“Is the age of Swiss supremacy over—and are British watchmakers quietly getting ready to dethrone Rolex?” That’s the provocative question hanging in the air as a new wave of British talent steps into the spotlight of the luxury watch world.
Roger Smith stands quietly in a tucked‑away corner of a buzzing exhibition hall, weighing up a challenge most brands would envy: how to sell handcrafted watches to collectors who are used to instant gratification and unlimited choice. For him, the main battle is not chasing sales targets but managing desire and expectation for pieces that are among the most coveted on the planet.
A proud Mancunian and former apprentice to the legendary George Daniels—often described as one of the greatest watchmakers in history—Smith cuts an unexpected figure amid the billionaires and ultra‑high‑net‑worth enthusiasts swarming Dubai’s Burj Park. Surrounded by the shimmering backdrop of the Burj Khalifa, the world’s tallest tower, he has flown in for a three‑day buying and selling frenzy that says something bold: Dubai is no longer just a shopping playground; it is positioning itself as a serious rival to Basel in Switzerland as a global luxury watch capital. And this is the part most people miss: that shift in geography hints at a deeper power struggle in the industry.
Unlike the big Swiss names—Rolex, Patek Philippe, and other blue‑chip maisons—Smith has almost no interest in slick advertising campaigns, celebrity endorsements, or flashy gimmicks. His modest booth displays only a handful of watches, a visual reminder that scarcity here is genuine, not manufactured. In the rarefied world of high‑end collecting, each piece is considered “reasonably” priced in the tens of thousands of pounds, a level that may sound shocking to outsiders but is relatively restrained compared with some headline‑grabbing auction results. Smith himself is warm and approachable, happily chatting with the steady stream of visitors who stop by, many of whom treat him less like a salesman and more like a master craftsman they have come to pay homage to.
For Smith, this event is not just about taking orders; it is about raising the profile of an entire tradition. As co‑founder of the Alliance of British Watch and Clock Makers, he is on a mission to make the phrase “British watchmaking” mean something again in a world that reflexively thinks “Swiss” when it hears “luxury watch.” He often reflects on a familiar national pattern: the British excel at innovation, then hesitate to commercialise, scale, and nurture those inventions into dominant industries. In other words, the ideas are brilliant—but historically, the follow‑through has been lacking.
His own order book is already full, which sounds like a dream situation until you learn that buyers can face waits of up to six years. For collectors driven by passion and status, that delay can be maddening. Yet one visitor, carefully examining the watches in Smith’s display, quietly confides that a Roger W. Smith remains the missing puzzle piece in his collection and that he is determined to secure one someday, no matter how long it takes. Smith jokingly suggests that a flattering quote from this anonymous admirer could be inserted into any write‑up, capturing the almost mythical allure around his brand. The mood shifts again when a minister from a Gulf state approaches, flanked by an entourage; one of his aides points out that the watches in front of them may well be the most important pieces in the entire hall. But here’s where it gets controversial: some would argue that the true value here lies not in the gold or the price tag, but in the quiet resurrection of a forgotten national craft.
Within serious watch circles, Smith is not merely known—he is revered. Over his career, he has produced fewer than 200 watches, a microscopic output compared to mainstream brands that ship hundreds of thousands of pieces annually. One of his earliest triumphs, the second watch he ever made—a pocket watch that impressed George Daniels enough to take him on as an apprentice back in 1998—later exploded in value. When it went to auction in 2023, billionaire investor Bill Ackman bought it for an astonishing $4.9 million, despite the fact that Smith had originally sold it years earlier for just £70,000. Stories like this feed into the near‑mythic narrative surrounding his work.
Other high‑profile owners have gone public with their enthusiasm: singer Ed Sheeran, for example, has spoken about how thrilled he was to finally receive a Roger W. Smith. These endorsements are not carefully orchestrated influencer campaigns; they are genuine expressions of admiration that help cement Smith’s cult status. They also raise an interesting question: at what point does a small independent maker become more desirable than the world’s most famous brands—not despite the low production numbers, but because of them?
To understand why this matters, it helps to zoom out. Britain once dominated the world of watchmaking, shaping the very way mechanical timekeeping works. In the 17th century, physicist Robert Hooke developed the balance spring, a tiny coil that allowed the balance wheel to oscillate at a consistent rate. That breakthrough made mechanical timekeeping far more precise and paved the way for pocket watches to move from scientific curiosities to everyday tools. Nearly a hundred years later, Thomas Mudge, who counted Spanish king Ferdinand VI among his clientele, invented the lever escapement. That mechanism became the beating heart of the modern mechanical watch, regulating how energy is released and keeping time reliably—a design still used, in some form, in the vast majority of mechanical watches today.
Fast‑forward to the 20th century, and Smith’s mentor, George Daniels, pushed the story forward again. Daniels invented the coaxial escapement, widely hailed as one of the most important advances in watchmaking in recent decades. The system reduced friction compared with traditional lever escapements, improving long‑term performance and reducing the need for servicing. When Omega, the Swiss brand best known for sending the first watch to the moon on the Apollo 11 mission, adopted Daniels’s invention, it marked a symbolic turning point. Daniels reportedly felt a profound sense of relief and satisfaction that his escapement had finally been accepted by the Swiss establishment. After all, what could be more audacious than a British watchmaker effectively “invading” the stronghold of Swiss mechanical watchmaking with a new core technology? It also put him in the same lineage as earlier British masters, who had all contributed new escapements and mechanisms that pushed timekeeping forward.
Roger Smith has devoted his career to refining Daniels’s ideas, not just preserving them. His watches typically come in precious metal cases—often gold—with meticulously hand‑finished movements visible through sapphire crystal casebacks. In an industry that can swing wildly with trends—bigger cases one year, ultra‑thin designs the next—Smith’s creations aim for a sense of permanence and classic proportion. They appeal to collectors who value craftsmanship and technical substance over fashion or hype. Some enthusiasts would argue that, in a world saturated with marketing‑driven products, this quiet dedication to refinement is the real luxury.
Beyond his own bench, Smith’s efforts have helped catalyse a broader revival. The association he helped start has grown from about 20 members to roughly 120 brands and makers, together employing around 1,600 people. The economic footprint of British watchmaking has expanded as well: the sector is now valued at about £206 million, up from about £125 million just four years ago. That growth covers a diverse mix of players. Well‑established names like Bremont sit alongside newer, more playful brands such as Studio Underd0g, which builds watches in Britain using Chinese and Swiss movements and is known for cheeky, colourful designs like the “Smoked Salm0n” dial in pink and grey or the green “av0cado.” These pieces deliberately poke fun at the sometimes overly serious side of horology.
Both Bremont and Studio Underd0g have a strong presence at Dubai Watch Week, looking to tap into the deep pockets and strong collecting culture of the Gulf region. Bremont’s chief executive, Davide Cerrato, is optimistic but candid. He notes that Britain still produces remarkable individual talents such as Roger Smith, but laments that much of the industrial infrastructure needed to support large‑scale, modern watch production has disappeared. At the same time, his own company has been investing heavily: Bremont now operates from a 35,000‑square‑metre facility in Henley‑on‑Thames, employing about 120 people and training the next generation of watchmakers. There’s an interesting tension here: can a country rebuild a complex manufacturing ecosystem once it has allowed it to decline, or will British watchmaking remain a niche, artisanal niche rather than a high‑volume powerhouse?
Meanwhile, Studio Underd0g leans into its irreverent identity, using offbeat colours, playful names, and accessible pricing (by luxury standards) to attract a new wave of enthusiasts who may find traditional brands stiff or intimidating. Its watches, like the “av0cado” model, have become conversation starters—pieces that blend serious mechanical credibility with a sense of humour. In a market that often takes itself extremely seriously, this approach can be divisive: some purists dismiss such designs as gimmicky, while others celebrate them as a healthy shake‑up of old‑school norms. But here’s where it gets controversial: could these fun‑loving independents actually be doing more to bring fresh blood into watch collecting than some of the venerable maisons?
Reflecting on this changing landscape, Smith suggests that Britain is slowly waking up to its own capabilities again. He argues that there is a kind of collective frustration when a country that once led a field realises it has let that leadership slip away. When there is little or no watchmaking left, people become indignant, especially once they recognise that the decline was, at least in part, self‑inflicted—through underinvestment, lack of support, or complacency. That sense of being “mortally offended” can, paradoxically, become a powerful motivator, pushing people to rebuild what was lost.
So, is “time up” for Rolex and the traditional Swiss giants, or is this British resurgence just a compelling side story in a Swiss‑dominated world? Are we watching the start of a long‑term power shift, or simply the rise of a few cult British brands in a niche corner of the market? More importantly, what matters most to you in a watch: the history on the dial, the name on the box, or the hands that actually built it? Share your take: do you see British watchmaking as the future challenger to Swiss dominance, or is this all overhyped nostalgia dressed up in gold cases and sapphire crystal?
