In the past half-decade, there’s been a tremendous surge of interest in independent watchmaking. The once-niche sector of the industry that brings to mind the silhouettes of lone watchmakers toiling at their craft in small ateliers nestled in the heart of Switzerland, has now emerged at the forefront of horology, capturing the hearts and minds of both the seasoned collectors and the wide-eyed newcomers as the ultimate expression of horological prowess.
In many ways, the very nature of independent watchmaking defies the trajectory of the watch industry at large, which has been a narrative shaped by the twin forces of industrialization and democratization. Most independent watchmakers embark on the pursuit of horology as an art form, be it artisanal, conceptual, technical or artistic, without consideration for expense or time, and it is this that separates them from the bigger watch brands and conglomerates. In developing a much more specialized line of inquiry where innate purpose holds the lead over commercial expectations, their influence on the industry is often directly inverse to their production output.
Revolution has sought to recognize these watchmakers who work from an inner necessity to expand the boundaries of horology. They range from the great and established independents who have become the cynosure of all of horology today, to the latter-day stars who have made distinct developments in their chosen fields, to the up-and-coming watchmakers who have shown great promise in their debut work. Yet among all of these watchmakers who demonstrate a high level of excellence in their craft, if I had to pick just three whom I think are the legitimate rulers of independent watchmaking today, it would be the following individuals.
REXHEP REXHEPI: THE MESSIAH
One of my favorite movie scenes occurs in Mike Nicol’s seminal The Graduate (1967), and it happens when at his graduation party Ben Braddock is pulled aside by his family friend Mr. McGuire, who stares at him with evangelical fervor and says, “I have just one word for you. Are you listening?” He then pauses and utters with a sense of revelatory awe, “plastics.” In my mind, I can visualize this: In any given night, in any given teeming tier-one metropolis, a seasoned collector at a watch event whispers to a neophyte the following words, “I have just one name for you.” At this point, ears prick up around the room. “Rexhep Rexhepi.” Wait, who you ask? Well, if you’ve just awakened from a Rip Van Winkle-like slumber or been in Transcendental Meditation since the onset of the COVID pandemic, you would be excused for your blasphemic ignorance. Otherwise, like all other watchmaking devotees, you will instantly recognize this Albanian name as belonging to horology’s new Messiah.
Rexhepi is an absolute aesthetic and technical genius. More than that, his watches resonate with that most rare of qualities, “soul.” His ticking creations made in his atelier on Grand-Rue in Geneva’s Old Town feel like they possess an energy, a vitality that ancient philosophers referred to as life force. There is something about Rexhepi’s watches, their visual harmony, the uniqueness of their design, the almost eerie perfection of their finishing, that causes them to feel irrefutably alive. When I asked who his favorite young watchmaker was a few years ago, the man universally acknowledged to be the heavyweight chap of independent watchmaking, François-Paul Journe, told me, “Rexhep.” He then added with a chuckle, “Especially now that he’s stopped copying me.” I took this to mean that he was proud of Rexhepi, who had set out on his own after working for François-Paul, and has defined his own all-original, totally singular and perfectly articulated horological voice.
Like that of every great hero, Rexhepi’s initial journey in life was characterized by hardship, a theme that would revisit him at the onset of his career. Rexhepi was born of Albanian descent in Kosovo at a time of ethnic conflict with the Serbians that populated his land. His grandmother tried to shield him from this. He recalls, “She would try to make it a bit into a game. At 12 years old, we didn’t know the real extent of the violence.” But at 14, his grandmother, fearing the genocide perpetuated
