Jean-Baptiste Viot

Born 12 June 1967, Jean-Baptiste Viot began his training in watch repair at the Public Watchmaking School of Paris in September 1983, then continued at the Technical School of the Vallée de Joux (Canton de Vaud), earning his federal certificate in June 1988.

He then spent two further years at the International Museum of Watchmaking in La Chaux-de-Fonds, graduating in watch restoration. Back in Paris, he deepened his craft with restorer Daniel Gendron on the Rue Saint-Jacques — learning the many subtleties of antique watchmaking. After military service, he returned to Switzerland in January 1993 to work for H-D-G (Haut de Gamme), a high-end movement company working for several renowned brands. In June 1998 he was hired by Breguet at 7 Place Vendôme, spending eight extraordinary years studying original Breguet movements from the historical period 1775–1840 and later directing after-sales workshops for both Breguet and Blancpain on the Rue de la Paix. When Swatch Group acquired the firm and transferred the workshop to the Vallée de Joux, Viot took his leave. A remarkable aside: between September 2005 and September 2006, as leader of the underground restoration collective Untergunther, Viot secretly installed a workshop under the roof of the Panthéon in Paris — without authorization — and successfully restored the Wagner clock that had been deliberately sabotaged in the 1960s. He then devoted himself to his independent watchmaking project: the Chronomètre à Paris ('In Paris'), using the Peseux 260 movement also used by Kari Voutilainen for his Observatoire. Housed in a 38mm case, almost entirely handmade in his Paris workshop, with movement architecture inspired by 18th-century French pocket watches, hand-drawn instructions, and handwritten paperwork. Priced at around €25,000. Only around 8 pieces are believed to exist. He is also Théo Auffret's mentor.

Viot's design philosophy for the Chronomètre à Paris was as considered as its finishing was rustic. He built the movement architecture specifically to make future service easy for whichever watchmaker eventually opens the case, chose a low operating frequency paired with an oversized balance wheel for steadier long-term rate behaviour rather than showy precision, and finished the bridges with his own signature traits brouillés — deliberately scrambled, non-parallel striping unlike the machine-uniform Geneva stripes of industrial finishing, a texture that reads as unmistakably handmade rather than merely hand-applied. Early reviewers admitted the look could seem untidy at first glance, only to reverse that judgment entirely on handling a piece in person — one prominent critic likened the charm to an early F.P. Journe, home-made in the best sense of the word. With no more than eight examples believed to exist and each built essentially alone in a Paris workshop, the Chronomètre à Paris is now spoken of by French watchmaking's younger generation as the spark that reignited serious Haute Horlogerie in France; Théo Auffret, who apprenticed under Viot before striking out with his own celebrated Tourbillon à Paris, has said plainly that Viot's watch defined what a French, contemporary high-horology piece could look like. Two decades after quietly refusing to follow Breguet's workshop to Switzerland, Viot remains exactly where he started: alone at a Paris bench, restoring the past and, watch by watch, seeding the next generation of it.