Go on, grab some paper and draw a simple watch: a circle, 12 circumferential notches and two radial hands. Add a crown and two straps if you’re feeling fancy. Now, what’s staring up at you? Would you spend thousands of pounds to happily stare back, 80 times a day on average?
Assuming that’s a “no”, it’s plain to see: the quotidian utility of a timekeeper, squeezed into wrist size, asks a lot from any watch designer before they’ve even introduced a distinctive brand identity, let alone an identity of their own.
Until the Sixties and Seventies, “watch design” per se wasn’t even talked about. But by the time Jack Heuer, Gérald Genta and Jorg Hysek finally tore up the rulebooks with their sporty, groovy takes on the luxury timepiece, it was to be short-lived – cheap quartz technology took its toll and Switzerland went into hibernation.
When things were back on the upswing come the Nineties, every revived brand’s mood board was populated by its past rather than future. The fact that most are still tucked into a remote Jura Mountains valley, shielded by snowy ridges, is metaphor made real.
However, call it a backlash against years of vintage-reissue nostalgia, or call it evolution at last, now we’re agreed luxury horology has a place in our digital age, but progressive watch design does seem to be creeping back. It’s informed by anything other than heritage – art and architecture, furniture or fashion – and a more cosmpolitan outlook certainly seems to be a common factor.
Founded in the early Nineties by Parisian designers Bruno “Bell” Belamich and Carlos “Ross” Rosillo, their eponymous brand had a singular mission from the outset: ultra-functional tool watches with a modernist slant. But it may as well have been: newfangled upstart bestowing long-overdue cool factor to a staid sector.
Bell & Ross respectfully capitalises on the cardinal craft, basing its manufacture in ‘cradle of watchmaking’ La Chaux-de-Fonds. But its breakthrough enfant terrible could only come from a non-Swiss brand, chic enough to attract early investment from Chanel.
The first of Bell & Ross’s square ‘Instruments’ came out in 2005 – a full 46mm of pure white-on-black homage to cockpit readouts, complete with corner screws as you’d find with any fighter jet’s altimeter or compass. And it’s the latter to which this year’s BR 03-91 Bi-Compass (£2,990) alludes, without a whiff of gimmickry. The stepped dial echoes its blocky surroundings, and the central hours disc is clever: the usual heaviness of a hand is reduced to an arrow pointer that contributes to the concentric design, rather than interferes.
Singer Reimagined has done the same with the new ‘Flytrack’ – Swiss-made but with a design inspired by the remote mothership, Singer Vehicle Design, which customises Porsche 911s out on the US west coast. Hours are pared back to an orbital triangle, while on-the-fly stopwatch timing is afforded by the running seconds hand – ‘flown back’ to zero with a press of the button at two o’clock. Like the Bell & Ross, it’s all framed by a crisp modernism that’s unwedded to tradition, yet perfectly suited to its mechanical wizardry.
Which brings us to our third new-wave, Swiss-made, non-Swiss brand: Ming. Set up by a circle of watch-mad Malaysians, this boutique start-up brings Eastern motifs to its minimalism where Bell & Ross and Singer are more utilitarian. Its latest 19.01 (right) indicates the time as cleanly and simply as possible, via two hands floating above a semi-transparent, smoky black dial and curvy Super LumiNova detailing. In fact, it’s not far off the simple two-hander that we asked you to draw earlier..
It’s not far off that simple two-hander we asked you to draw earlier, in fact – only so much more. There’s potential in that tiny wrist-sized circle yet, it seems.
This article was originally published by WIRED UK
