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The post The MING Polymesh Is Unlike Anything Else in the Watch Industry appeared first on RK Watch Service.

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Disclaimer: this video/review was not sponsored by MING or any other entity.

MING Polymesh 20mm Curved (Regular): https://www.ming.watch/featured-product/ming-polymesh

Video

3D Printing & Horology

The watch industry is often described as traditional, but what that really means is that this industry is old, slow and resistant to change. We celebrate decade old construction methods, while modern manufacturing techniques remain confined to prototypes and concept pieces. 3D printing has been one of those technologies. While Apple produced millions of 3D-printed titanium watch cases without any romanticism, it has appeared sparingly in watchmaking through titanium cases from brands like Panerai, Apiar and Holthinrichs, and it is rarely used in a way that fundamentally changes how a watch component behaves.

In our little world of watchmaking, Holthinrichs may be one of the few brands that has used 3D-printed titanium case making in a way that feels genuinely innovative, reasonably priced and aesthetically impressive. Their cases embrace the raw, architectural qualities of additive manufacturing instead of hiding them, and while I don’t personally love their printed bracelet design, it is undeniably innovative because it continues the same design story told by their cases. The MING Polymesh is different again, because it isn’t trying to 3D print a bracelet – it is trying to create a completely new experience for a watch accessory.

The broader science behind this is fascinating. Engineers have been exploring 3D-printed chainmail and fabric-like structures for applications far beyond watches. NASA JPL developed a metallic “space fabric” using 3D-printing techniques, with different functionality on each side of the material, while Caltech and JPL researchers later developed a chainmail-inspired material that can transform from a foldable, fluid-like state into a rigid shape under pressure. These are sometimes called architected or programmable materials, because their behavior comes as much from geometry as from the base material itself.

The Polymesh applies that idea to something familiar: the watch strap. The curved-end version is made from laser-sintered grade 5 titanium, uses curved-end quick-release 20mm spring bars, and is a one-piece construction made of 1,693 sub-components, including the integrated tuck buckle system. MING recommends the short size for wrists under 6 inches or 152mm, and the regular size for wrists from 6 to 7.8 inches, or 152 to 200mm. It weighs 20g. The Straight version expands the concept beyond MING watches, using quick-release straight-end 20mm spring bars and 1,742 interconnected elements. Both versions are priced at CHF 1,500 excluding taxes.

Challenges

Most bracelets are mechanically simple objects, even when they are beautifully made. The Polymesh behaves closer to a metallic textile. Each individual element moves only a tiny amount, but across the full structure, that motion becomes fluid. MING works with SISMA s.p.a and ProMotion s.p.a, who produce it through powder-bed laser sintering, requiring more than 1,000 printed layers, and have tolerances between moving components as tight as 30 microns. Too tight, and the links fuse together. Too loose, and the articulation loses its intended fluidity.

And that is only part of the challenge. In a print-in-place chainmail structure, the geometry has to account for laser heat spread, partially sintered powder, surface roughness, shrinkage and post-processing. The object is built inside loose titanium powder, and a dense mesh creates hundreds of small pockets where powder or debris can become trapped. Any remaining burrs or roughness could make the structure gritty, stiff, abrasive, or prone to wear. Unlike a static 3D-printed case, the Polymesh is a moving object with countless contact points constantly rubbing, rotating and loading against one another.

Is it a bracelet? Is it a strap?

To describe the Polymesh as a metal bracelet version of a strap does a disservice to everyone involved. It truly feels like nothing else. It looks vaguely like a mesh, has the material character of a bracelet, and is worn more like a strap, but that is about where the similarities end. On wrist, it drapes with an almost silk-like fluidity, but with the density and presence of titanium. There is weight and structure here, but not in the way you expect from metal. It is soft, but not limp; flexible, but not loose; technical, but still surprisingly organic. And it terms of flexibility, the inner structure can result in configurations that even most straps can’t get into.

There are no sharp corners, no obvious pinch points and no rough edges against the wrist. That alone is impressive for a product built around so many tiny moving contact surfaces. But what still amazes me is that, except for the spring bars, this entire product is additively manufactured. The joints, edges and buckle are all part of the same manufacturing story. The entire buckle was created together, meaning the interconnected parts that make up this three-piece buckle construction were fabricated at once rather than conventionally assembled.

Learning Curve & Appearance

If I had to criticize the Polymesh, it would be the learning curve. I remember a similar adjustment period when MING first introduced their keeper-less straps, and the Polymesh asks for the same kind of behavioral reset. It works best when sized slightly longer than you might instinctively choose, giving you enough room to tuck the tail comfortably. Removing it is less intuitive, because the locking pin that keeps the strap secure requires lifting the bottom half of the buckle and pulling the strap out. It feels unnatural at first, but becomes easy enough after a few attempts.

The finishing and aesthetic are acceptable to me, especially given how little precedent exists for this product. Of course, I would love to see it offered in every material and finishing combination imaginable. But a few months ago, nothing like this really existed in the watch world. A few years from now, this first generation may look primitive compared to what follows, and speaking as an engineer in research, that is exactly what progress looks like.

Final Thoughts

A lot of people will criticize the price, because viewed as a strap or bracelet, the Polymesh is very expensive. But I don’t think that is the right way to understand it. This is a radically new piece of technology being made available surprisingly early in its product cycle. If you want a mature accessory like a rubber strap or conventional bracelet, this probably is not the thing to buy. But for the right collector, the Polymesh will feel like a very reasonable price to pay for something extremely unusual and extremely impressive.

It will not suit every watch, every case design, or every material. But as an object, it is remarkable. It is expensive, niche and visually assertive, but it delivers an experience few watch accessories can offer. MING has taken state-of-the-art manufacturing and applied it to a very conservative corner of a laggard industry. For that reason alone, the Polymesh is worth celebrating.

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As I've already introduced Chronoswiss in my previous review I recommend to have a look there – or click on below Fratello article

This Is Chronoswiss: The Independent Brand That Defied The Quartz Crisis

I would like to present to you today a different Chronoswiss model, this time Open Gear Pink Panther. It's one of the more sporty and casual models of the brand, a claim which is supported by the relatively high for the…

Chronoswiss Open Gear Pink Panther

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The post Otsuka Lotec Part 2: No. 6 – The Watch That Best Explains the Brand appeared first on RK Watch Service.

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Disclaimer: this video/review was not sponsored by Jiro Katayama, Otsuka Lotec or any other entity.

Video

No. 6: It All Comes Together

The No. 6 is the Otsuka Lotec that resonates with me the most. Even after the release of the No. 8, it remains my favorite design from the brand, and the one that best captures what makes Jiro Katayama’s work so distinctive. There is something especially complete about it. The visual language is clear, the mechanical concept is integrated into the architecture of the watch, and the overall object feels deeply considered from every angle.

A few years ago, Katayama described his inspiration as a fondness for things with an “analogue, low-tech feel”, which he also cited as the source of the brand name. If you ask me, that line could almost have been written specifically for the No. 6. More than any other Otsuka Lotec. It has the industrial character, the slightly eccentric presentation, and the sense of being designed around a specific mechanical experience rather than around a conventional luxury-watch template.

Part of why it stands out so strongly is that it doesn’t rely on sheer complexity to make its point. The No. 5 KAI has a more elaborate display, and the No. 8 pushes things even further, but the No. 6 feels especially distilled. It gets to the heart of the brand with unusual clarity.

A Familiar Idea, But With More Personality

A double retrograde display is not a new concept, and there is no need to pretend otherwise. As with the satellite-hour display of the No. 5 KAI, the interest here comes from execution. Katayama takes a known mechanical format and presents it in a way that feels unmistakably his own.

The front of the No. 6 has a slightly steampunk quality, though not in an exaggerated or theatrical sense. It comes through in the exposed screws, the visible structure of the dial, the thin needle-like hands, and the deeply recessed date display. There is a very deliberate instrument-panel feel to the whole thing. The paired hour and minute scales have the look of a panel gauge or measuring device, and the watch as a whole feels closer to an old machine interface than to a traditional dial composition.

That “atmosphere” is a big part of the appeal. The No. 6 displays time in an unusual way and it also creates a very specific mood while doing it. The design has character without being messy, and originality without feeling forced. That balance is not easy to achieve, and there is no shortage of examples of watches that attempt something like this but fail miserably, which is one reason I think this watch remains so memorable even in a lineup full of more mechanically ambitious pieces.

A Brilliant Case Design

For all the attention paid to the display, I still think the case design deserves more discussion than it usually gets. It is one of the strongest parts of the watch.

The No. 6 measures 42mm in diameter, 45mm from lug tip to lug tip across its wire lugs, and 12.10mm in overall thickness including the slightly protruding sapphire crystal and exhibition case-back. It also has a 5.5mm push-pull crown, 22mm lug spacing, and 30 meters of water resistance. Those numbers suggest a watch with a fair bit of presence, yet it wears far more compactly than expected. The short lug span helps a lot, and so does the relatively restrained visual opening of the dial.

The case has real depth and structure. It rises upward from the case-back into a broad upper section secured by eight visible screws, then steps into a narrower upper ring with a brushed top surface that supports the irregular sapphire crystal. Every level has a purpose, and the whole form carries a strong sense of intention. Compared with the No. 5 KAI, whose case is smoother and more fluid in its lines, the No. 6 has a denser, more mechanical character. I find that more appealing here because it suits the personality of the watch so well.

The wire lugs are another part of the design that works better in person than it might on paper. They angle downward toward the wrist, so the watch sits naturally and avoids the slightly awkward feel that some historic wire-lug cases can have. They also help connect the No. 6 to later models like the No. 7 and No. 7.5, which makes them feel like part of a broader design vocabulary.

Build quality is excellent. The finishing is industrial in style, much like the No. 5 KAI, and very well judged for the kind of watch this is. Otsuka Lotec, more broadly, feels like a compelling counterpoint to the kind of clinical perfection Japanese watchmaking is often associated with: the ultra-precise Sallaz-finished cases (Zaratsu) and impeccably diamond-cut indices of something like a Grand Seiko. What you get instead is something that feels convincing as a tool-like object, almost as though it belongs in a high-end recording studio or inside the cockpit of an old aircraft. And while Otsuka Lotec is careful in its operating guidance, warning against back-winding, excessive shock, and too much water exposure, the watch feels more robust on the wrist than those cautions might initially lead you to expect.

Designing With What You’ve Got

The dial is one of the clearest examples of Katayama’s ability to turn a practical limitation into a memorable design feature. The display itself is beautiful. The thin, needly hands move across the paired scales with a lightness that suits the overall theme, and the layout quickly becomes intuitive after a little time with the watch. The vertical brushing of the dial surface keeps things simple and appropriately technical, while the exposed screws reinforce the sense that this is a visible mechanism assembled with intent rather than a decorative surface applied over a movement.

The date window is especially memorable. It sits deep within the dial under a tapering conical frame, and that one detail adds a surprising amount of visual depth to the front of the watch. It also seems to come from a very practical place. The dual-retrograde module adds height over the movement and date wheel, and instead of disguising that fact, Otsuka Lotec leans into it. It feels distinctive, slightly quirky, and perfectly in tune with the brand’s DNA.

Turn the watch over and the exhibition case-back reveals the Miyota 9 Series movement that powers it. I have no issue with that whatsoever. Miyota’s 9 Series is reliable, robust, sensibly proportioned, and entirely appropriate for a brand that clearly wants to keep things Japanese while focusing its efforts on custom displays, case construction, and the overall integrity of the design. In a watch like this, an elaborately decorated Swiss movement would add little and might even distract from the point.

The No. 6 has also had some very interesting editions over the years. The meteorite version is excellent, and the black PVD-coated unique piece with a tinted black sapphire dial may be my favorite take on the design yet, and I hope to see a production version watch with a similar aesthetic at some point.

No. 6: Still My Favorite

On my 6.75″ wrist, the No. 6 is excellent. The 42mm diameter never feels unwieldy because the watch is pulled inward by its compact lug-to-lug span, the downward angle of the wire lugs, and the modest size of the visible dial opening. The end result is a watch with presence but very little sprawl. It feels focused, compact, and surprisingly easy to wear.

My only real hesitation is the strap. As with the No. 5 KAI, it is well made, but I did not particularly enjoy it and replaced it quickly. That is a minor issue and an easy one to solve, though it remains one of the few parts of the package that feels less convincing than the watch head itself.

As I’ve repeatedly said in this article and the last, what keeps me coming back to the No. 6 is the degree to which everything feels aligned. The case, the display, the visible construction, the date aperture, and the overall mood all support the same idea. There is no sense of one part trying to pull the watch in a different direction. That coherence is rare, and it is one of the main reasons this remains my favorite Otsuka Lotec.

The No. 6 also says a great deal about Jiro Katayama as a designer. His background in machining and case-making continues to show through in the way these watches are conceived. The No. 6 does not feel like a movement with an unusual dial placed on top of it. It feels like a complete object shaped by one person’s taste, one person’s design instincts, and one person’s fascination with analogue mechanical interfaces. For me, it remains the watch that captures the essence of Otsuka Lotec best.

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The post Otsuka Lotec Part 2: No. 6 & Shaping a Design Language appeared first on RK Watch Service.

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Disclaimer: This watch prototype was sent to me to review. This is not a sponsored post, but the brand will send me a production unit in the future. All opinions here are my own, and MMI Watches had no influence over the opinions stated here.

MMI Heritage 38 Chronograph Kickstarter: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/mmiwatches/mmi-heritage-chronograph-rare-white-full-lume-dial

MMI Watches: https://www.mmiwatches.com/

Video

Review

MMI Watches is a microbrand brand out of Singapore, and by this point they are no longer a brand I would describe as new or unproven. Since 2019, they have released nine model families across divers, chronographs, GMTs, field watches, and more experimental lume-focused pieces. I’ve personally reviewed the MMI CuttleChron and the MMI x Awagami Factory collaboration pieces, and what I’ve generally found is a brand that has become progressively stronger with case execution, bracelet quality, and unusual dial/lume ideas, while staying pretty consistent with pricing.

The watch we’re looking at here is the new Heritage 38 Chronograph, a VK63 meca-quartz chronograph that builds on the Heritage 38 platform and adds MMI’s Rota-Date display to a compact three-register chronograph layout. The main story, though, is the dial lineup: one classic black dial and four fully lumed color variants, including Horizon Blue, Heritage Tan, Arctic White, and this Vintage Salmon version. The white dial is particularly unusual because it uses white-emitting lume, while the salmon dial continues one of MMI’s more interesting recent experiments with colored full-lume surfaces.

This is currently a Kickstarter project, and it appears to be fully funded at the time of publishing this article. Pricing starts at $379 USD for the Super Early Bird tier, limited to 50 pieces, with the optional on-the-fly adjustable clasp available as an upgrade for $35 USD.

As with any Kickstarter watch, I would still approach it with the usual caution around timelines, final QC, and fulfillment risk. That said, MMI has delivered enough projects at this point that I think the risk profile is different from backing a completely unknown brand. Here, I’ll be looking at the Vintage Salmon full-lume dial version on bracelet, fitted with the standard clasp rather than the on-the-fly micro-adjustment clasp option.

Let’s check it out!

Case

The case is not the most original or unusual part of this watch, but it might be my favorite case MMI has made so far because the proportions are excellent. I measured it at 38mm in diameter, 44.5mm from lug tip to lug tip, or 46.5mm if you measure across the end links, with an overall thickness of 11.15mm including the slightly protruding boxed sapphire crystal. Add a 20mm lug width and a 6.1mm screw-down crown with a lumed MMI logo, and you end up with a compact chronograph that feels properly considered.

The case build and finishing are also very good, and MMI has clearly gotten stronger here over the last few releases. The brushing, polished transitions, bracelet fit, and general solidity are about where I would expect from the better micro-brands today.

I also have to give them credit for achieving 100m of water resistance, which is impressive for a chronograph in this format; even watches like the Speedmaster and Navitimer have traditionally sat under 50m. It is a simple case, but the execution, dimensions, and wrist experience are excellent.

Dial

The dial is easily the most interesting part of this watch, and probably where MMI does the best job of making this watch feel distinct. The salmon color is bolder than what I usually gravitate toward, and it can look a little too saturated in photographs, but in person the matte, slightly textured surface helps control that personality. It is colorful without feeling glossy or overly loud, and the texture gives it enough softness to keep the watch feeling vintage-adjacent rather than novelty-driven.

The contrast between the salmon base and blue hands, indices, and date numerals works very well. The blued elements appear to be PVD or CVD treated rather than thermally blued, which is understandable at this price point, especially given the number of components involved. The hands and markers catch enough light to add depth while maintaining strong legibility against the warmer dial surface.

The Rota-Date display is one of the cleverer parts of the design, and has become somewhat of a design signature for this brand, and central to their identity. And I think that is a great achievement for a small brand like this. Instead of interrupting the dial with a conventional date window, the outer rotating date wheel becomes part of the dial architecture. It keeps the layout symmetrical, preserves legibility, and adds depth through the recessed, scalloped inner edge rather than feeling like a flat printed perimeter.

The chronograph layout is the familiar VK63 arrangement, with elapsed minutes at 9 o’clock, running seconds at 6 o’clock, and a 24-hour day/night style register at 3 o’clock. The 24-hour register is not the most useful complication, but visually the three-register layout suits the watch.

What impressed me most, especially for a prototype, is the execution. The printing looks crisp, the applied markers appear cleanly aligned, and the overall quality control seems very strong. There is a lot happening here, but the proportions and finishing choices keep it coherent.

Lume

The lume is an important part of this watch’s identity, and on the Vintage Salmon it works very well in practice. Because the entire dial base is lumed, the watch remains plenty legible at night, with the hands standing out clearly against the glowing surface. The salmon pigment does seem to reduce some of the raw potency you might get from a more conventional full-lume dial, but that feels like a reasonable tradeoff for the color. It may not be the brightest execution possible, but it does not struggle with nighttime readability.

The only weak point is the minute hand, where the lume plot is a bit small and tends to fade faster than the rest of the display. Fortunately, the fully lumed dial base does a lot of the work, so legibility is rarely compromised in any meaningful way. It is also worth noting that the white dial variant uses white lume (similar to MING’s Polar White), which is unusual and technically interesting in its own right, since white-emitting lume is far less common than the usual green or blue glow most brands rely on.

Movement

This watch is powered by the Seiko VK63, a hybrid meca-quartz chronograph movement, and I think that is the right choice for a watch like this. At this price point, meca-quartz makes sense: it is accurate, low-maintenance, keeps the case relatively thin, and still gives you a more engaging chronograph experience through the sweeping central chronograph seconds hand and mechanical-style reset.

I’m generally more comfortable with the VK63 in affordable chronographs than something like a Seagull ST19. The ST19 is a beautiful movement, with real mechanical charm, but it asks more from the owner. It is not known for being especially robust or worry-free over the long term, so you need to be willing to accept the potential regulation, servicing, and reliability issues that may come with it.

On The Wrist

I know some collectors will look at 38mm and assume it is too small for a chronograph, but on my 6.75″ wrist the proportions feel just about perfect. The 44.5mm lug-to-lug keeps the case compact, the 11.15mm thickness including the boxed sapphire crystal keeps it sitting low, and the case hugs the wrist in the way you want from an easy, set-it-and-forget-it kind of watch. It has presence because of the dial, but the case itself is restrained and quite elegant.

The bracelet is also very much in line with what I’ve come to expect from MMI lately: good quality, clean finishing, and comfortable articulation on wrist. Sized for me, the watch weighs about 109g on the bracelet, which gives it enough substance without making it feel heavy.

This prototype did not have MMI’s on-the-fly adjustable clasp, and I believe the standard production watch will ship with this more traditional clasp by default. You can upgrade to the adjustable clasp for around $35 USD, and I think that is absolutely worth doing. I’ve used MMI’s on-the-fly clasps before, and they are solid.

Wrapping Up

Overall, I think this might be my favorite MMI release so far. The case proportions are excellent, the finishing is strong, and the Vintage Salmon dial is very attractive. I also think the Rota-Date display is very well integrated here, and the fully lumed dial gives the watch a genuinely fun second character after dark. The VK63 is a sensible movement choice too, keeping the watch thin, affordable, and easy to live with.

If I was forced to criticize it, I’d say the minute hand lume plot could’ve been larger, the 24-hour sub-dial is not very useful, and I would strongly recommend budgeting for the on-the-fly clasp upgrade. And since this is still a Kickstarter project, the usual caution around timelines, fulfillment, and final QC applies. But MMI has been around for a while now, with several successful releases behind them, so this feels like a more credible project than most first-time Kickstarter watches. And if their final production units are just as good as these prototypes, I think people are going to be very pleased.

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Disclaimer: this video/review was not sponsored by MB&F, M.A.D., Yinka Ilori or any other entity.

Video

Review

MB&F is one of the defining independent watch brands of this generation: a brand that treats horology like kinetic art, and one that’s essentially impossible to ignore if you care about modern high-end watchmaking. It’s also very much a “serious money” universe: pricing for their Horological or Legacy Machines typically starts in the ~$40,000 range and goes up fast. A big part of that magnetism is Maximilian Büsser himself: a highly prolific, hyper-visible figure in watchmaking, and especially in the indie scene, with the kind of cult following usually reserved for artists and auteurs. He’s not just the guy behind the concepts… his enthusiasm is genuinely infectious, and it’s helped MB&F grow into a creative ecosystem of collaborators rather than a conventional watch brand.

M.A.D. Editions is the more accessible pressure valve for all that energy… a parallel outlet where MB&F (and its designers) can express themselves at a lower price point while keeping Büsser’s eccentric design ideology intact. It’s meant to give mere mortals a real taste of what makes MB&F special, without pretending you’re getting a Horological Machine in terms of finishing or complexity.

Enter Yinka Ilori: a British-Nigerian multidisciplinary artist and designer known for bold color, patterns, optimism, and work that scales from objects and interiors to large public installations. He was made a Member of the British Empire (MBE) for services to Design in 2021, and his work seems to always have a very positive and cheerful tone that is easy to identify, making this collaboration feel completely authentic, because that is exactly how I would describe my interactions with Max Büsser.

The M.A.D.1S x Yinka Ilori “Grow Your Dreams” collaboration is exactly the kind of joyful, coherent weirdness you’d hope for, released in three variants: Sun, Nature, and Water (the one I’m reviewing), with just 400 of each. Retail is CHF 3,250 (roughly $4,150 USD), and once you factor in the extra 15% tariff, it effectively lands around $4,800 USD.

Let’s check it out!

Case

The M.A.D.1S case is the kind of object that immediately reminds you this is still an MB&F creature, even if it’s wearing a “more accessible” price tag. I measured 41.75mm in diameter, 49.75mm lug-to-lug, and 14.80mm thick, with a 24mm curved lug width and a 7.6mm push-pull crown sitting at 12 o’clock. And unlike most watches where you mostly interact with the dial and and maybe bezel, the M.A.D.1S demands more of your attention – the top surface and the sides are integral to the experience, to the point where I’d argue the case is the single most important design element here.

It is made of stainless steel, capped by a slightly curved sapphire crystal that, thankfully, gets genuinely effective anti-reflective treatment (so you’re not fighting glare while trying to enjoy the spectacle underneath). MB&F’s own specs describe the watch as using both sapphire and mineral glass with AR coating, and I believe that the mineral glass lives on the flanks / barrel, though you’ll also see some references describing mineral glass on the back so I’m not entirely certain.

Visually, this “Water” variant is my favorite combination of colors: you’ve got green HyCeram inserts on the top and side that punch up the already sculptural silhouette, that contrast beautifully with the blue rotor and blue hour track inside.

The lugs are especially cool: they are an extension of the case-back architecture (if you can even call it that), curving upward into carved forms that mix brushed and polished finishing in a way that reads more “industrial sculpture” than “traditional lug”. And the 12 o’clock crown carries the “Grow Your Dreams” motif with what looks like yellow enamel fill, and it’s easy to grip and operate even while the watch is on the wrist. The watch is rated to 30m of water resistance, which sounds underwhelming on paper, but for something this design-forward, it’s also not unusual.

Dial

I’m going to be slightly heretical here and call the side of the watch, specifically that lower flank around 6 o’clock, with its lume-filled triangular reference marker, the “dial”. Functionally, that’s where the time lives, even if it’s been pushed to the periphery and turned into part of the sculpture.

The M.A.D.1S also makes its priorities very clear in what it doesn’t show. Earlier M.A.D.1 versions offered more explicit hours-and-minutes, but the 1S ditches the independent minute display for a slimmer, cleaner construction, and I’m completely fine with that; this isn’t designed for precise timekeeping so much as it’s designed to be worn as a piece of horological art. If that trade-off bothers you, I’m fairly certain this watch just isn’t for you.

On the Water variant, the hour ring is a brushed blue band with large white numerals, white dots for 15-minute increments, and a wonderfully un-serious squiggly “S” marking the 30-minute position. You won’t be nailing minute-perfect accuracy, but you can still get close… maybe within half of a 15-minute increment if your eyes are reasonably functional. Side-read time itself isn’t a new trick either: Urwerk has done it, and MB&F have played with the concept for years on pieces like the HM5 and HM8. And you have plenty of smaller brands like Amida, Xeric, etc. who have done this too. Overall, legibility isn’t sports-watch crisp, but it’s good enough… and more importantly, it delivers a genuinely fun experience every time you tilt your wrist and “find” the time.

Movement

When MB&F first announced M.A.D.Editions, especially that first run powered by a Miyota 8-series base, I was extremely dissatisfied with the choice. I’ve owned and reviewed enough Miyota 8-series watches to know that I don’t like them, and the Miyota 821A in the earlier pieces is pretty much entry-level in every sense, the sort of movement you typically find in $100-$300 watches. The irony is that MB&F’s choice still made conceptual sense: the uni-directional winding was essential to the high-speed rotor “party trick” that’s basically baked into the M.A.D.1 experience, but the Miyota 9 Series would’ve been a more appropriate option.

So when they announced the switch to the La Joux-Perret G101, I was genuinely thrilled… enough to finally want to buy one myself. The G101 is a movement I don’t just tolerate; I actually think it’s solid, reliable, and good-looking, and I hope it shows up in more watches over time. It has roots in the Miyota 9-series architecture (a far better foundation than the 8-series), and the G101 feels like that concept given the Swiss Made treatment, with upgrades in finishing and specs… including a 68-hour power reserve.

Because it’s uni-directional, spinning it the opposite way can produce that friction-less free-spin that turns the watch into the fidget spinner you’ve always wanted. There’s a guilloché-style teal base, a nameplate for the two collaborators, a gold-colored movement plate that seats everything in the case, and a movement presentation that’s clean and nicely finished. Above all of that sits the star, a three-blade rotor with a beautiful blue finish and lume-filled “Grow Your Dreams” sections, so your fidget spinner also performs in the dark.

The clever bit you don’t see is underneath: a module built on the La Joux-Perret G101 that allows the movement to drive the horizontally aligned hour disc visible on the side of the case. Overall, I’ve got no complaints with the movement choice here: it’s a real upgrade, and the execution is excellent.

Lume

Lume on this watch is both a little ridiculous and genuinely satisfying: very much on-brand. The headline is the rotor: each of its three blades has generously lumed sections, and in the dark it becomes a glowing fidget spinner that’s hard not to distract yourself with. There’s practical lume here too. The triangular reference marker on the case is filled generously, and the hour markings on the side-read barrel light up as well, so you can still find the time without much fuss.

Performance is reasonably potent: it charges easily, glows bright, and lasts through the night. It’s not blazingly bright like a hardcore tool watch, but it’s consistent and bright enough for solid legibility. And yes, with those green HyCeram inserts, it would’ve been cool if they were lumed too: though if it were up to me I’d lume every element of every watch, so maybe don’t take that too seriously.

On The Wrist

On paper, it looks like it should wear like a brick, but in practice it’s much friendlier than the numbers suggest. The 41.75mm overall diameter sits comfortably on my 6.75″ wrist, and while the nearly 50mm lug-to-lug measurement sounds a bit overwhelming at first, that figure is taken across the very tips of the lugs, and those lugs taper out quite a bit. Visually and on-wrist, it feels closer to 47-48mm, which is a meaningful difference in how the watch actually presents.

Thickness is similar: the quoted 14.80mm is technically true, but also a little misleading. The crystal has a noticeable curvature, and the skeletonized case-back adds height even though the “core” of the watch is much slimmer, so it ends up wearing more like a 13mm watch rather than something genuinely chunky. The shape also helps: the case feels sculpted and ergonomic, not like a big flat puck, and the upward-curving lugs do a lot of work to keep it planted and stable.

Strap-wise, the watch comes with two CTS-style rubber straps; one in a multi-color pairing and another in all white. I didn’t actually wear it on either of them and ran it on this leather strap instead. Either way, the bigger takeaway is that it isn’t nearly as intimidating as its proportions might imply, and I’d say most wrists 6.5″ and up will find it comfortable without it looking cartoonishly large.

Wrapping Up

At roughly $4,800 USD all-in, the M.A.D.1S sits in a funny place: it’s a much smaller number than the $40,000+ it typically takes to enter the MB&F universe, but it’s still a lot of money for a watch: especially one whose entire vibe is whimsical, playful, and intentionally unserious. And that price is genuinely competitive territory: $4,800 buys a lot of phenomenal watches new, and the pre-owned market only makes the alternatives more tempting, which makes this a tough segment to justify on specs alone.

But I don’t think the person seriously considering a M.A.D.1S is cross-shopping a Tudor or a pre-owned Speedmaster.. they’re either chasing something unusual, they’re enamored with MB&F, or they’ve simply been pulled into Max Büsser’s orbit and want to belong to the MB&F tribe (you can’t actually join the tribe unless you buy a real MB&F though, sorry). For the buyer who values creative design and originality, the kind of person who lives for the weirder corners of the hobby where out-of-the-box thinking is the point, this M.A.D.1S might actually be perfect.

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Disclaimer: this video/review was not sponsored by Phorcydes or any other entity.

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Lume Blocks: The Final Frontier

If you’re the kind of person who can’t help comparing lume shots, timing fade rates, or getting irrationally excited about a watch glowing well in a dim room, then you’ve probably noticed that some of the most impressive lume today is no longer just about better pigment. More and more, it is about shape, structure, and volume. And that shift has created a whole category of watches where the low-light or no-light experience can feel far more dramatic than a traditional lumed dial. The Phorcydes PH4A is an interesting example of that trend, because it delivers the kind of lume performance that usually gets associated with much more expensive watches, yet it sells for around $220.

A big reason I decided to make this video, and write this article, is because I received quite a few messages from fellow lume addicts and followers asking me to check this watch out. And I understood why. The PH4A had already started to develop a reputation for having absurdly potent lume for the money, which naturally raises the question: what exactly are they doing here?, and how close does it really get to the better known high-end implementations?

Volume, Definition & Structures

To answer that, it helps to zoom out a little. For a long time, the lume discussion was mostly about pigment. What type was used, how bright it charged, and how long it stayed readable. But watches using systems like HyCeram (MING 18.01, MING 20.11, MING 29.01, etc.), Lumicast (Wicked Watch Co. Pearl Diver, Baltic Hermetique, Aquascaphe Mk2, etc.), and Globolight (H. Moser & Cie. Pioneer Diver, Christopher Ward Lumiere, Christopher Ward Bel Canto Lumiere, Christopher Ward C63 Extreme GMT, etc.), and similar approaches have shifted that conversation toward something more interesting. At a certain point, the real difference is no longer just the luminous compound itself, but how that compound is shaped, how much of it is present, and how effectively it is used.

That is really the appeal of 3D luminous elements. A conventional lumed marker usually gives you one illuminated surface. A proper lume block gives you volume. The marker itself becomes a luminous object rather than just a metal shape with lume applied to the top. And when that is done well, it looks fantastic. It gives the dial more presence in low light, it creates a more sculptural glow, and it tends to feel more immersive because the entire form is participating rather than just a thin coating.

That is also why so many higher-end brands have started using these systems. Christopher Ward’s Lumiere (Trident, Bel Canto) models are a great example because they show how good 3D lume can look when both the material and the finishing are taken seriously. The blocks are not just thick, they are shaped and faceted in a way that makes them visually interesting in daylight too. Similar can be seen on the H. Moser & Cie Pioneer, which also uses Xenoprint’s Globolight XP.

MING has approached the same broader idea from a different angle with HyCeram, using fused luminous material in sapphire components to create a floating, layered effect that plays with light and shadow.

Even more high end independent watchmakers appear to be embracing these materials, as seen on the Simon Brette Chronomètre Artisans Steel, Lang & Heyne‘s Friedrich III, Georg & Anton, Artime ART01, HYT Hastroid, Sarpaneva Daredevil, Hautlence, etc. Different methods, same lesson: once lume becomes a real physical structure rather than a flat application, it can do much more.

Why are we talking about the Phorcydes PH4A?

And that is what makes the Phorcydes PH4A worth talking about. Not because it is a particularly original design, and certainly not because it feels like some major breakthrough in engineering, but because it seems to have found a very efficient way to deliver the one thing that most lume enthusiasts actually care about: a huge amount of visible luminous performance at a very low price. In raw output, it is impressive enough that I would not hesitate to mention it in the same conversation as watches using HyCeram, Lumicast, and Globolight.

That matters because it highlights something enthusiasts sometimes overlook. The most expensive luminous systems are not always the only route to excellent lume. A lot of practical performance comes down to luminous mass, exposed surface area, geometry, and how well the whole display is balanced. If a brand can make thick, heavily loaded luminous blocks efficiently, and pair them with hands and markers that make proper use of that material, the result can be extremely effective even if the process itself is less refined or less prestigious than the Swiss alternatives.

Phorcydes PH4A: A Mini Review?

As a watch, the PH4A is actually better than I expected for the money. It measures 39.5mm in diameter, 47.5mm from lug tip to lug tip, 13.3mm thick, with a 20mm lug width, a 6.05mm screw-down crown, and a head-only weight of 67 grams. On paper, those are fairly sensible dimensions for a compact diver-style watch, and in practice it wears pretty well.

The design itself is also very clearly borrowing from classic skin diver territory, and more specifically it comes across as a fairly obvious copy of watches like the Glashütte Original SeaQ. So this is not a watch I find especially interesting from a design standpoint. But in terms of pure build quality, it is still a surprisingly competent object for the price.

The case construction and finishing are particularly impressive at this level. The surfaces are clean, the overall build feels solid, and the bracelet is better than I expected too. The links are well detailed, fit together nicely, and the clasp even includes on-the-fly adjustment while feeling properly made rather than like a cheap convenience feature added for marketing. This is one of those watches that reminds you just how much Chinese manufacturers are now capable of doing at very low prices when the goal is execution rather than originality. And being able to experience that is certainly worth the purchase, if this kind of stuff interests you.

At the same time, this is still very far from a luxury-watch experience. The bracelet on mine showed stains right out of the box, and it had that unmistakable smell of a manufacturing facility, with oil and residue still hanging around. That is not a deal-breaker at $220, but it does immediately put the watch back into perspective. And while the lume blocks themselves are thoroughly impressive in terms of both output and overall visual effect, their quality control up close is rough. On my watch, most of the blocks show chips, cracks, or other imperfections, and they are nowhere near as cleanly finished as the multi-faceted blocks on something like the Christopher Ward Lumiere. So while the performance is absolutely there, the refinement is not.

But that is also why it is hard to be too critical. Because the PH4A is not really interesting to me as a luxury object, a piece of design, or some feat of refined watchmaking. I bought it for a much narrower reason. I wanted to see what is now possible from a manufacturing perspective, especially from a Chinese brand working at this price point, when the main priority is clearly lume. And in that context, it is hard not to come away impressed.

Lume: Live Long & Phosphor

And if there was a point to this review, I suppose it would be that 3D luminous elements are no longer some niche novelty reserved for expensive watches. They have become one of the most effective ways to make a watch both more visually exciting and more practically legible in low light. The higher-end executions often (not always) justify themselves through better finishing, better tolerances, stronger integration, and in some cases more sophisticated materials. But the Phorcydes PH4A shows that the core appeal of this genre, the part that makes lume enthusiasts care in the first place, can now be accessed for surprisingly little money. And if anything, watches like this should encourage you as an enthusiast to demand more from the high end luxury brands that are constantly trying to sell you less, for more.

And that, really, is why this watch matters. Not because it is the most refined example of 3D lume, and not because it is a watch I would hold up as some great design success, but because it proves how much of the effect can be achieved when a brand focuses on the fundamentals: a lot of luminous material, shaped properly, used intelligently, and sold cheaply. If you care about lume, that alone makes the PH4A worth paying attention to.

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Disclaimer: this video/review was not sponsored by Jiro Katayama, Otsuka Lotec or any other entity.

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Otsuka Lotec Release Timeline

(As of April 2026)

Jiro Katayama: A Different Kind of Watchmaker

Some independent watchmakers are known primarily for movement ideas. Others are known for finishing, or for a particular kind of artisanal spectacle. Jiro Katayama’s work feels different because his watches come across first as complete industrial objects. That likely has a lot to do with how he arrived here: Katayama came out of car and product design, bought a small lathe around 2008, began by making watch cases to practice machining, and only then became absorbed by watchmaking itself. He made No.1 through No.4 between 2008 and 2012, and started selling the original No.5 to the public in 2012. That origin story matters, because Otsuka Lotec still feels like the work of someone who thinks about the entire object at once, not just the mechanism inside it, and that’s one of the most important attributes that I look for when adding watches to my own collection.

That is also why the No. 5 Kai is the right place to begin this two part series on Otsuka Lotec. Even though it is a recent watch, it carries the name of the first publicly sold Otsuka Lotec. Katayama himself has said it was called “No. 5 Kai” because it inherited the case design and the ball-bearing concept of the original No. 5, the first watch he sold. The official model page goes further and says the Kai inherits the design elements of the No. 5 released in 2012, with the case refined from that earlier watch. In that sense, it is a modern interpretation of the brand’s first public statement.

Mechanical/Analog Interfaces for the Wrist

Katayama’s broader inspiration also helps explain why Otsuka Lotec feels so distinct. On the brand site and in interviews, he points to old film cameras, industrial instruments, gauges, and the analogue feel of older machine-made objects as key references. That sounds obvious once you know it, because Otsuka Lotec watches rarely resemble conventional “luxury watch” compositions. They feel more like mechanical-analog interfaces scaled for the wrist. The appeal is very much a departure from traditional Swiss romanticism, and instead embodies the clarity and conviction of singular minded industrial design.

The Kai’s display format is a good example – satellite or wandering hours are not new, and they are certainly not unique to Otsuka Lotec. The underlying idea goes back centuries in clockmaking, and in modern wristwatches collectors most commonly associate it with watches like the Audemars Piguet Star Wheel and, more recently, Urwerk’s highly futuristic interpretations. At this point, the concept has also been democratized across lower price tiers, so the mere presence of satellite hours is no longer enough to make a watch interesting. The Kai works because Katayama stages it inside a case and crystal architecture that feels perfectly suited for it, and makes the mechanism feel very much integrated into the entire experience, from materials to texture.

Under the Crystal

The case is where his background shows most clearly. On paper, the official dimensions are 40.5mm in diameter, 12.2mm including the crystal, with 22mm lugs, a 316L steel case, and a box sapphire crystal with anti-reflective and anti-fingerprint coating. My measurements came in essentially the same, at roughly 40.25mm across, 46.75mm lug to lug, and about 12mm overall, with a crystal width of just under 36mm. But those numbers don’t easily translate how this watch looks and feels, because this is one of those watches where the crystal does a huge amount of the visual work. Otsuka says the crystal itself is 4.6mm tall over a 7.6mm mid-case, and that the case edge was lowered as much as possible so the minute plate, hour disks, and other elements inside could cast distinct shadows. That sounds dry in spec-sheet language, but on the wrist it is exactly what you notice: the watch reads almost like a mechanical snow globe, with the display suspended inside a transparent dome.

The case is industrial in its finish, mostly straight-grained rather than decorative, yet the overall shape is fluid and refined. The form rises naturally from the flat base through the sculpted mid-case and into the boxed crystal. The anti-reflective treatment is also crucial here, because this watch needs visual access more than it needs sparkle. There are too many moving parts, too many layered surfaces, and too much spatial drama under that crystal for reflections to be treated as an afterthought. The crown is easy to access, well proportioned at 5.5mm in diameter, and the watch has an expected low water resistance of 30m.

The dial-side architecture is what makes the Kai memorable. There is little here that tries to impress in the traditional handmade-watch sense. You are not getting elaborate hand-polished bevels, angles of any kind, or showpiece finishing for its own sake. What you do get is, to my eye, more convincing than a great many mediocre artisanal watches: carefully staged contrasts in color, texture, shadow, and surface treatment, all working toward one unified visual effect. The Japanese script printed around the mechanism, the contrasting finishes of the visible components, and the constant movement of the display elements create one of the most distinctive dial-side experiences I have seen. This is exactly where Katayama’s “complete product” thinking pays off.

Why All the Fuss About a Ball Bearing?

The bearings are not a trivial detail here either. The official Kai page states that the original No. 5 used two ball bearings and that the Kai continues that idea with two MinebeaMitsumi bearings, one specially created for this model’s hour-disk switching system. MinebeaMitsumi says that bearing measures 2.5mm in outer diameter, 1.0mm inner diameter, and 0.8mm thick, and that it enabled the Kai to become the first watch to use a satellite-hour mechanism that switches the hour disk by directly engaging a pin with a bearing. The second bearing, at the center of the seconds disc, is the company’s 1.5mm bearing, which both Otsuka and MinebeaMitsumi describe as still the world’s smallest commercially available steel ball bearing in this class.

In use, the watch has some quirks worth mentioning. The official description says the hour disk switches twice per hour, almost like a jumping hour, by directly contacting the ball-bearing roller at roughly 8 o’clock. On the wrist, that means the transition begins before the top of the hour, around the last third of the minute cycle, and the primary time display can appear to pause briefly while the transitioning disk climbs over and hands off to the next hour. In practice this is more of a behavioral quirk than a functional problem, because the display catches up and overall timekeeping remains intact, but it is a good reminder that this is a very specific piece of mechanical theatre built from scratch.

I also noticed that the seconds disc can show visible jitter. The most plausible explanation is that a visibly exposed weighted seconds disc makes tiny fluctuations in torque delivery, backlash, or friction within the added display works much easier to see than they would be on a thin conventional seconds hand. In other words, the display architecture probably amplifies behavior that would be visually negligible in a more ordinary watch.

On The Wrist

Wear-ability is also well considered, even if its overall silhouette might suggest otherwise. At 57g for the head, with a compact sub-47mm lug-to-lug, the Kai avoids the clumsiness that could have easily come with a display like this. It wears across a wide range of wrists better than the design might suggest.

My only real aesthetic hesitation is the strap. It is well made, but feels a bit unwieldy and visually heavy on wrist given its thickness and design. That is subjective though, but it is one of the few areas where I can see some owners preferring to experiment with alternative 22mm straps.

Going from No. 5 to No. 6

What makes the Kai so compelling is not that it introduces an unfamiliar complication, but that it presents a familiar one with an uncommon level of cohesion. This is a watch where the case, crystal, display, materials, and tiny mechanical details all feel conceived together, and that is still far rarer in independent watchmaking than it should be. It also neatly reinforces what makes Jiro Katayama interesting in the first place: he does not approach watchmaking as a movement designer searching for a container, but as a designer and machinist building a complete object from the ground up. Even its quirks feel less like flaws than reminders that you are looking at a very specific mechanical idea.

The Kai connects directly back to the first public Otsuka Lotec, and in doing so helps explain the foundation of the brand: an industrial design mindset, truly bespoke construction, and a refusal to rely on generic watchmaking solutions. In the next part of this series, I’ll turn to the No. 6 and how those early principles of design and engineering matured into what is, to me, both my favorite watch from the brand and perhaps its most recognizable piece.

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Disclaimer: This watch was sent to me to review, and I do not need to return it after my review is complete. This watch was given to me without restriction and is not contingent upon a particular outcome for my review. All opinions here are my own, and VERO had no influence over the opinions stated here.

Disclosure: This post contains an affiliate link (like the one below). If you click and make a purchase, I do not earn a commission, but it helps brands like VERO track the impact of reviews & articles like this one, so if you are interested in this watch, please use the link below to make your purchase. It will ensure that more VERO watches are reviewed here.

VERO Watches: https://verowatch.pxf.io/c/7068581/3091803/38163

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Review

VERO is a brand I have covered before, and my first experience with them left a strong impression. When I reviewed the VERO x WindUp Granite 38 over five years ago, what stood out most was the brand’s original ambition: to produce watches in America, to experiment with genuinely interesting technical ideas such as their proprietary piston-sealed crown system, and to offer something in the microbrand space that felt more engineered than assembled. That early positioning gave VERO a distinct identity.

This review, however, centers on a different kind of VERO. In the years since I last owned and reviewed one of their watches, the brand appears to have become considerably more successful and more commercially established. Their current production approach is also different, with VERO now describing its watches as designed in Portland and manufactured externally rather than pursuing the more vertically integrated American-made model that originally defined much of the brand’s appeal. That shift removes some of the novelty that first drew me to them years ago, but it has also coincided with a broader and seemingly very successful expansion of the brand’s catalog and reach.

The watch being reviewed here is the Smokey ’44, an officially licensed collaboration built around one of the most recognizable public symbols in the United States. Smokey Bear first appeared in 1944 as part of the U.S. Forest Service’s wildfire prevention campaign, and he has since become an enduring symbol of wildfire prevention and stewardship of America’s forests and wildlands. VERO also states that 10% of proceeds from the Smokey Bear collection are donated to the U.S. Forest Service to support wildfire prevention education and forest conservation efforts, which gives the collaboration a more meaningful foundation than the average character-based release.

The Smokey ’44 is the more vintage-leaning execution of the concept, taking inspiration from field watches of the mid-1940s and pairing that with a dial centered around Smokey Bear himself. It is currently priced at $525, and VERO positions it alongside other Smokey Bear variants including the more modern Smokey ’64, the Campfire Edition, and the bronze-cased Smokey 80th Edition. The ’44 itself comes with both a leather strap and a canvas NATO, and on paper it sits in a very competitive part of the market where design, execution, and overall charm need to do a lot of the work. Fortunately, this is a watch that does a lot right.

Let’s check it out!

Case

The Smokey ’44 features a 38mm stainless steel case that I measured at 46.25mm from lug tip to lug tip and 12.15mm in overall thickness, with a 20mm lug width. The 7mm screw-down crown is signed and includes subtle polished accents, giving it a slightly more refined look than the otherwise utilitarian case design might suggest.

The case finishing is mostly matte, with a bead-blasted treatment across the mid-case and case-back that gives it a distinctly tool-watch character. In that sense, the overall aesthetic reminds me somewhat of watches from Sinn or Damasko, where functions take priority over decorative flourish. The watch is not especially thick on paper, but it is a bit slab-sided and does wear with a slightly stout visual profile. VERO helps offset that somewhat with a triple-stepped bezel that mixes matte and polished surfaces, which adds a bit of visual interest and does help break up the height.

A flat sapphire crystal sits on top with a good amount of anti-reflective coating, while the screw-down case-back sits nice and flat against the wrist. Combined with the screw-down crown, the watch carries a water resistance rating of 120 meters, which is more than adequate for the kind of field watch this is trying to be.

Overall, the Smokey ’44 feels well built and appropriately robust. Its design is mostly sterile and functional, but the few polished accents keep it from feeling overly plain. The proportions do lean a bit stout visually, even if the actual thickness is quite reasonable.

Dial

The ’44 has an excellent dial. The overall design is simple, highly legible, and thematically coherent, but it still manages to feel distinctive rather than generic. Just as importantly, the execution is excellent. The quality control on this example is remarkable, and noticeably better than the previous VERO I reviewed. The base of the dial has a fine matte texture that gives the surface a soft granular look, somewhat reminiscent of dials like the Patek Philippe 5226G, and it adds a subtle sense of depth without distracting from the utilitarian layout.

Legibility is handled very well. Around the outer edge is a brown railroad-style minute and seconds track, paired with large lumed circular pips at each hour and a small triangular marker at 12. Moving inward, Smokey Bear sits beneath 12 o’clock, acting as the thematic centerpiece of the watch. The main hour markers are large lumed Arabic numerals, while a muted red 13-24 hour ring sits further inward, reinforcing the military and field-watch character of the dial.

The handset is also excellent. I will admit that I am very biased toward cathedral-style hands, but these are beautifully executed. The hour hand reaches cleanly toward the numerals, while the minute hand aligns very well with the outer track, giving the watch a precise and easy-to-read display. Combined with the lume layout, it is both visually engaging and functionally strong.

From a design standpoint, I think this is a perfect dial. It takes a serious and highly usable field-watch layout, combines it with an unusual theme, and somehow makes the whole thing feel natural. That would already be impressive on its own, but the strong finishing and quality control elevate it further. Compared with the Granite 38 I reviewed previously, this feels like a more resolved and more confidently executed dial.

Lume

The ’44 delivers stronger lume performance than I expected. Given the watch’s overall style, I anticipated something more restrained, closer to the Buser Freres GSTP 38, but VERO has been much more generous with the luminous elements than that comparison would suggest. The dial is pad printed, yet the lume application is still notably dense. Each numeral has a substantial lume plot, with additional circular lume blobs marking the hours and a triangular marker at 12 o’clock. For a dial in this style, that is an impressive amount of luminous material.

The hands are also well executed. Both the hour and minute hands have large lumed sections with a generous fill, and the cathedral-style hour hand looks especially impressive in the dark. The seconds hand uses a printed lumed tip and base, which looks great, though it fades sooner than the rest, as expected.

In practical use, the overall performance is excellent for this type of watch. It glows bright, lasts a good amount of time, and remains fairly legible through the night. Compared with similarly priced watches such as the Vaer Solar Field (using ceramic lume blocks for its numerals), Buser Freres GSTP 38, and VIIS Flieger 42, the VERO performs very well.

Movement

The ’44 is powered by the Seiko NH38A, a no-date variant of the familiar NH35 architecture. Being a true no-date movement, it avoids the phantom date position, so that is always a welcome detail.

I’ve covered Seiko’s 4R/NH family many times at this point, and my broader opinion has not changed much. These movements are generally robust, inexpensive, and easy to service or replace, which helps explain why they remain so common in the micro-brand space. But Seiko’s official accuracy tolerances are still far too lenient for a modern mechanical movement, and the overall architecture is not interesting to look at or refined to operate. In general, once pricing begins moving toward the upper end of the affordable segment, I start expecting higher beat rates, and tighter regulation standards.

With the VERO, I think the choice is acceptable, though I would have preferred something like a Miyota 9 Series, which could have also helped make the watch slimmer overall. Most of my criticism here is directed at Seiko rather than VERO. VERO has regulated this example well, and in my testing it has run at around +5 seconds per day, which is a good result for it.

So while the NH38A would not be my first choice in a watch around this price point, the reality is that it performs well here, offers a clean no-date user experience, and brings with it the durability and serviceability that continue to make these Seiko calibers appealing despite their shortcomings.

On The Wrist

The ’44 wears well on my 6.75″ wrist, and with its 38mm diameter and 46.25mm lug-to-lug measurement, I would also feel comfortable recommending it to those with smaller wrists. The overall footprint is compact and sensible for a field watch, and it sits with the kind of balanced presence that should work across a fairly wide range of wrist sizes.

While the watch is not especially thick in absolute terms, it does wear a bit thicker than the specifications might initially suggest. That is mostly a result of its proportions and somewhat slab-sided case profile rather than any truly excessive height. So although it has a slightly stout visual presence, it never feels overly bulky on the wrist.

The head weighs a reasonable 63 grams, and the strap adds roughly another 9 grams. The supplied strap is quite thick and does require some break-in, but it feels durable and well suited to the overall character of the watch. Once softened up, it seems like the kind of strap that should hold up well to years of use and abuse, which makes it a fitting choice for such a tool-oriented design. I also appreciate the signed tip, though the buckle itself is a bit generic and could have been given a bit more attention.

Overall, the wearing experience is a positive one. Compared to the VERO x WindUp Granite 38, which benefited from a lighter titanium case and a thinner profile, the Smokey ’44 feels a bit more substantial, but it remains comfortable and well proportioned for everyday use.

Wrapping Up

Overall, I find the VERO Smokey ’44 to be a solid watch. It combines a highly distinctive theme with a genuinely strong field watch layout, excellent legibility, impressive lume, and very solid overall build quality. While I would still prefer a more compelling movement at this price point, VERO has regulated this example well, and the rest of the watch is executed strongly enough that the choice remains acceptable in practice.

Compared to the previous VERO I reviewed, this feels like a less technically novel watch, but in some ways a more complete and resolved product. The dial is better executed, the lume performance is far stronger, and the overall design comes together in a way that feels both charming and highly functional. For anyone drawn to the Smokey Bear theme, VERO has done a terrific job translating it into a watch that still feels serious, usable, and well considered.

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