Urszuly Patrik

The Vertigo Diver One was my very first serious automatic wristwatch, so it is a tad sentimental for me—but I won’t go easy on it.

Vertigo is an Italian microbrand. They make some cool and originally designed watches, and they utterly and completely fly under the radar. Underrated would be an understatement.

The Diver One is a beautifully designed tool watch—and a proper tool watch indeed (well, not really, but I’ll get to that shortly). It reminds me of the Tudor Pelagos, Sinn divers, Seiko divers, the Squale 1521, the Omega Planet Ocean, and of course the Rolex Submariner all at once.

There are many shortcomings, however, mainly the sizing of this one.

This is a chunky boy—it very obviously gave up on exercise and healthy eating a long time ago. All that pizza, cannoli, olive oil, and pasta really had a crushing effect on its thinness, making it at least 14 mm thick (but it feels more like 15 or even 16 mm on a bad day).

The diameter is 42 mm and the lug-to-lug is 49 mm, and that could be forgiven—but unfortunately, the wearing experience is completely ruined (for me, at least) by the 22 mm stainless steel bracelet that completely forgot to taper even a little bit, making the watch appear larger than necessary and way, way too heavy—almost 200 grams sized up for my 7-inch wrist. The bracelet is nice otherwise, full links, endlinks and a milled clasp, but the lack of taper puts a bullet in every each one of those points.

The bezel is a 120-click unidirectional stainless steel one with reassuring bezel action but without correct alignment. Like a Seiko.

The movement is also just like a Seiko because it is the NH-35. Not much to say about that—it is adequate.

The dial is printed, so no applied indices here, but the printing is nice and the looks are very cool, very macho, very tool-tastic. Lovely.

What is not so lovely, however, is the lume, because it is almost non-existent. It won’t last for five minutes, let alone the night, which is a shame—as a tool watch can’t be a tool watch without proper lume.

The dial is protected by a flat piece of sapphire, big plus point for that.

The claimed water resistance is 300 meters. Everything screws down, and the watch has a very quality, reassuring feel (perhaps due only to the heft, but I think otherwise), so I honestly believe that claim.

When I purchased this one, my thinking was the following:

“I want a proper automatic diver with lots of water resistance, sapphire, and for the best price. All Seiko, Citizen, and Orient divers specced similarly are way more expensive than the Vertigo. Therefore, I’ll buy the Vertigo.”

I quickly realised, however, that this watch was too big and hefty for me, and that I would have been better off with an Orient without sapphire for less money, or a Citizen with sapphire for more—so I can’t wholeheartedly recommend this watch.

It now belongs to my dad, and he really likes it, so much so that he wears it every single day. And my dad is a lot cooler guy than I am, so perhaps my complaints are all due to being a softy.

Anyway, I think this one is worth a shot if you like microbrands and big divers—but I would look for a pre-owned or just generally discounted model for the best value-for-money experience.

For those of you who are looking to get the Baby Duro because of your desire for a smaller dive-style watch, I suggest you be very careful. Let me elaborate.

I purchased the Baby Duro from Casio because, like many others, I really liked the looks and functionality of the Duro, but I was afraid of the ginormous 44 mm case size. Ironically, I now wear the full-size Duro very happily, and my Baby Duro decorates the wrist of my little sister.

I watched the YouTube reviews of the new Mini Duro, so I knew all about the decreases in quality compared to the OG Duro—meaning crappy bezel, 50 m water resistance due to lack of screw-in crown and caseback—but I bought it anyway, partly because it was on special (and how could I resist a special?) and partly because I wanted a small, black, dive-watch-looking watch.

As soon as I took the wrapper off and opened the cardboard shipping box with my very cool and “tacticool” Spyderco Tenacious folding knife, I knew that this Casio was going to be too small—way too small, unfortunately.

“Well duh, what a surprise, Sherlock. You should have known that from the get-go, it is 36 mm after all!”

Yes, you are right, but 36 mm doesn’t automatically translate into “too small,” not for me at least.

The reason why this watch is too small and belongs only on children’s or females’ wrists (and I say that with a very firm stance against sexism) is because of the width between the lugs.

This watch is supplied on either a metal or rubber strap; both are 15 mm wide between the lugs, so the strap is very thin and feminine. Combine that with a very—and I mean very—short lug-to-lug distance, and you get a watch that looks comically small even on a small-to-average male wrist, but looks incredibly cool howewer on a small-to-large female or child wrist.

It is no surprise, then, that my Baby Duro’s fate was to be gifted to a female child—my lovely sister—who now, as a consequence, has the coolest watch in her class and looks like a sharply dressed and accessorised businesswoman in a group of 10–11 year old kids who probably still forget to wipe their noses every once in a while.

With all the negatives being mentioned and duly noted, for fairness’ sake I also have to mention that this watch still is very cool. The looks are great, the lume is functional in the applied indices, the hands are nicely polished, the sunray effect on the dial is lovely, and the seconds hand hits the markers perfectly—on my model, at least.

The bracelet is low quality but easy to size and very comfortable, and altogether the whole piece has the desirable appearance of a luxury sports watch.
Cool, very cool Casio. But I’m still mad at you for not making a proper diver Duro in 38 or 39 mm instead. Shame on you.

I have a guilty pleasure that I must confess to you all. I have a soft spot for big, central, double-date windows.
The main reason for that is obviously the fact that A. Lange & Söhne uses this beautiful design feature on their Lange 1s, with which I am deeply in love. But even if I separate my love for Lange watches, I still feel like the big ol’ double date is my favourite feature in the world of watches.

This Seiko, that I’m supposed to write about (and I must remind myself often, otherwise I’ll just engage in an uncontrollable ramble), is a beautiful and rare specimen from the double-date gang, and it is a watch that you must buy whenever you get the chance (and you won’t get it often).

The watch houses a Seiko quartz movement, the reference number of which I’ve forgotten, but it is a quartz chronograph with the date (duh, obviously), a 24-hour subdial, and a small seconds subdial.
The dial is breathtaking, and that fact is not at all clearly visible from looking at images or even videos of the watch.

If you’re familiar with the way Seiko’s Presage Cocktail Time lineup looks regarding the dials, then you can get the picture of how this one looks:
A beautifully elegant and modest texture that turns into a lively, vivid light show whenever the sun hits it just right.
The wonderfully polished applied indices and logo, combined with the mirror-polished Grand Seiko–style sword hands, give this watch a very luxurious feel. It is just a pleasure to look at.

One thing you must know, however, before purchasing is that the great looks are only visible to the wearer of the watch. The simple stainless steel case and the domed Hardlex-hidden black dial won’t elevate your look—not really. You can’t tell from afar that this watch is indeed a beautiful creature, on par with any Swiss luxury dress watches.

The size of the case is 42 mm, and everything else—thickness and lug-to-lug—are sized accordingly. It is very proportional, and due to Seiko’s superior ergonomics, the watch wears very comfortably.

There are, of course, many negatives with this one, but that shouldn’t be surprising—this is a Seiko after all.
The Hardlex crystal is beautiful and has a great bit of distortion, but it’s Hardlex. No anti-reflective coating on it either, so taking nice wrist shots of this one will be very challenging. I couldn’t make any good photos either, so I just used the seller’s images for my ChronoShot.

The bracelet is not very good. It is light and rattly, has hollow end links, a pressed clasp, and—on my watch at least—the pins securing the links together came out way too easily, just with a gentle push of the tool. So I wasn’t confident wearing this one on the bracelet.

The finishing of the bracelet is nice, however, but unfortunately the same cannot be said about the case finishing, because the polishing and brushing on this one are very scarce—too modest, to be honest. You won’t find any nicely chamfered edges, clean and smooth lines—none of that. Very, very basic, rudimentary finishing, which is a shame, because this one has the potential to be one of Seiko’s best dress watches.

It’s also a shame they discontinued it—but what can you do?

The chrono pushers are very soft and squishy, with no reassuring tactile click when you start the chrono, but the chronograph hand sweeps at least with a very clean and smooth movement—even though this is not a mecha-quartz watch.

To conclude: This Seiko is a very rare piece. You can’t really find them anywhere, but because there is no demand for them, the prices are low and sweet. If you are the sort of person that enjoys a touch of exclusivity and rarity, also some modest, calm luxury, and you just generally like Seiko for their awesome brand heritage, history, and the rest of it—this one is definitely for you!