Greetings, human. I bet you can't tell just yet what makes me so special. Image © Haute-Rive

I have more torque than a Bugatti hypercar and more autonomy than a nuclear-powered submarine. What watch does that make me?

Before I anger swathes of German automotive engineers and six fleets of American sailors, allow me to admit I am slightly exaggerating. But I promise it’s for good reason. You see, in the world of watchmaking, I am so far ahead of the next best alternative, I might as well be a hypercar. If you are reading this, I assume you know that a mechanical watch stores its energy in a tightly coiled spring. Your average timepiece has a power reserve of around 40 hours. Some brands go as far as using two mainspring barrels, coupled in series, to increase the power reserve to, let’s say, 80 or 120 hours. That’s 5 days of power from a single winding. What else could a wearer ask for?

I don’t know how else to break this to you, so I’ll just out with it: my power reserve is 1000 hours. From a single barrel. That’s 40 days. Needless to say, I am the first wristwatch that can claim this feat. And needless to say, it was no easy feat to accomplish. And with that, I have given myself away. I am the Haute-Rive Honoris 1.

Me dressed in white gold and a black dial. Image © Haute-Rive

Me dressed in rose gold and a black dial. Image © Haute-Rive

Me dressed in yellow gold and a white dial, with my optional fluted bezel. Image © Haute-Rive

At this point you would be right to ask why I came into existence at all. 5 days is more than enough power reserve for a manual wound timepiece, collectors adore winding their watch as often as they can, and the resources required to design, develop, and perfect a one-of-a-kind movement that features such a ridiculous accolade are obviously immense. And, sure, most brands in the watch industry wouldn’t bother going near this kind of undertaking. They would be happy enough trying to imitate one of Genta’s designs, or to tell their watchmakers to bevel a bridge wider than their competitors in the adjacent Swiss village. But I am not the product of your typical brand, or the result of a series of marketing meetings. I owe my existence to a single man and his young, independent watch company, established solely with the purpose of creating mechanical timepieces that push watchmaking to its limits and quite simply boggle the mind.

It takes a very particular kind of human to conceive of pushing the limits of an established field, and then to go out there and actually do it. You could also ask why Bugatti’s automotive engineers thought to glue two V8s together, bolt on four turbochargers and end up with a 1000hp beast. Surely nobody needs that much power. Or why Hyman Rickover thought of putting a nuclear fission reactor in a sealed tube filled with a hundred humans that traveled fifty fathoms below sea level in complete stealth. Granted, one of these things is indubitably more useful than the other, but my point remains: they did it because they could. My father tells me that this particular breed of humans are known as engineers. (I would have assumed they are known as badasses, but that term is reserved for other types of humans as well, like the ones willing to drive a Bugatti, board a submarine, or...wear me). And he should know, because that is exactly what dad is, too.

My dad holding my 3m long mainspring, the largest ever fitted to a mechanical watch. Image © Haute-Rive

By now you are probably wondering what the catch is. You know that complicated watches tend to be very thick. You probably know that Lange has made a watch with a 31 day power reserve, which had so much torque you needed a heavy tool to wind it, like a centuries old pocket watch without a keyless winding mechanism. That watch measured 46mm in diameter and a whopping 15.9mm in thickness. And if the best Lange can offer features that many compromises, it would only make sense that I also come with trade-offs and drawbacks that might understandably be hard to swallow, right? Nope.

Perhaps even more surprising than my record-breaking power reserve, or the extreme length of my mainspring is that I look and wear no differently than a regular dress watch. I am 42.5mm in diamater and just 11.95mm thick. And arguably my coolest party trick is that you wind me not with a special tool or a 2 meter long torque wrench, but simply by rotating my bezel. The pusher you see above the crown activates a column wheel controlled function selector to engage and disengage winding mode. The column wheel is highly sought after by collectors for its enamoring tactile feel and is usually found controlling high-end chronographs. In my case, it’s used to make the experience of winding me even more of a pleasurable occasion.

Me dressed in yellow gold, wearing a white grand feu enamel dial and heat-blued steel hands while gracing a normal sized wrist. I bet you didn't expect me to wear so well. Image © Monochrome Watches

You have probably seen timepieces with a power reserve indicator, which usually takes the form of a small subdial with a tiny hand making a small arc of at most 45 degrees. This works fine for watches with a relatively meager power reserve, but imagine having to tell the difference between 500 and 600 hours of remaining power if my indicator was relegated to a tiny subdial. Instead, flipping me over reveals that my entire caseback is covered with a 360 degree power reserve indicator, with a fixed red arrow indicating the current reserve using a rotating outer ring marked 0 to 1000.

Me dressed in white gold, showing off my unique 360 degree power reserve indication complication. Image © Haute-Rive

My dial is made from 18K solid gold and painted black or white using the traditional and rare craft of grand feu champlevé enamel, where the dial plate is cut to accommodate the movement’s openworked protrusions before enamel powder is applied by hand and fired in a kiln at high temperature five consecutive times. This technique not only adds unique depth to the color, but also makes the dial extremely resistant to wear and the passage of time. After all, I am a mechanical watch meant to last forever. Finally, visible on my dial in all their hand finished glory are a large wheel I like to call the wheel of time, my gear train under a central bridge with four columns, my column wheel, and my long crown stem with its flowing pinion. My hands are either made of white gold or traditionally heat blued steel. Oh, and I almost forgot: I also have a tourbillon with a free-sprung balance. Most timepieces would have been very pleased with themselves featuring just a tourbillon. Collectors sure admire the difficulty inherent in assembling and regulating one. But in my case, the complexity of the rest of my movement is so extreme that a tourbillon just seems to pale in comparison. There is certainly enough power in my barrel to drive its cage...

My dial in all its grand feu enamel glory, and the column wheel for my function selector that switches me between winding and time-setting mode. Image © Haute-Rive

I would be remiss if I did not explain where I got my name from. My dad named me Honoris to pay tribute to our family’s horological heritage and, specifically, to our ancestor, Irénée Aubry, a 19th century watchmaker and inventor who, among other creations, made a pocket watch with a 40-day power reserve for the Pope, and another pocket watch with a 8-day power reserve known as Hebdomas -both feats of extreme ingenuity for their time. I mentioned to you in the beginning that dad is an engineer. That’s perhaps putting it mildly. Before starting Haute-Rive, he worked on cutting-edge movements often involving silicon technologies at Patek Philippe’s Advanced Research division and Ulysse Nardin, and there are plenty of legendary timepieces being made to this day that feature his patented inventions.

I have a pretty good idea as to why I was made. Something to do with pushing the limits of what is possible and honoring my family’s horological history. But, to be honest, I don’t quite know for whom I was made. If we take my automotive and marine counterparts, who is a Bugatti made for, and a nuclear submarine? The only answer I have is that they’re made for those that already have it all. Those not easily impressed by gimmicks or by loud marketing campaigns and brand ambassadors. And, just like my counterparts, my complexity and uniqueness entail that I am destined to be a rarity among my peers.

To the 10 brave souls lucky enough to have me adorn their wrist every year, I salute you. If my retail price of 148,000 CHF seems eyewatering, just remember: I am truly one of a kind, cheaper than a Bugatti, and a hell of a lot cheaper than a nuclear submarine. I doubt I will ever see the inside of the latter, but there is plenty of hope I will get to feel what it’s like to unleash more than 1000 horsepower in a German autobahn while adorning the wrist of a badass. Whoever you are, dear future collector, you and I are sure to have a blast together.

I, the Haute-Rive Honoris 1.