What Kind Are You?

Watches aren’t going anywhere. No matter what 'big tech' tries to strap onto our wrists, there will always be people who buy, collect, and actually wear watches. I don’t see that slowing down for the next 30 years.

But the so-called collectors aren’t one big happy family. They’re a jungle of sub-species - each with its own quirks, excuses, and questionable logic. After decades in the trade, here’s my field guide:

The Magpie
Collects purely by eye. Beauty, shape, style - if it sparkles, it’s in. The collection ends up a dozen or so watches with nothing in common… except they all look fantastic. Worn daily, shuffled like a deck of cards.

The Sentimentals
A drawer full of Dad’s, Mum’s, and Uncle’s watches. The crown jewel? The twenty-first. Milestone pieces with heart-swelling stories, but almost no resale value. To them, that’s the point.

It’s All About Money
The biggest group of all. Watches aren’t worn - they’re spreadsheets. Each piece is a “strategic asset,” purchased only to appreciate in value. Collecting? No. Market speculation in steel cases.

The Hoarders
Quantity over everything. Two hundred watches and counting - cheap, pricey, broken, doesn’t matter. The joy isn’t in wearing them, it’s in stacking them like firewood.

The One-Watch Guy
Owns a single watch but still stares longingly at every new release. His loyalty is ironclad, but he lives in permanent horological FOMO. Prudence has its virtues… but also its torments.

The Purist
Obsessive, tunnel-visioned, and miserable. Worships craftsmanship - but only if stamped with his chosen brand’s logo. Often correct, rarely fun at parties.

The Dodgy Guy
Knows shit nothing about watches, but needs somewhere to park excess cash. Approach with caution - or better yet, don’t approach at all.

The Bling Dude
Dodgy’s younger cousin. Breitlings iced like a bakery, Rolex Presidents with aftermarket bezels, and other atrocities. Proof that money can’t buy anything of importance..

The Sophisticated Collector
My favourite. Builds thematic collections - often chronographs - tracing a brand’s evolution. Thrives on the hunt for that elusive missing piece. Informed, connected, respectful. The grown-up in the room.

The Rolex Man
Nothing beats Rolex. A full-blown love affair with his AD. His fantasy? A long weekend in Geneva - with the AD, of course.

The Surgeon / Lawyer
After an 18-hour shift, drenched in blood or buried in briefs, he has just enough strength for one click: “I’ll take it.” For him, a new watch isn’t a trophy, it’s therapy. Brutal, honest, well-earned. Respect.

"I like it"
He just likes it - a perfect fit on the wrist, a nice dial, really good looking. He’s happy.
No need to overthink, overdo, or impress anyone. Life is simple, worth living. Watches are fun - meant to be liked and enjoyed. It’s as simple as that.

Happy collecting.
NH                         

Rebel without a cause

 

On Wednesday night, I stayed behind the bench longer than usual. Nothing beats the most productive hour of the evening - half past seven, when the city slowly falls asleep. Around eight, as it was time to call it a night, I was still roaming through the junk box, looking for a "dollar deal" for tomorrow’s premium subscribers. And there it was: a perfect candidate. An old Citizen Diver, still ticking. With a massive scratch on the case - which, thirty years ago, rendered it unsellable. “I reckon I can polish this one in less than fifteen minutes!” I exclaimed loudly. “No, you won’t,” a voice replied. I was quite sure the staff had left two hours earlier. I looked over my shoulder, but there was no one in the office. “Don’t you dare touch me! Put me back in the junk box!” said the Citizen. “Worry not, mate. In no time you’ll be as good as new,” I replied. “Leave me alone, I am sovereign. Besides, you are not a qualified Citizen repairman,” said the watch. “Listen, you shitter, I am a third-generation master watchmaker, and you are a worthless piece of junk. You may be worth a dollar - but not yet.” Swiftly, the Citizen was subjected to a buff. But only a second later, it flew away from the spinning wheel, hit the ceiling, then disappeared into the darkness under the bench. I arrived home tired and worried. That stupid shitter could have hit me right between the eyes. Now, you may say this is all nonsense - watches can’t talk. Fine. But hear this. The next day, I arrived early. I had completely forgotten about the incident. But then I remembered that I still needed a bargain to feature. The moment I pulled open the drawer with pocket watches, I heard another voice: “Herr Hakko, we need to talk!” There were more than fifty watches in that drawer, but I knew exactly which one was complaining: a 1940s German field piece, a Grana, with a loud escape wheel. “What do you want now? I am busy! Keep it short!” The usual stuff. He was complaining that he didn’t want to be in the same drawer with 'asiaten'-  Seiko Railway pocket watches. “I want to be placed in the middle of the display case, where I deserve to be! I am not just an ordinary pocket watch - I was built for Wehrmacht!” Yes, the delusional self-grandeur stuff I’ve heard so many times before. “No way. In this shop, all watches are equal. Your glory days are long gone - you’ll remain where you are.” “On display, to be seen and heard! I am built to last forever!” he demanded. “You can’t go on display. Your radium hands still glow in the dark, you are a radioactive hazard. A danger to customers. Toxic to everyone. But he wouldn’t listen. With a swift swing of the Bergeon case opener, I snapped Grana’s balance staff. My shop. My rules.

The Dead Wogmaster

 

The past few weeks have been sheer madness. Andrew and I are drowning in repairs – the bench is overflowing. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s because watchmakers have stopped taking apprentices, or because Omega now quotes a 12-month turnaround time. Who knows. What I do know is that more often than not, we’re forced to turn away jobs that simply don’t make sense – either unprofitable, or with parts that no longer exist. And then, amongst the mountain of Omega and Rolex, a familiar face arrived from Queensland: a Seiko Wogmaster. Yes, the very one we sold not that long ago. I knew it was coming, because I’d taken the customer’s call. New watches don’t just die without a reason. I was expecting something small – a loose screw, maybe a jammed rotor. On the outside, the watch looked perfect. No scratches, no dents, nothing. But the moment I removed the case back, the story was written in plain sight: the hairspring was a mess, hopelessly tangled. It only happens when a watch takes a fall, or suffers a heavy knock – golf swings are notorious. But here’s the part that moved me: once the hairspring was set right, this humble Seiko 5 came back to life with an astonishing amplitude, running at +2 seconds a day. Better than most Swiss luxury watches I see on this very bench. That’s not luck. That’s Seiko. I love Seiko. Especially the ones we’ve sold. They have soul. They remind me why I became a watchmaker in the first place. And no, I won’t tell the customer that his watch was dropped. He doesn’t need to carry that guilt. This repair is on me, free of charge – return postage included. Why? Because when I hold a Seiko in my hands, I feel my grandfather and my father standing beside me. Both of them spent their lives repairing Seikos. When I breathe life back into one, I feel them with me. A Wogmaster on my bench is not just a repair – it’s a family reunion. That feeling never comes with any other brand. Only Seiko. Only the Wogmaster.

So, who buys your watch?

 

This week we ran out of blue Curl Curl dials. For the Mark II project, this is a bit uncomfortable to say the least. Like Corinthian running out of lamb. Like Cindy running out of red lipstick. Like Three Beans running out of coffee beans. Simply unthinkable. To the cynics: No, we have not run out of dial nameplates bearing my name. Plenty of those in stock, thanks for asking. Yet as trivial as it could be to the naked eye, it is a detail like the pocket in the dial where the name plate sits, that makes the Curl Curl dial challenging to make.

The cut-out is created with a tool that has a radius of just 0.15 millimetres. That is 150 microns. Keep in mind that we are milling hard medical grade titanium, not soft silver or brass. Perfection takes time. There are not many dial manufacturers who can do what we do here in Brookvale, not even in Switzerland. The Curl Curl dial is actually a three dimensional structure. Yes, the actual waves hitting the shore, are ‘guilloched’ in Titanium. Yet at the same time, they are so small, so fine, that they appear on the surface of the dial as nothing more than a fine line. And here is the nameplate siting in its pocket, under magnification.

For the past couple of weeks, I have had the privilege to talk to a number of watch enthusiasts who visited our office for one reason only: To see the Mark II in person. Whether the watch impressed them or not, is not for me to say, but those who actually make ‘things’ themselves, who use tools, who design and engineer, were simply blown away with our ability to shape metal, like it is butter. Those who care, understand. If we are to be put in a box of horology, it would be one labelled ‘very difficult to make’. And we are more than happy with that.

The actual tool is manufactured by a Japanese toolmaker specialist. And here is an interesting story: After we ordered a dozen or so of the tool, they sent us a polite email asking what product we actually make that requires one of the smallest tools in their entire range? Josh replied with a photo of the dial pocket. A few days later, Josh was invited by the Japanese to visit their factory. He was the first non-Japanese person to have a full factory tour, to see how the tools are actually made. Yes, they paid for return tickets for both Josh and his wife, as well as accommodation.

Pounding

 

There is a thin line between what one might call a fine collection of curious objects and a pile of rubbish. Often, I find myself on the other side. A perfect example: a 1950s British Morse key, manufactured by Walters Electrical. A bit crude in execution, but very solid - built to be pounded on for decades. This particular example was used by a Post Office Morse code operator. Numbered and signed! Unfortunately, with so many ongoing projects, the decision was made to let it go. The price was set at a mere $50 which is probably less than what I paid for it twenty years ago. A post on a Facebook ham radio group late Sunday generated plenty of likes and one potential buyer. “Hey, is the key still available? Can I come and collect it? I live close by.” It was already past 7pm, cold and wet, and the last thing I wanted was a stranger knocking on my door. Radio amateurs are notoriously nosey. I know them well. He simply wanted to be invited in, to see what else might be of interest. And that is precisely what I wanted to avoid. “Happy to ship it. Alternatively, you can collect it from my city office.” “What time?” “Any time during business hours.” That was it. Yesterday, he texted again, asking - Would I be able to stay open until 6pm? "No, we close at five." He was persistent. “Then I can come to your home after 8?” At that point, I’d had enough. “Bloody hell, no. I hate people. Sorry.” I’ll spare you the details, but my fellow amateur quickly went from passive-aggressive to full-blown mental. He was brutally offended by my refusal to give in; by my right to privacy; by a basic human urge to keep lunatic strangers away, to set a boundary. But what offended him the most was my right to express such feelings boldly. “Hate” may be a strong word, but sometimes, it’s the only word idiots understand. Like me, you probably have a watch or two you'd be happy to part with. A watch collection is like a bonsai tree, trimming and pruning is what makes it beautiful. But if you’re tempted to sell privately, just one tip: do not communicate outside business hours. Texting late makes you vulnerable. You're simply signalling that you have no boundaries. And people with no boundaries are easily manipulated. Groomers and psychopaths are professionals. You'll stand no chance. Yes, the key is still for sale. Dah di dah.

Every second counts. Or does it?

Last week, I got an email from a watch owner who was fairly disturbed. He took his Tudor watch to a Tudor service centre, and they refused to help. He called later that day. "What was the problem, and why could Tudor not help?" I’ve asked. The watch was losing time. Precisely half a second per day. The caller was annoyed with the fact that the maker dismissed his complaint by simply stating that the timekeeping is well within the chronometer specification for a five year old mechanical automatic watch. And I could not agree more. Actually, I pointed out that he should consider himself lucky - the timekeeping is absolutely perfect, and there is no need for adjustment. He disagreed. "I would be much happier if the watch was gaining one second per day rather than losing half." Let me put things into perspective. It is like a person earning $46,200 per day asking their boss for a pay rise of 50 cents. I am not going to bore you with details, but the longer we talked, the more determined he was that he was 'in the right' and that I should do my absolute best to solve his problem. Thirty years ago I would have ended the conversation by simply hanging up. Twenty years ago, I would have made a sarcastic remark, and then hung up. But nowadays, I am a different man: a mellow, woke wimp. "Sure, bring it in, I'll fix it". The watch arrived on my bench yesterday morning. A Tudor Pelagos with an in house movement. Assessment The first step, prior to any adjustment was to place the watch on auto winder, and let it settle at room temperature for 24 hours. After that, the watch was placed on the timing machine, in various positions. The goal was to establish whether the customer’s observation matched the actual timekeeping recorded by the timegrapher. The watch showed a constant rate in all positions of +0 seconds per day, and a heathy amplitude. There was no deviation except for dial down, showing -1 second per day. However this value is within the tolerance and resolution error of the timegrapher.

Pre-adjustment The watch strap was detached, case cleaned of gunk, rinsed and dried. The watch was then left to recover for another hour at room temperature.

Adjustment In order to gain access to the regulator, the watch case had to be removed. Tudor's new calibre MT5612 has a free-sprung balance with four adjustment screws located radially to the balance wheel, and not accessible from the top of the movement. The mechanism had to be extracted from the case.

The adjustment screws were factory set in position so that the balance wheel is poised perfectly. Theoretically, the time adjustment would require changing the position of at least two screws to prevent a degradation of poise. Also, the screws were machined with custom-design heads so a custom design (in my case modified) regulating tool is required. The first step was to experimentally determine the amount of rotation of each screw that would correlate to an adjustment of 1 second, which was approximately 15 degrees. After that, the watch was re-adjusted to +0, then two opposite regulating screws were adjusted (by moving them in towards the centre) by approximately 7 degrees. Such a fine adjustment is done purely by ‘feeling’. After the adjustment, the timegrapher read a daily error of +1 to +2 seconds.

Post-adjustment The movement was returned to it's case, secured, and once again, the watch was placed on the timing machine. Often, compressing the movement into the case could cause variation to the adjusted value. However in the case of this Tudor mechanism, the rate remained the same, with only a slight improvement in amplitude. The watch was then water pressure tested. Time keeping verification The time was set to mobile phone data network, and placed on the winder for the next seven days when the actual timekeeping error will be determined. The expectation is that the watch will keep time at a rate of around +1 second per day. Now, if you think that the purpose of this write up is to impress you with my determination to showcase the ability to squeeze a 1 second improvement out of an already perfectly factory tuned watch, then you are grossly mistaken. I just need to hear from you how much should I charge for all this work, consisting of 45 minutes behind the bench, 20 minutes of email and phone consultations, 15 minutes of in person consultation, the admin work related to record keeping and for providing insurance coverage on a watch left in my care? And was it worth it? You tell me.

Public clocks could be tricky

 

Recently, a 1960s wall clock arrived at our workshop. It sat on a church wall for almost 60 years until it died. An electric clock which runs quietly – until it wore itself to death. The congregation decided to replace it with a modern clock, but after a year or so, they realised that the new clock is not the same as the old one. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly was displeasing; after all, the replacement was similar in style and shape, more accurate and was doing it’s job, as intended - keeping the preacher aware that extending the ceremony beyond noon is not just inappropriate but downright unholy. Yes, the good folk loved their rules. The decision was made to have the old clock restored, no matter what, and money was not an issue. Comfort and conformity has no price tag. Upon inspection, I told them what they already knew: the clock is dead and beyond repair. The only solution: a complete movement replacement. A bit of a compromise, but at least, the main body will be still preserved. “What about the hands?” – they asked, unison. Fitting an old set of hand on a new clock is quite difficult. The old hands are too heavy for a modern mechanism. There was only one compromising solution: to rebuild the old mechanism. The repair took some time, and it involved both electrical re-coiling, as well as re-bushing (making new bearings). As I type this, I am pleased to report that the clock is running and keeping perfect time. Yes, all original, all complete, exactly as per customer’s request. Soon it will be reunited with the faithful flock. The best of all: this rebuild is free of charge. The last thing you want upon arrival at the Pearly Gates is a heated discussion over an unpaid invoice. Your wrist watch is your private business. A public clock – displayed for all to see the time – is a tricky beast. You better choose wisely.

The writeup today is primarily intended for watch enthusiasts who follow the NH manufactured in Australia project - those who already have an NH watch, or intend to add one to their collection.

However, even if your interest in watches is broader than an investment in micro brands, you may find the communique of interest. I certainly hope you would.

Creating a watch brand from scratch is an ambitious project. Watch brands come and go, and for the past hundred or so years, many watchmakers have tried to turn a rather generic product into an immortalized, lasting, multigenerational brand name. Most of them fail.

The handful of watchmakers who succeeded were not necessarily the best, nor the most advanced makers. The most successful were those who understood that a watch is far more than a precision timekeeper, or even a tool: essentially, a watch is a fashionable luxury item.

The best examples of 'luxury horology' are traditional brands like Cartier, Patek Philippe, Rolex and recently, Richard Mille. Brands which spend huge sums of money advertising their watches primarily as luxury status symbols.

If you are to predict which brand will outlast the competition: bet on the best marketer, not the best maker. And if I am to bet my last dollar on a brand that will be here in a hundred years from now, I would put it all on Cartier. The old money luxury brand, bold and assertive.

Being a watch brand is not enough. To outlast and outsell, the prerogative is to grow and metamorphise into a luxury brand.

Yet in reality, if luxury and status are the only reasons we buy watches, then we would all wear only Cartier and Rolex. But we do not. We are drawn to different brands for different, deeply personal reasons. Aesthetics, workmanship, ergonomics, practicality, design, longevity, affordability. A wonderful horological kaleidoscope!

As you are already aware, the reason why I have invested more than 10 years on building my own brand is to prove a single point: that a small, independent Australian watchmaker is as good as any Swiss brand trained watchmaker. And in many cases, much better. With the release of our NH55 Timascus watch, that point has been made and proven beyond doubt.

Of course, the timascus project was a culmination of ten years of learning, investment in manufacturing, and training of the next generation of machinists and watchmakers. Together, we achieved much more than what I initially dreamed and hoped for. We started with a watch project and ended up with a manufacturing ability to make components at a precision and complexity level that surpasses horology.

Which in itself is a strange place to be. The fork in the road: should we continue to make watches, spend another five years developing an in house movement, invest heavily in marketing and branding - or, make high precision parts for other industries?

In both cases, the manufacturing aspect is practically the same. Yet the financial outcome could not be more different. A watch, as a product, is fundamentally different to any other assembly of precision parts.
A watch is built to last for 50 or a hundred years, exquisitely finished, and requires regular servicing. Also, it is sold one at a time, and each sale is directly related to your investment in marketing.
On the other hand, a 100 GHz waveguide, as precise as a watch, has a life span of 3 years. After that it would be either non functional or obsolete. Each waveguide is sold before being made. Actually, our customers demand is five time higher than our maximum production output. The best of all: industrial parts are completely devoid of branding, advertising and marketing to the end user. Not to mention, again, that unlike watchmaking at small microbrand scales, manufacturing of industrial parts can be fully automated.

As there is no real commercial incentive to make watches, why in the world should we continue to make them? I have no rational answer to this question, yet I know that we must. 
The responsibility to continue learning, getting better, then passing that knowledge on is the only way to preserve not just our own independence, but the independence of the next generation of Australian watchmakers.
An independent watchmaker planting a microbrand is like a small organic farmer who grows his own produce, not just to feed his family and friends, but to preserve the environment, save the seeds and save the local biodiversity. Not profitable, yet priceless.