I Review A Watch: The Gagà Laboratorio Labormatic Instantly Transforms You Into A Dandy

Hey friends, if you’re reading this you are part of the Watch Club and get to read reviews a week in advance. This week, a watch unlike any you have seen before.

The Gagà Laboratorio Labormatic Instantly Transforms You Into A Dandy

Full disclosure notice: I have no financial links with Gagà Laboratorio and no money was exchanged for this review. The folks over at Gagà Laboratorio paid to ship the watch to me and back, and that's that. All the views in the review are my own.

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Have you ever met anyone who is truly larger than life? It’s a term so often thrown around, but I find it's often used for people who are very much trying to be larger than life, instead of actually being so. I knew one guy who truly was larger than life: Monty Shadow. That was his name. Well, it wasn’t his actual name, of course. Who would name their child Monty Shadow? But it was the name that CEOs of Richemont, Mercedes, Leica, people like Ralph Lauren, Bernie Ecclestone, and Ayrton Senna, used to call him. His real name was Čedo Komljenocić, and he was born some 50 kilometers from where I sit. He died in his castle-turned-monastery in Milan a couple of years ago. Bear with me — his story is very relevant to the watch I am writing about today.

Čedo was desperate to dig himself out of the poverty he had spent most of his childhood in. And his path out was photography. He was never a great photographer, but he was always a great networker. Surrounded by beautiful women he loved to photograph, he was a favorite guest at parties around the world. It sounds crass to say it like this, but he introduced a lot of rich and powerful people to a lot of pretty women, some of whom became their wives. When he introduced then-Formula 1 owner Bernie Ecclestone to his future wife, Slavica, the doors of high society opened to him. He stopped being Čedo Komljenović and became Monty Shadow. Where that name came from? I still have no idea.

He also became increasingly more interesting and eccentric in his look. His fashion sense was something else. He always looked like he was wearing pajamas — but incredibly well-tailored pajamas. His curly hair and scraggly beard seemed disheveled, but every single strand was actually meticulously placed. He had a unique taste for the finer things in life and knew how to sell them.

One of the more famous stories he told — which I never believed but was confirmed by other sources — is that he was responsible for the revival of Panerai. The story, which you should take with a grain of salt, goes that Monty was hired by a Japanese magazine to shoot Panerai watches for a story on these then-forgotten military watches and instantly fell in love. He bought a couple of them for his own collection, but he quickly gave them away. When I say that Monty was friends with everybody, I mean it. He ended up at a Hollywood party thrown by Sylvester Stallone. Sly instantly fell in love with the Panerai Monty was wearing, and there was a supposed power struggle between Stallone, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Bruce Willis over who would get the watch. Sly won out, starting his long-lasting love affair with Panerai.

That would have been enough to get the brand rolling again on its own, if it weren’t for the fact that just months earlier Johann Rupert had named Shadow the “truffle hunter” for Richemont, the famed luxury conglomerate that Rupert was running. Shadow was to find hidden gems that Richemont could purchase and turn into multimillion-dollar businesses. Within 24 hours of Monty showing him a Panerai, Richemont purchased the brand.

This is just one of the many, many Monty Shadow stories. One of his throwaway ideas came to Mercedes, when he told them that they owned the name Maybach and should bring it back as a true competitor to Rolls-Royce. Bringing Maybach back was a throwaway idea — but such a good one that it secured him a spot on the Mercedes advisory board, which got him a new AMG car every six months, delivered to his castle in Milan. Half of the castle was still a functioning monastery. He helped Taschen become a global sensation, was instrumental in the development of modern Montblanc, and advised IWC on how to reach a more exclusive clientele. He founded the Laureus World Sports Awards honoring individuals and teams from the world of sports (which he got his buddy Prince Albert of Monaco to patronize), and he created the St. Moritz Art Masters festival.

So, while Čedo Komljenović was a poor kid from Karlovac, then Yugoslavia, Monty Shadow was an impresario. He was truly a larger-than-life person. And he strongly embraced his new home country, Italy. Looking at him — the way he dressed, carried himself, and acted — one could say he was a dandy. And, as I learned just a few months ago, there is a term for an Italian dandy: Gagà.

OK, technically, Gagà refers to a very specific type of dandy. It refers to Italian gentlemen in the 1920s and 30s who were elegant, refined men with great attention to detail. But Gagà doesn’t only mean a well-put-together and elegant man. Gagà men had their own style, eschewed current trends, and stood out from the masses. This is exactly what Monty Shadow was. He was Gagà, before I even knew the word existed.

Now, there’s a very good reason why I discovered the term Gagà. The Gagà, and their very attention-grabbing pocket watches, left behind a huge legacy. Generation after generation of stylish men recreated the ethos of the Gagà, from Gabriele D’Annunzio to Pier Paolo Pasolini, to the king himself, Gianni Agnelli, all the way up to Ruben Tomella, an Italian artist who always adored the finer things in life. After years of tinkering with the pocket watch given to him by his grandfather—soldering on huge and funny-looking lugs, playing with custom-made straps—in 2004 Tomella decided to formalize this experimentation and founded Gagà Milano.

You would be forgiven if you haven’t heard about them before because, chances are, their watches weren’t designed with you in mind. Gagà Milano has a very specific clientele in mind for their watches. They are looking for a Gagà man—one that is not afraid of an expressive watch and doesn’t mind standing out. (Seriously, take a look at the Gagà Milano website, and you’ll see how wild those pieces are.)

It could have all stopped with Gagà Milano for Tomella, but why would it? Earlier this year, Tomella announced a partnership with Mo Coppoletta to create Gagà Laboratorio, a spin-off brand of Gagà Milano. And could a partnership make more sense than this one between two Gagà dudes? Because, while Tomella is trying to live his life according to the tenets of Gagà, so is Coppoletta—as is immediately clear when you first see him.

Coppoletta is a legendary Italian tattoo artist, but you would never guess it at first glance. Always dressed in meticulously tailored suits, with thick-rimmed glasses and the perfect amount of tasteful accessories, he looks like he’s a fourth-generation tailor or cobbler. Only when he rolls up his sleeves and reveals his arms covered in intricate tattoos do you realize his true profession. And Coppoletta is not new to the world of watches, having worked on several beautiful Bulgari Octo Finissimo pieces.

So, what would two dandies come up with if they were to make their perfect watch? Well, it’s the Gagà Laboratorio Labormatic, which comes in two models: the Cinquanta and the Bauhaus. They were kind enough to send both my way to try for a few days. Before I get into any details, let me tell you: this is unlike any watch I have ever worn. Reviewing watches can get a bit jaded because there are only so many ways to reimagine a round, wrist-mounted gadget that tells the time. It can get boring. I don’t mind it, because it forces me to approach each watch with as blank a slate as possible. But the Gagà watches required zero effort on my part to approach them as something different and fresh. That’s because they are genuinely different and fresh.

I’ve been wearing watches since I was a little kid, and I can easily tell you that no other watch I’ve ever worn has caused this much interest. My family wanted to see them up close, friends asked where to get one, and even people on the street stopped me while I was walking the dog to ask what on earth that was. It’s just that cool.

But let’s get some basics out of the way. Both the Cinquanta and the Bauhaus come in the same shape and size case. This is where the fun starts. The dimensions seem fairly normal at 42mm wide and 13.3mm thick, but thanks to its relatively unusual shape, you don’t even notice the objectively large size. On the wrist, it disappears in a bevy of curves and edges. The case is made out of stainless steel and assembled from seven parts—a lot for a watch.

The central part of the case is perfectly round—almost pedestrian—but that is broken up with aggressively shaped, strongly curved, and stepped lugs. The larger top sections of the lugs are separate parts from the lower brushed lug elements, bringing a lot of dramatic flair to the case. The two models get two different cases: the Cinquanta comes in a combination of brushed and polished stainless steel, while the Bauhaus gets a gunmetal grey coating paired with polished steel.

On top of both is the same domed sapphire crystal, but I had to do several double takes when looking at it. Thanks to the unusual dial underneath, which comes close to the dome of the crystal—or perhaps some treatment to the crystal—it doesn’t have the crispness of a typical sapphire crystal that we’re used to today. It looks much more like a plexiglass crystal, which I find immensely charming. There’s also an opening at the back to see the movement. Since literally zero things about this watch are conventional, don’t expect a conventional crown. It’s not where you’d expect it to be—at 3 o’clock—but rather sits at 12 o’clock. The crown is uniquely shaped: a polished dome surrounded by small beads, which help a little with grip. But just a little. (More on that later when I get to the downsides.)

What I did like, on the other hand, is the main attraction of this watch: the dial. Or lack thereof. It’s not that the watch lacks a dial because it’s skeletonized—no, the dial is a decorative plate, while the time is told through one ring and one opening. First, the decorative part of the dial. There’s a strong sense of Art Deco mixed with postmodernism here, and I don’t think I could’ve dreamed up two more disparate art movements. But somehow, it works perfectly together.

The Cinquanta has a minty green base, while the Bauhaus gets an all-black base with five segmented raised sections laid out in a circle, each framed in polished metal. The top segment of the circle features an opening for the running hour display, while the rest serve no purpose other than to look awesome. Within that circle is a running minutes disc, and at the center is the Gagà Laboratorio logo, which also acts as a running seconds hand, spinning as the watch ticks.

The way time is told is awesome. It could have been even better with a jumping hour complication, as the hours would’ve been more legible, but even as a running hour, it handles showing the time in an elegant way. The hours alternate colors for odd and even numbers, and since the cardinal hours tend to get partially hidden behind the edges of the opening, there’s a smaller hour indication at every half hour. The minutes display is even cooler: the Cinquanta uses a window that travels over the minute numerals, while the Bauhaus employs a tiny red hand to point to black markers.

Oh, and now would be the time to mention the detail I loved most: the fonts. Fonts in watchmaking are a very controversial topic. They can make or break a watch. You can either grab one off the shelf or have one made specifically for your brand, and most often, the more conservative you keep it, the better off you’ll be. But Gagà Laboratorio uses its own fonts, which are contrary to everything you might think is a good idea when designing a watch. The font is equally ornate and whimsical—a truly special touch.

Like I already said, you don’t get a true jumping hour movement here, which is a bit of a shame. What you do get is the La Joux-Perret G100 movement. I’ve been seeing this movement show up more and more as an alternative to the ubiquitous ETA 2824 clones from Sellita. It beats at the same 4Hz but boasts a much more respectable and modern power reserve of 68 hours. It’s a fine movement, but I’ve had my issues with it as I’ve gotten to know it.

My main gripe is its loudness. Every single watch I’ve handled with this movement has been louder than its Sellita counterparts. Some were worse than others, and the Gagà Laboratorio is on the (much) quieter side. But hearing it now doesn’t annoy me as much as it used to, because I’ve realized what the sound actually is. It’s not that the rotor is scraping or the bearings are loud. The rotor on the G100 spins much, much faster than on ETA 2824 clones, and it’s the speed of the rotation that creates most of the sound. By the time I was done with the Gagà Laboratorio watches, the sound had become kind of charming.

You can see the movement through the transparent caseback, which features a bespoke Gagà Laboratorio rotor with a charcoal coating. The rotor is nicely finished, including touches like Côtes de Genève and perlage.

It’s obvious I’m a big fan of this watch. But no watch is perfect, and this one isn’t either. I can find two things I didn’t like.

First, there’s the inevitable issue of legibility. The hour disc is set quite deep into the dial and can easily be obstructed by shadows. This doesn’t mean you can never tell the time, but it’s much harder to glance at the watch and instantly know what the hour is. The minutes, on the other hand, are well indicated and easy to read. The legibility issue isn’t helped by the fact that there’s zero lume on the watch. If I were to collaborate on a special edition with Gagà Laboratorio, adding lume would be my first change. And I know it could be implemented in a very cool way.

Second, there’s the issue of the crown. I don’t mind its position at 12 o’clock—it’s cool and unique. The problem is that it’s incredibly hard to operate, especially with the Safiano leather strap (grey for the Cinquanta, black for the Bauhaus) getting in the way. For someone with sausage fingers like mine, adjusting the time becomes a game of push and pull in very limited space. I found that the easiest solution was to remove the strap, adjust the time, and then put the strap back on. This is relatively simple to do since the straps come with quick-release spring bars, but it’s still a hassle.

That’s the Gagà Laboratorio Labormatic—a truly unique watch from top to bottom. Best of all, it’s not limited. Thank you for that!

And then there’s the price. Some of you may have guessed at a number while reading. Most probably guessed lower; some went higher. It’s not cheap—not by a long shot. Regardless of the colorway you choose, a Gagà Laboratorio Labormatic will set you back CHF 3,900. But, like I said earlier, this watch has a very specific customer in mind. And I’m sure that for that person, the price makes sense.

I’m also sure that if Monty were still alive, he’d have worn one.

You can see more of the watch on the brand website.

-Vuk