Dispatch How I Went To The Audrain Concours And Got Hooked On Lange

Of course, the industry evolves and expands. People like myself, who sit somewhere on the periphery of hardcore watch enthusiasm, are becoming increasingly familiar with the brand. This rise is likely due to the resurgence of interest in watches during the pandemic and the lack of availability chez Patek Philippe and Audemars Piguet, no doubt. But the increase of interest is, from what I now understand, wholly deserved. According to our very own Benjamin Clymer, Lange produces the finest serially made watches on the planet. Big statement, boss!

Naturally, hearing Clymer wax lyrical about Lange repeatedly for the past year of my working life meant I had to find out what all the fuss was about. Was Lange really the German Patek? Why were all the boys drooling over the Odysseus Chrono at Watches and Wonders this year as though their livelihoods depended on it? Why is the Lange 1 spoken about like it's some kind of precious artifact? Why is October 24th, 1994 some sort of Mayan calendar equivalent date for watch illuminati?

Ever since my foray into watchdom, I have been somewhat sensitive to the idea that if I scratched the surface of the Lange brand, I would be more than willing to ingratiate myself in the cult because I like anything that is well-designed and out of reach for the ordinary man. Even if I am, myself, an ordinary woman. Elitism is my go-to defense mechanism, don't you know.

Last month marked Lange's first participation as the main partner of the Audrain Newport Concours d'Elegance in Rhode Island. The concours showcased 180 classic cars, most of them with their owners, most of them totally unaware of what Lange even was. A luxury watch brand CMO's dream I imagine: Money and an appreciation for mechanics.

So I set off for Newport with four disposable cameras (I don't own a Leica, shock – horror!), a very large suitcase filled with enough outfits for the ten different dress codes required of attendees over the weekend, and a large gray Lange-branded umbrella because it ended up raining for the entire weekend. There goes my lawn party cocktail look.

I needed to better understand the jewel in the Richemont crown, and to do this, I had to channel my inner Jane Goodall and find out who the Lange collector (not just enthusiast) really was. I know absolutely nothing about cars, which in theory meant I was pure and unfettered and could focus on the watches, after the Audrain Tour d'Elegance, of course – where I rode in a 1966 Lincoln Continental Lehmann-Peterson white limo, and exchanged hearts in my fogged up window with the man driving a Porsche 912 across the way.

How do you get an "outsider" like myself to care about the quiet watch brand for billionaires (and, fine, millionaires too) with unending intellectual credibility? I went straight to the source, to brand CEO Wilhelm Schmid, who has been at the helm for 13 years. He's sharp, and drapes chocolate brown cashmere sweaters over perfectly fitted sports jackets. He is the type of man you would believe wears A. Lange & Söhne.

"A watch is an expression of your taste and personality," Schmid explained. "There are people that buy brands because they think it will elevate or compliment their personality. And there are people that buy products for the actual product itself. They don't care too much about what others will think if they wear it." He believes that Lange exists very much within the latter framework. "And so we don't place emphasis on brand awareness."

Okay, so if it's all about the product and the savoir-faire or, in this case, the handwerkskunst, then how on earth do you relay this message to a demographic where craftsmanship has almost become recognized as a dirty word in modern parlance? Let me explain. Millennials are just about at capacity with the idea of striving for authenticity through some carefully marketed craft beer, food, art, or jewelry. We are exhausted and have artisanal fatigue. This is a shame, really, because true artisanship is something that needs to be protected, not used and abused by Etsy shop owners.

But Lange doesn't have to try hard to communicate the idea of authentic craftsmanship because it is inherently authentic. Everything is hand-finished and hand-assembled. In fact, it is double assembled: the movement is made, then it's put through a test process, and, if it succeeds, it is then disassembled, cleaned, decorated, and reassembled, then put through the test once again to make sure all is well technical and aesthetically. It's laborious work that requires a lot of manpower per watch.

I also met with Anthony De Haas. The director of product development at Lange and maybe my new favorite person in watchmaking. He's Dutch and plays the drums (he owns 17 snare drums total and wears a yellow-gold drum charm around his neck if you really want the whole character study). De Haas went to school with the Grönefeld brothers and later worked alongside them at Renaud and Papi – small world, even smaller when you consider the fact that the Pour le Mérite tourbillon, which, according to Clymer is the Holy Grail Lange from the nineties, was actually made by APRP and partly designed by the Grönefeld brothers themselves. A very full-circle moment.

De Haas conducts the orchestra in Glashütte, where Lange produces 5,500 watches per year with around 35 movements across the current collections. They have a total of 600 full-time workers in the manufacture.

Lange is a stoic brand with a very German DNA. But the visual impact of the brand, most notably what's visible behind the caseback, can still be somewhat playful. You only have to look at each uniquely hand-engraved balance cock or the intricacy and anglage of a Triple Split. It's impossible to dispute the quality of the finishing, whether it's an entry-level piece or a Zeitwork – the level of detail, even the font. Lange exists in the highest echelons of watchmaking; it's the opposite of an industrialized process. It's Craftsmanship to the nth degree – it is the difference between a Golf GTI and a Rolls Royce.

Outside of Saxonia territory, I have always found Lange to be a little… how shall I say, thick or puck-like for my taste. But that is sort of the point. There is absolutely no compromise made when it comes to the technical aspect of these watches, not even in the name of elegance or refinement. "That's the German in us at the end. We are engineers and want to have things working," remarked Schmid. As a result, the more complicated pieces can feel so robust that they teeter on unwearable. 

Let's not forget, as if we ever could, that Monsieur Philippe Dufour himself has often gone on record noting that "Lange remains an island of genuine devotion to the time-consuming art of really finishing a movement properly, without cutting corners in any aspect of either finish or precision."

Truthfully, I had an unreasonable bias against German watchmaking until this past weekend. And for absolutely no reason other than having adopted a "Switzerland or nowhere" attitude – likely out of sheer habit. Which I'll also admit is tone-deaf. Henceforth, I'm keeping an open mind. My prejudice feels akin to loving Paris and refusing to acknowledge Milan when we all know Prada and Bottega Veneta are just as important as Saint Laurent and Chanel.

What's even more unique to Lange is that they do not change any of their designs according to global markets. Their six watch families are the same, no matter which region you live in. This says a lot about the customer and the brand. "And I believe a lot of brands lose their identity because they try to do a bit of everything, and it becomes very diluted. We would never use Chinese or Arabic numbers; we certainly would never make a green dial. There are a lot of things that we just don't do," explained Schmid. You're buying a Lange because of the movement, of the finishing, of the clean and elegant designs, unlike Patek, which (most) people buy because of what it says on the dial. Please don't @ me, you know it's true.

At dinner, I tried on a Saxonia Automatic, which felt like holding a perfectly circular paper-weight made of rose gold and Lange pixie dust. It was smooth and heavy and felt like what precious objects are supposed to feel like. It looked expensive. Maybe wearing said watch would absolve me of all my sins and turn me into some sort of Lange watchmaking puritan. Then I tried on an 1815 annual calendar and wondered if this might actually be the most unisex watch I have ever tried on? Elegant, refined, very The Row or Loro Piana (triggering right now, I know). A goes-with-anything-and-makes-you-look-rich type of watch.

Ubiquity is the death of cool. Luckily, A. Lange & Söhne remains an if-you-know-you-know type brand. It's nowhere close to a Loro Piana-style metamorphosis from a discreet status symbol among the rich into buzz word for online fodder. But now I am fully Lange pilled. I have reached the apex of watch enthusiasm, and I don't even own a Saxonia. The next phase of interrogation into a world that is truly not my own – because if it were mine, I would wear navy blue Margaret Howell sweaters and live in a converted school dormitory that was featured in The World of Interiors with a huge kitchen and lots of concrete. I would have two nannies, drive a Porsche Cayenne, and wear Hermes bags only. But it's not my world or my life, so for now, I'll just blow kisses to the man in the Porsche 912.