The upscale version of the cal. 8500, the cal. 8501 features rotor and other parts fabricated from 18k gold (image from OmegaWatches.com)

Probably one of the most hotly debated topics on the various watch fora is the issue of “in-house” movements and what constitutes a true manufacture. The debate is made more difficult by the symbiotic nature of the Swatch Group, which owns ETA and a host of other movement component producers (e.g.-Nivarox). So why is the production of an in-house movement important?

If one takes the movement out of a watch, it becomes a piece of jewelry of varying degrees of aesthetic appeal (depending on design, metals used and complementary accoutrements). I suspect a very, very tiny fraction of watch aficionados would stay on the various watch fora if all they were discussing were the merits of using rubies or sapphires on bezels or stainless cases instead of platinum.

I would wager that almost all active watch forum members, along with more casual enthusiasts, have an interest in watches because of their mutual fascination with the tiny machine within that manages to track the passage of time, usually with amazing accuracy … a machine that is almost three centuries old and has been only refined – not radically changed – in all that time. And the most luminous names in the horological firmament are those who labored to develop movements that had one or more distinguishing characteristics, as it was the only legitimate way to differentiate one company from another.

Before the Great Depression, a watch company might source movements from another initially, but everyone understood that long-term survival depended on the ability to produce movements in-house. That’s why there was a robust watch industry in the United States in those days. The economic exigencies of the global financial crisis that was the Depression changed the industry and sowed the first seeds of consolidation.

Decades later, the Quartz Revolution altered that dynamic dramatically, driving many old, established companies out of business. It also gave us watch companies who, in fact, were jewelry houses only, casing another company’s quartz movements in their wares. With the Mechanical Renaissance, that trend continued … with many producers sourcing their movements from ETA, whilst a few sourced from other manufactures.

So a watch company that placed no emphasis on movement design, development or production eventually was at the mercy of a very small group of movement producers. Worse, though, was that their wares now were only distinguishable by the design attributes of the case and bracelet or strap. And, as I have noted, that’s really not why so many enthusiasts spend so many hours studying, discussing and collecting watches.

The question now of what is a manufacture, in a modern age that compels at least a modicum of deference to technological advances in production practices, should focus more intently on R&D and design of movements and less on where those movements are actually assembled. A company like Omega, which has the resources to bring forth a calibre such as the 8500, should not be judged on who actually builds that movement (it could be done turnkey in Asia with no diminution in quality). Rather, it should be judged on how ingeniously it took a 300 year old machine and refined it to create a distinctive variation that is worthy of admiration by peers and customers alike. To me, that is the 21st century definition of a manufacture. Admittedly, others – including a certain horology columnist we’ll refer to as the Timepiece Stiff Neck – have a more narrow view, but they’re placing emphasis on things which are not nearly as relevant today as they might have been a century ago (or even four decades ago).

I have no regard for most watch companies who continue to produce quality jewelry powered by ETA movements (members of the Swatch Group, of course, are exempt from this disdain because ETA belongs to them collectively … it is their “in-house” producer). I might buy such a watch for a particular purpose (e.g. – a relatively inexpensive dive watch that I’ll use only underwater but never wear casually), but it will never take an honored place in my collection. Frankly there is a vast difference between Omega and Rolex, both of which have strived in recent years to solidify their bona fides as in-house producers, and others who rely solely on the forbearance of other movement producers to even exist.

Breitling and TAG Heuer, for example, understand this. It’s not just about supply issues. It’s about corporate self-respect and market credibility. And that’s why they have gone to such lengths to return to producing their own in-house movements. They’re still not where Omega or Rolex are, but they’re trying. And it is vital that they do so.

With most of the major watch brands now owned by large corporate conglomerates with virtually unlimited financial resources, a Breitling or TAG Heuer or IWC cannot be excused for relying on another company’s movements, despite the former glories they might have achieved in days gone by with watches designed using outsourced calibres. In this age of image-is-everything marketing, about the only thing a watch enthusiast can hang his proverbial hat on is how committed a particular company is to the art of watchmaking, best exemplified by creating one’s own calibres.

Under my foregoing definition, a watch company’s status as a manufacture figures quite significantly in my purchasing and collecting decisions. I suspect that, after some honest reflection, most knowledgeable watch enthusiasts would agree.

This 36mm Rolex Datejust was my “daily wearer” before the size mania took over

Has it really been only a decade since I became infatuated with large watches? It seems almost a quaint notion now, but in the years before then I considered my 41mm Omega Seamaster Pro as huge, and enjoyed wearing my Seamaster 120 and Rolex Datejust more than any other watches (and at 37mm and 36mm, respectively).

Blame Sylvester Stallone, I suppose. I happened to catch him in “Daylight” late one night on cable, and really liked that cool watch he was sporting (it probably was the only thing that kept me watching that stink bomb). A little research revealed that he was wearing a Panerai Luminor.

The 44mm Panerai Luminor Submersible looks perfect on the Rock’s massive, 6½-foot frame in “G.I. Joe: Retaliation.” Me … not so much.

Given that Stallone and I are about the same height (I’m ignoring the fact that his physique is a bit more brawny than mine, although my Pillsbury Doughboy frame does give me a stout wrist), I was certain I could pull off the look. I immediately started checking out Panerai in cities I would visit on my travels, and fell in love with the PAM 188 chronograph.

Now, I had owned quite a few Omegas and Rolexes at that point, several in stainless and gold, but I really wasn’t prepared for the price of that Panerai in plain ol’ stainless steel. Fortunately, my wife recognized it would take a long while for my watch lust to overcome my Scottish frugality, so she bought the watch for me as a gift to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary.

[As an aside, the wise watch aficionado will try to discourage having a significant other purchase such an expensive item as a gift. We’re a fickle lot, but a gift from a loved one has an immediate status as “permanent” in one’s collection … oftentimes the only watch in the collection so designated.]

I’ll never forget the sheer size and weight of that watch (which, for the record, was 44mm). Everyone noticed it and I loved the attention. But I eventually tired of the weight and switched to an Italian rubber dive strap (dive straps, for those not familiar with them, have ribs or corrugation in the rubber to allow the watch to stay snug as one’s wetsuit compresses in deeper waters; the bulky strap perfectly complemented the PAM). I found I really liked the strap, both from an aesthetic standpoint (it got even more admiring glances) and comfort (the strap was much more comfortable than the wide stainless bracelet that came with the watch). Of course, it bothered me that the expensive bracelet was gathering dust in my jewelry box (did I mention my Scottish blood?), so I would occasionally – heck, often – put the bracelet back on. Then, I’d grin-and-bear the heft of that watch.

The PAM is almost never worn today (mostly on my wedding anniversary; my wife is too sweet to ask why not more often), but my tiring of it did not discourage me from exploring other large-case watches. I had discovered what is referred to on the watch fora as “boutique divers” – dive watches made by small companies who subcontract most of the parts – and sometimes the entire assembly – to manufacturers in China. They’re able to sell their wares at a much lower price than one would expect to pay for a mainstream Swiss brand such as Omega.

The 44mm Zixen Trimix GMT

The first to catch my eye was a Deep Blue Master 2000, which I saw in a section of International Watch magazine on dive watches. As a diver for 45 years now, I always have had a weak spot for dive watches, and that Deep Blue attracted me on two levels – it’s sheer size (46mm and almost 300 grams!), and it’s low price (at the time it was like 500 bucks).

It was the whole Panerai experience all over again – the admiring glances (actually, in retrospect, I realize they mostly were curious stares) and the massive heft. It wasn’t long before I found myself tiring of both the weight and the size. But it didn’t matter … I was hooked now on these behemoths and started scouring the horological landscape for others.

The 45mm Doxa SUB 5000T Sharkhunter

In quick succession, I discovered other watches which had “wrist presence” (the euphemistic expression employed by all watch lovers who prefer watches that bear more than a passing resemblance to a satellite dish): Doxa, Helson, Boschett, Zixen, Prometheus, to name just a few. It wasn’t long before I had a collection of almost three dozen watches. Worse, I had sold off most of my “tiny” watches to feed this new addiction, including an original Omega Broad Arrow (at 39mm) and a Seamaster 120 Plongeurs DeLuxe (the watch Jacques Mayol wore in 1981 when he set his 101m free-diving world record).

Yet one “Holy Grail” loomed on the horizon – the Rolex Sea Dweller Deep Sea. At 44mm, it was the largest watch Rolex made and had oodles of “wrist presence.” But it retailed for almost 11 grand, so some room had to be made in the collection – or, rather, some cash had to be accumulated in the bank account.

One after another, my watches disappeared to new owners. As each was purchased, packaged up and shipped off, I had to grudgingly acknowledge that it was not really worn very much, if at all. I just wasn’t ready to admit the reason why most were not worn often.

Finally, in a bit of serendipity, an acquaintance on WatchUSeek let me know he was planning to sell his Deep Sea and would sell it to me for a price that was simply too good to pass up. It took almost two weeks to reach me via USPS Registered Mail (the service that really puts the “snail” in “snail mail” – the Pony Express could traverse the entire western frontier in less time), and I was beside myself with impatience and anticipation. Finally, it arrived and I excitedly tore through the many layers of packaging to reveal this coveted watch, which fit perfectly when I fastened it around my wrist.

The 44mm Rolex Sea Dweller Deep Sea

Then a strange thing happened. I thought to myself, “This is one big freakin’ watch!” When I stole the occasional glance at it on my wrist, I found myself less admiring its looks and more eschewing its mass. It reached in hours the level of discontent achieved with the PAM 188 only after months of wear.

Finally, I casually mentioned to my wife that I thought the Deep Sea just might be too big for me. “Thank God!” she blurted out, “I didn’t want to say anything, but it just looks ridiculous.”

I was stunned. Not just because she had never expressed so direct an opinion about one of my previous timekeeping leviathans, but because I realized she was right. The Emperor, as the young child had revealed, was not wearing any clothes.

Exactly seven days after I received the highly anticipated Deep Sea, I placed it in the hands of its new owner … and quietly said a prayer of thanks for the mound of cash in front of me that represented the full recoupment of my investment (not, I must say, a common experience up to that point).

The clarity of that quick boom-to-bust experience with the Deep Sea led me to reassess my fascination with large watches and the appropriateness of them on my wrist. I pared my collection down to a few quality watches, all of which were between 40mm and 42mm. The centerpiece of that effort was a watch I had theretofore fastidiously abjured: the Rolex Submariner.

Ironically, I had previously owned three Submariners, beginning with the first in 1981. The last I sold about 10 years later because I felt it was “too large.”

But, in the grip of huge watch mania, I felt the Sub was downright dainty, and only the very manly Deep Sea would satisfy my craving. With the all-too-brief tenure of the Deep Sea, I determined to give the Submariner another look. And, as fortune would have it, a female friend (who has a thing for large men’s watches) had just purchased a new Submariner and, deciding it was just not to her liking, sold it to me at a great price.

The Rolex Submariner 116610LN appears to be a better “fit” than the Deep Sea on the right.

The 40mm Submariner (the new squarer-cased 116610LN with the ceramic bezel) brought into stark focus my self-deception on watch sizes. I realized that the central issue was not how I thought a watch looked on someone else’s wrist, but how it looked on mine. And as I pored through photographs of me wearing watches both large and small, I gained the perspective not available to me sitting at a desk or driving in my car … and saw just how appropriate those smaller watches looked on my wrist, and how out-of-place the larger ones appeared to be.

I still look at the big watches on the wrists of others, think they look good on them, and feel a familiar pang of longing. But I’ve learned my lesson. Regardless of whether large watches persist in popularity, I realize that I have found the size that works best for me. And, when I catch myself wondering if a 41mm watch really is “big” enough, I recall how huge my first 41mm SMP was.

To use a metaphor from another eternal size debate, it’s not the size of one’s boat, but the motion in the ocean.