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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

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

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

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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 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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Beans & Bezels Beans & Bezels

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 1776 Atelier, Hour Precision had no influence over the opinions stated here.

1776 Atelier Mount Vernon: https://1776atelier.com/watches/mount-vernon-aventurine

Hour Precision: https://hourprecision.com

Klok Work: https://www.instagram.com/klokworkllc

Video

Review

1776 Atelier is one of the more compelling young American independents to emerge in the past couple of years because they’ve built their brand around the harder, less glamorous work of actually advancing the state of American watchmaking. The name is doing some of that signaling up front. “1776” is an overt nod to the country’s origin story, but it’s also a mission statement: build capability here, expand what can be made here, and do it in a way that collectors can realistically participate in.

The brand was founded by Jason Lu, a self-taught watchmaker who has spent years learning by proximity, absorbing ideas from accomplished watchmakers and engineers across the U.S. and Germany, including time spent around the DK Precision Mechanics ecosystem. I’ve also met Jason in person, and what stood out immediately was how humble he is. He’s extremely passionate about watches, but is especially motivated to build great watches while creating as much value in America as possible. And that humility isn’t performative: after about twenty minutes of pestering him, I realized he’s doing far more than the public-facing role. He handles most of the hand finishing, something that isn’t emphasized on the brand’s website, but feels very much worth mentioning in this category of watchmaking.

The other half of the story is Zach Smith. I’ve been following Zach on Instagram for years, and he’s earned a deep level of respect from me because his approach to “making stuff in America” is refreshingly practical too. He’s an engineer, a Certified WOSTEP watchmaker, and a manufacturer. Zach runs Hour Precision, but he’s also a formal partner to Jason within 1776 Atelier, and his work has helped bring all of the brand’s watches to life, including their excellent new release, the Montpelier.

If you ask me, there’s a real difference between building an “artisanal” watch in America for $70,000-$100,000 and building a sustainable watch brand that meaningfully elevates the state of watchmaking here: for both the people making these components and the people buying the watches. I think creators like Jason Lu, Zach Smith, Roland Murphy at RGM, and brands like SeL may ultimately do more to reshape American watchmaking than a boutique maker catering to the 1% of the 1%…but hey, that’s just my opinion.

Within the current lineup, the Mount Vernon is the brand’s most successful product, and it feels a bit like an appetizer for what’s coming. It’s where you can start to see how real value is created when components are manufactured domestically; and then finished correctly, beautifully, and at a price that doesn’t automatically exclude most serious enthusiasts.

The watch on hand here is the Mount Vernon Aventurine, fitted with upgrades including American Gun Scroll Engraving (+$1600) on the movement (done by Klok Work, also in the United States) and Triple Snailing (+$375) on the crown and ratchet wheels, bringing the total price of this configuration to $6,075. The standard Mount Vernon, with more traditional finishing and no engraving, starts at $3,900, and even in that form, the movement still carries a meaningful amount of hand work, and looks genuinely impressive for the category.

Let’s check it out!

Movement

I typically discuss the movement towards the end of my reviews, but with this piece, the movement is the reason you buy this watch, the movement shows off what the brand does best, and the movement gives you a true taste of what the brand can do. Powering the watch is the hand-wound Caliber 621.1788, built on the familiar Unitas/ETA 6498 architecture: a big, simple, traditional layout that is still the foundation of some of the most impressive indie watches on the market today. It runs at 3Hz with a 48-hour power reserve, and keeps the classic small seconds at 6 o’clock.

The main-plate and bridges are manufactured in Ohio by Zach, with Hour Precision functioning as the brand’s in-house movement manufacturing capability, while the majority of the hand finishing is executed by Jason in Texas (with some overlap in duties, since Zach is also a watchmaker).

Visually, the movement leans hard into contrast: with a black rhodium main-plate, paired with rose gold-finished elements including the balance bridge, nameplate, and parts of the gear train. All the screws are black polished, and even though the dial is made of Aventurine, the movement delivers a more dynamic visual experience. There is also hand-executed anglage on all exposed edges, graining on the gear train and a matte finished movement base.

Here, the most notable aesthetic upgrade is the American Gun Scroll engraving option. The team described that pattern as taking roughly two to two and a half full days of engraving work, carved scroll-by-scroll so each example ends up slightly unique.

Beyond the engraving itself, the finishing details are where the movement starts to feel more serious than its price might suggest: there are three interior angles that are executed entirely by hand using traditional methods.

The separation between finishes is also deliberately emphasized, including a contrast between mirror-polished bevels and adjacent surfaces that are kept satin or frosted and sharply defined. And that creates an incredible sense of depth and detail, particularly when looking at it up close. Finally, this piece features snailing on the winding wheels, with polished teeth – triple snailing to the ratchet wheel and the crown wheel remains double-snailed due to its size. In terms of timekeeping, this movement was running at a very healthy and accurate +3 spd.

And importantly, this isn’t where the story ends. 1776 has already shown what it can do when it steps beyond the familiar 6498 template with the Montpelier, which brings a more intricate, proprietary architecture to the table, a skeletonized three-quarter bridge and balance bridge, and a finishing spec that reads like a clear step up from the Mount Vernon while still leaning on the same core strengths: Hour Precision’s manufacturing capability and Jason’s bench work. But this time also enlisting DK Precision Mechanics. Even more ambitious is what they’re developing in parallel: the brand has been openly working toward its own free-sprung balance, and has gone a step further by experimenting with a star-shaped balance design, which is a remarkably bold endeavor for a team this small.

Since there won’t be any lume comparisons here, I thought it would be interesting to put this movement beside some other beautiful movements, such as the Patek Philippe Cal. 240, Habring A11GSP and Christopher Ward CW003. The Mount Vernon certainly makes a compelling case with just how attractive it looks, and even makes the Habring look a bit dull in comparison, even though I absolutely adore that movement.

Case

I measured the case to be 40.25mm in diameter, 48.5mm lug-to-lug, and 11.3mm thick, with a 20mm lug width, dimensions that make it a bit large for the genre it is in, but yet comfortable and surprisingly well balanced. This Swiss Made case is made entirely of stainless steel and feels solid and well-constructed. Where some brands use the case as a signature design element, 1776 Atelier plays it safe here. The silhouette is traditional and, in profile and proportion, reminiscent of watches like Laine’s V38, down to the fully polished, classically styled execution.

It’s a clean, dressy package: no sculpted mid-case, no contrasting brushing, and little in the way of distinctive geometry. The build quality and finishing is well done, but it feels more selected than designed. The 6.5mm push-pull crown at 3 o’clock is sized appropriately and signed. And while the design may not break new ground, it is handled competently. A domed sapphire crystal with anti-reflective coating keeps the dial clear, and the screw-in exhibition case-back shows off a movement that usefully fills the case footprint perfectly. Water resistance is 30 meters: unremarkable, but typical for this style of watch.

If you want the case to feel more personal, they offer hand case engraving as an up-charge, turning the otherwise conservative exterior into something genuinely one-off; but I believe the skill, effort and costs associated with hand engraving a case deserves a customer who will truly appreciate it.

Dial

The dial design follows the well-trodden formula of independent watchmaking: a guilloché inner dial, small seconds at six o’clock, Breguet numerals, and an applied nameplate beneath twelve. That said, it is a very attractive layout, and perhaps why it has become somewhat of a classic template for watchmakers. This particular piece features their Aventurine and guilloché dial combo.

Both the dial and hands are sourced from Germany, though I can easily imagine these components being produced locally as the brand matures and develops more domestic capability – we’ve already seen Zach Smith and Hour Precision deliver a beautiful hand set for Cornell Watch Company. The dial itself is very well executed, with a pleasing contrast between the cosmic Aventurine outer ring and the inner white guilloché, which, while stamped rather than hand-turned, looks crisp and consistent.

The two sections are divided by a brushed and raised metal ring, adding dimensionality alongside the bold applied Breguet numerals, which are vertically brushed and sharply cut. The small seconds subdial at six o’clock features its own distinct stamped guilloché pattern, framed by another brushed ring for visual continuity, while a raised, brushed minute track wraps up the composition with legible markings for minutes and five minute increments. Together, the layered textures, finishes, and elevations create depth and character, making the dial far more engaging than its conventional design might suggest.

The handset is nicely finished with distinct facets that help with legibility, though I do wish the hour and minute hands extended a touch further; with the hour hand closer to the edge of the guilloché center and the minute hand out to the minute track for sharper legibility. Still, they don’t feel undersized in practice and remain easy to read. The brand’s logo is pad-printed on an applied nameplate under twelve, a familiar but well-executed finishing touch. Overall, the attention to detail and quality control on the dial is very good, and I like that the brand has quite a few options to choose from, with various combinations of materials, textures, and styles.

On The Wrist

On my 6.75-inch wrist, the watch’s 40.25mm diameter and 48.5mm lug-to-lug dimensions work reasonably well, sitting flat and balanced without feeling oversized. That said, given the dressy and traditional nature of the watch, I think trimming 1 to 1.5mm off the diameter and 2 to 3mm off the lug span would have made it noticeably more versatile and wearable for a wider range of wrist sizes. But since this watch is based on the 6498 architecture, there’s only so much smaller they can go without having to completely redesign the movement or choose a much smaller base like the ETA 7001, which would likely introduce a lot of empty space.

In its current form, I would hesitate to recommend it for wrists smaller than 6.25 inches, as the lugs might start to overhang. The 11.3mm overall thickness feels well-proportioned, though shaving off around 1mm could be nice, especially since it’s a manual-wind watch without any extraordinary water resistance.

1776 Atelier offers a variety of American-made straps, and the one supplied with this watch is very nice, paired with a signed deployant clasp. The deployant is of a familiar Omega-style design, feels robust and secure, and the overall presence and comfort on the wrist is excellent.

Wrapping Up

The Mount Vernon isn’t trying to reinvent the dress watch – the case and dial are handsome and well executed, but the design language is fairly conventional, and it won’t satisfy someone chasing novelty in form or layout. Where this watch earns its keep is the movement. The finishing quality, the thought put into the components, and the overall visual coherence on the back are legitimately impressive for the category, and it’s the part of the watch that most clearly communicates what 1776 Atelier is about. Just as importantly, it feels like a preview: the Mount Vernon reads as a stepping stone, and the Montpelier already suggests what this team can do when given a bit more room to create.

And that’s why 1776 remains one to watch (pun intended). Building a sustainable, scalable, practical watch brand in America is a very different challenge than making aggressively artisanal pieces for a tiny sliver of collectors, and 1776 Atelier appears to be aiming for the former without losing the craft. If they stay disciplined and keep executing at this level, they have all the ingredients and the talent to become a meaningful part of modern American watchmaking.

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