In the 1970s, the Swiss watchmaking industry was staring down an existential crisis. The now-infamous quartz revolution (or crisis, depending on who’s talking), led by battery-powered, hyper-accurate Japanese timepieces, gutted mechanical watch sales almost overnight. Factories closed, centuries-old Maisons vanished and the once-proud horological titans of Europe were left bereft in a world that suddenly seemed to have no use for it.
But some Houses — now the world’s best-known and most renowned horologers — did indeed survive. How? The Rolexes and Patek Philippes stuck steadfastly to tradition, maintaining their focus on luxury, exclusivity and craftsmanship, clinging on by the tips of their fingers until the world came back around to mechanical watchmaking. Some, such as Audemars Piguet and Jaeger-LeCoultre, went the way of innovation: the launch of the Royal Oak was a boon for AP, while JLC’s decision to revive the Reverso cemented another enduring watch icon. A number of the last Maisons standing managed to eke out an existence by turning to the dark side: producing battery-powered watches, an epoch little-discussed in their proudly-trumpeted pedigrees.
So what of IWC? Always one of watchmaking’s black sheep — founded in 1868 by an American watchmaker far from the traditional horological heartland of the Vallée de Joux, in Schaffhausen — it’s only natural that this stalwart of technical mastery should have found an ingenious route to self-preservation. And the road didn’t wind through the valleys of Switzerland, but rather in another direction: to the dunes and palaces of our very own Arabian Gulf.
It was amid the hustle and bustle of IWC’s bombastic Watches and Wonders booth that this delicious tidbit of information came to GMT GCC’s attention, from none other than Dr David Seyffer, curator of the IWC museum and a true authority on all things Schaffhausen. Kicking off his career with the manufacturer in 2007, he’s spent the better part of two decades poring over the Maison’s archives and converting this knowledge to ensure its story is accessible to museum visitors of all levels of interest — as well as to nosey parkers such as me. As a good historian should, David doesn’t just rely on books and ledgers to tell IWC’s story and in the chapter that concerns the House’s Middle Eastern salvation, there’s one particular primary source that matters more than any other: Hannes Pantli. David stops our conversation dead when he spots a particularly dapper-looking gent smilingly pass by our tiny coffee table and amble off into the throngs browsing the new launches — it’s the man himself, IWC Schaffhausen’s former executive vice president, current board member, spokesman, one of the Maison’s biggest collectors and all-around part of the IWC furniture.
“You have to meet him,” implores David and, with my erratic shorthand note telling half the story, we set off in hot pursuit.
We soon catch up with the man himself, just in time to hear the story of what he managed to do, and why it was so special.
By 1974, IWC was facing a double crisis. The surging price of gold, then a common case material, had rendered their watches prohibitively expensive in traditional markets. At the same time, quartz-powered watches from Japan and the US were seducing customers with their affordability and precision. The result? A catastrophic plunge in sales, with IWC teetering on the edge of irrelevance.
But Pantli, then Director of Sales and Marketing at IWC, wasn’t ready to let the brand fade into the annals of Swiss history. Instead, he booked a flight to a region few watch executives were considering: the Arabian Peninsula. In what would become a defining chapter in IWC’s story, Pantli travelled to Oman, Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Qatar, building relationships directly with the region’s elite. Sultans, sheikhs and rulers these of oil-rich nations, including the late Sultan Qaboos bin Said Al Said of Oman, were just beginning to flex their economic muscle on the world stage and became loyal clients. At the same time, business-friendly acquaintances struck up with the Middle East’s foremost watch retailers also proved to be fruitful, with some remaining strong even to this day. These weren’t merely transactional meetings; they were exercises in diplomacy, creativity and cultural respect.
What emerged was a new business model: luxury, bespoke creations were tailored for royalty, while mass orders for groups including palace police and the armed forces were also placed. Full sets of watches, cufflinks, pens and even belt buckles were produced upon request, often bearing national emblems or personal insignia. Women’s watch and earrings sets were appreciated by the region’s trend-setting women too, proving influential on the styles that would go on to be sold in Europe. One of the most famous ‘tells’ that a timepiece has its origins in this era? The Khanjar crest of Oman, emblazoned on dials and casebacks, make these early 70s pieces grail-level collectibles decades later.
These creations weren’t mass-market successes, but they didn’t need to be. Each order, though limited in volume, brought in high margins and helped keep the Schaffhausen manufacture’s gears turning. More importantly, it preserved the artisanal know-how at a time when many workshops across Switzerland were laying off staff and shuttering operations.
Far from being a one-sided export exercise, IWC’s foray into the Middle East was defined by cultural fluency. They didn’t just sell watches, rather they designed for the region’s sensibilities. Arabic numerals graced the dials of exclusive editions. Specialised models such as the Mecca Indicator featured built-in qibla compasses, allowing wearers to orient themselves toward Mecca for prayer in a subtle yet profound nod to regional traditions. Later, pieces like the Porsche Design Compass Watch and unique Portugieser editions developed in collaboration with retailers like Dubai’s own Seddiqi & Sons carried Pantli’s legacy forward into the 1980s and beyond.
While other Swiss Maisons consolidated, went dormant or were swallowed by conglomerates, IWC endured thanks in large part to this Middle Eastern pivot. It was a masterclass in niche strategy during a time of mass disruption: keep quality high, respect your clientele, and never underestimate the global appetite for heritage when it’s offered with authenticity.
By the early 2000s, the Gulf had transformed from a lifeline into a cornerstone. IWC’s Gulf business reportedly accounted for nearly 10 per cent of its global revenue, built on decades of relationships, not just retail footprint. Today, the watches from that era, especially Khanjar-signed pieces, fetch high prices at auction, coveted not only for their rarity but for what they represent: the quiet resilience of traditional horology, upheld by mutual respect between maker and patron.
And it’s all thanks to one gracious gent, with a frankly irresistible smile, who had the foresight and audacity to step into a market that, at that time, was far off most Maisons’ radars. Last February, Hannes Pantli took a trip back to where it all began, celebrating IWC’s 50-year partnership with Mistal, Oman’s historic luxury watch retailer. A special edition Ingenieur Aqua Green timepiece, limited to just 50 units and engraved with a map of Oman on the caseback, was launched during his visit. It was reported that 48 of the 50 sold out within two days of the launch — a testament to IWC’s enduring popularity in the region, and the power of friendship and personality.
