide open, without realizing that with this particular camera, shooting macro wider than about f4 produces blurry, soft, and generally aggravatingly bad pictures.  Both apparently left the camera to choose aperture, and the camera chose f2-2.8, meaning irretrievably blurry photos.  Matters were made even worse in one case by the decision to use a film-simulation filter, which meant there was basically no latitude at all for improving things in post.  

You can take usable and even very aesthetically attractive watch photos with a wide range of cameras – probably wider than you'd think.  But you have to know the limits of your gear and work within them; you have to realize that you're you, shooting a watch, not Cartier-Bresson shooting Gandhi; and mostly, you have to look at what you're doing and think about what you're doing before you fire the shutter, because not Ansel Adams and all the angels in a photographer's heaven can make a crappy file look good once it's shot.

It's that time of the week! We have twelve new watches in the HODINKEE Shop and this time, there is a little bit of everything. We have a some fantastic dress watches (including one hyper-rare white gold Cartier tank), a good number of those chronographs you love some much, and a one Rolex Explorer reference 1016. Read on for all the details.

A 1970s Cartier Tank, In White Gold With A Self-Winding Movement (Yes, Seriously)

The Cartier Tank is one of the most (if not the most) iconic watches of the last 100 years and here we have one in white gold, with an automatic movement. Oh, and the case is oversized so will fit just about any wrist. Additionally, this watch has all the classic Tank characteristics that we love and know from Cartier, including the elongated Roman numerals and cabochon-cut sapphire crown. To find mechanical tanks, from the 70s, in white gold is, well, you try to find one. This is a real watch lover's Cartier. For more information click here. And if you want even more on it, read here.

A 1970s Breitling Bullhead Reference 7101

The Breitling Bullhead Pupitre is something of a cult-classic for those who love true 70s-style. The case shaped was designed for easier operation of the chronograph function, with the chronograph pushers located at 11 and 1 o'clock. Breitling fitted this case with bright orange accents and a gorgeous blue dial that could only come out of the 70s. You can read more about it here. 

A 1984 Rolex Explorer Reference 1016

It seems as if the Rolex Explorer reference 1016 is the watch du jour (or ané depending on who you ask), but we think the great thing about the Explorer is not that it's in style – it's that it never went out of style, and won't ever, either. The example we have here today features a matte dial and beautiful vanilla patina on the indexes and handset. Additionally, the case and bracelet are in good condition as well. For full listing, click here. 

But Wait, There's More!

In addition to the above we have the following watches in the vault: a 1950s Angelus Datoluxe; a 1970s Rolex Datejust reference 1601; a 1940s Breitling Premier Chronograph reference 787; a 1960s Longines Conquest; a 1950s Vetta Chronograph in pink gold; a 1960s Movado SuperSea; a 1960s Wittnauer SuperCompressor; a 197os Minerva Triple Calendar Chronograph; and a 1970s Rolex Day-Date reference 1803 in white gold. 

To see all the watches in all their glory, click here.