Even before reading the hours, the eye enjoys traveling. On a pearl plate, the light clings like fine sand. On a deck streaked with Côtes de Genève, it glides in satin ribbons. These iconic watchmaking decorations are not an artifice: they speak of know-how, filter dust, guide the eye and sign a style. How are they born, concretely, in the workshop? Immerse yourself in the intimacy of the benches where diamond stone and watchmaker's wood tame the metal.
Perlage — also called circular graining — lines the plates and hidden areas. Far from the spotlight, he nevertheless plays an essential music: that of a regular grain, obtained by the repeated imprint of a small abrasive tool. We lower a pawn onto the surface, we raise it, we shift with a constant step, and we start again, until we cover the metal with a scattering of circles which overlap by a third to a half. Seen up close, it is a fish scale; from a distance, a velvet.
The choreography is slow and measured. We often start at the edge of an open area, to “lose” the last prints under a bridge or a barrel. The circles must remain clear, neither too deep (which will weaken the piece), nor too superficial (which will fade). Good beading breathes: same density, same cadence, and a graduation of diameters to lick the contours without overflowing.
The Côtes de Genève, or “Geneva stripes”, are these wide satin ribbons that cross the bridges. They are neither engraved nor printed: they are controlled micro-scratches, traced in perfectly parallel bands. Historically Genevan, they come in straight (classic), circular (on the rotors) or radiating ribs. In Germany, in Glashütte, their cousins often adopt a broader and more pronounced rhythm.
We first prepare the surface with a light satin finish, then we trace the first strip by guiding the longitudinal advance. Each pass overlaps very slightly, creating a silky fade without “steps”. On a complex bridge, virtuosity consists of running the coast beyond a break, then resuming it on the other side as if nothing had happened. The beveled edge must remain clear: no rib must “bite” the bevel.
We often forget it, but these decorations have a use. The beading, through its micro-topography, traps residual dust far from the pivots. The Côtes de Genève break the reflections and guide the eye, clarifying the reading of the architecture. Above all, they are a cultural language: in Geneva, they meet the historical requirements of the Hallmark; in the Vallée de Joux, they are combined with mirror beveling; in Glashütte, they are large and contrasting, sometimes on a three-quarter bridge.
Depending on the house, beveling and ribbing can alternate, but the golden rule remains the same: preserve impeccable edges and clean transitions. The slightest false gesture leaves a trace that nothing can erase.
At Patek Philippe or Vacheron Constantin, the ribs are obvious, with a particularly silky fade. Audemars Piguet takes care of the openwork bridges where the regularity of the bands becomes a balancing act. In Glashütte, A. Lange & Söhne favors sharper ribs and beveling of almost metallic purity. On the rotors, the circular ribs depict a moving sun, while the snailing – another decoration, in tight spirals – appears on the barrel wheels and pawls.
If the industry has automated some of the passes, the hand remains sovereign to catch a connection, feel the pressure, dose the abrasive. We recognize the school at first glance: a too wide step, a sharp fade, an irregular overlap betray a hasty hand. Conversely, beading at the right cadence or ribs that “breathe” between two screws speak of patient hours at the bench.
These decorations are a skin. Aggressive polishing could erase them, and wild refinishing could distort a period bridge. In the collection, we favor reversible interventions and respect for the original grain. Beading or ribbing that is too “new” on an old watch raises questions: the seasoned eye prefers an honest patina to an approximate re-creation. In service, the best manufacturers redo the patterns with in-house templates, to preserve the visual DNA of the caliber.
Perlage and Côtes de Genève do not seek cold perfection, but accuracy: that of a regular gesture, a controlled time, a sure taste. They don’t just say “beautiful”, they say “well done”. And when we turn a watch over and the movement lights up, we think less about the technique than about the breath that drives it: a few grains, a few ribbons, and watchmaking begins to tell a story.
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