Why 42, and why never more

Each edition from the workshop is strictly limited to forty-two pieces. The limit is neither symbolic nor literary. It is arithmetic.

Three goldsmiths, two cabinetmakers, one watchmaker. Each works a piece from the start to the end of their part. Keeping an honest pace — the kind that lets one sleep and return the next day with a steady hand — we produce forty-two timepieces per cycle. That is all. To go further is to hire, to shorten, or to delegate. None of those three is compatible with what we have promised.

What the limit protects us from

A workshop that grows ends up resembling what it once stood against. Commercial pressure always asks for more pieces; internal pressure, for more hands. Within a few years, the workshop produces three times as much, but each person spends three times less on every piece. The result bears the same name — and is no longer the same object.

Forty-two is the number we hold without slipping. Beyond it, we would slip. That honesty with ourselves is, I believe, the only true luxury we are able to offer.

“Luxury is not in the price. It is in the refusal.”

What the limit gives you

When your piece bears number 17 or 33, you know exactly how many others exist. No reissue. No "variation" that quietly multiplies the run. When the edition is closed, the case mould is destroyed in the presence of the two cabinetmakers who designed it. A photograph remains in the register, and the piece remains on your wrist.

It is fewer pieces. For the one who wears one, it is more.