Recently I happened to have two different versions of Bulova’s mid-century 11AF at once: the 11AFC, a manual-wind variant with indirect center seconds, and the 11AFAC, which builds on the same foundation by adding a full-rotor automatic winding system. Putting these two back together side by side seemed like an especially interesting way to explore how Bulova modified a common base movement to create two quite different expressions of the same design.

This Longines because it does exactly what I want an early 20th century pocket watch to do: it feels elegant without trying too hard. The dial and case are wonderfully clean and restrained, with those flowing Arabic numerals and lovely blued steel hands that give the whole watch just enough personality. Even with the small dial flaws, it still has that calm, refined look that made me want to save it.

This US-market Longines sits right on an interesting fault line in automatic watch movement history. On the wrist it reads like a classic early-1950s dress watch—gold-fill, sharp lugs, and an interesting 2-tone dial with roman numeral indices. However, the real reason I’m attached to it is the movement. The Longines 19AS is one of those interesting, transitional full-rotor automatics that still feels distinctly like it was “engineered,” with a unique winding system that doesn’t simply follow the later, cookie-cutter ETA-style playbook. It’s from a period when Longines was at the top of its engineering game and actively iterating on how best to translate rotor motion into consistent winding—right as the industry was leaving bumpers behind and converging on modern layouts. The resulting design, while not as efficient as later systems, was clearly built to be a lifelong companion, not a disposable fashion piece.

I had been looking to add a Constellation to my collection for some time before I finally scored this example in an auction. The pie pan dial is gorgeous, and the proportions are exactly what I love in a mid-century Omega: a clean 34mm case that wears bigger thanks to those crisp, faceted “dog-leg” lugs, and a dial that’s quietly dramatic once you notice what you’re looking at. The pie-pan facets catch the light in a way photos never fully capture, and the little applied star above six feels like Omega couldn’t resist a victory lap. 

I had been looking for the right vintage Cortébert to add to my collection for a while, and I was thrilled to find this early bumper automatic example. The black and charcoal dial with, crisp minute track, and restored stainless steel hands give it real presence, and the whole thing pops even more against the bright, polished stainless case. It’s one of those watches that looks like it was built to be read instantly, in bad light, in the real world—not just to be admired in a box.

I originally planned to list this Wittnauer for sale, but it completely won me over once I had it in hand, so I’m keeping it (sorry, everyone). It’s the kind of watch that looks almost too simple—until you realize how hard it is to get “simple” this right. The big, clean dial and thin bezel give it a surprisingly modern presence for a vintage dress watch, and the applied markers add just enough texture to keep the whole thing from feeling sterile.

I added this Zodiac to my collection because this simple, sub-second dress model is a great example of what Zodiac used to be before it was consumed by sport and dive watches in the 1960s. I also love the contrast between the gold hands and markers and the bright silver (rhodium) case - a combination that goes particularly well with the navy blue strap.