Most modern mechanical watches are automatic. A rotor on the back of the movement spins with your wrist motion, winding the mainspring as you go about your day. It's convenient. It's clever. And for the Triomphe, it was wrong.
The Triomphe is built around two ideas: thinness and ritual. At 8.8mm, I needed every fraction of a millimetre. An automatic movement's rotor adds roughly 2–3mm to a movement's height. Remove the rotor, and you get a hand-wound movement that can sit in a dramatically thinner case.
But the choice wasn't purely dimensional. A hand-wound watch asks something of its wearer. Every morning — or every couple of days — you pick up the watch, turn the crown, and feel the mainspring tighten. It's a small act. A few seconds. But it creates a connection between you and the mechanism that an automatic never quite achieves.
There's a philosophical dimension too. An automatic watch runs itself. A hand-wound watch runs because you decided it should. It's a small distinction with a big implication: this watch exists because you choose to engage with it. When you stop winding, it stops ticking.
I chose hand-wound for the Triomphe because the watch is about intention. Intentionally thin. Intentionally limited. Intentionally demanding of the person who wears it. Not in a burdensome way — in a rewarding one.
The crown on the Triomphe is designed for this ritual. Slightly larger than typical for a dress watch, with just enough grip texture to make the winding action satisfying. Twenty turns. Two days of power reserve. A small daily ceremony that connects you to what's on your wrist.
Kevin Pedral
Founder & Designer, Pedral Watches