I never cease to be amazed at the trust we watch people place in each other. “Oh, this? It’s my grail watch. It is expensive and easily damaged and very important to me. Here, hold it, fiddle with it, try it.” That sounds crazy to normal people, but we watch nerds do it all the time. It is pretty much what happened when I had lunch with a fellow enthusiast a couple of weeks ago, and it is why The Time Bum, horological hobo that I am, is reviewing a Panerai Luminor Marina PAM 111 today.
You’ve got to love the Panerai Luminor. I dig the whole OG military mystique. I’ve always appreciated their unapologetically bold looks, and boy, you can have some fun swapping straps on a beast like this! That said, it is a beast, and I’ve often wondered if I could really pull it off. Even though I am not a terribly big guy, I do own plenty of big divers. Still, a Panerai has more than volume; it is also a status symbol. Wearing a big Seiko says, “Hey, look at my big watch.” For many, wearing a Panerai says the same but also, “Hey, look at my big bank account.” So, maybe this is a watch that requires more than a soupçon of swagger.
I’m sure you all know Panerai, but it doesn’t hurt to recap. Officine Panerai began its journey in Florence, Italy, in 1860. Things got interesting in 1935 when they produced their first Radiomir dive watch for the underwater assault team of the Italian Royal Navy. The next ten years brought Fascism, World War 2, and an intimate association with people on the wrong side of history that I’m sure the brand would prefer we forget. In 1956, they introduced their signature crown guard bridge, and by 1960, the Luminor case was pretty much set. Fast forward to 1996, and Sylvester Stallone, a man with more than the usual amount of money, size, and bravado, becomes a Paneraisti, and before long, the watch is a must-have accessory. Oh, and Vendome Group (now Richemont) bought the company and moved manufacture to Switzerland, but we still call the Swiss-owned and Swiss-made Panerai Italian because everybody knows Italians are inherently cool (it’s science; look it up). So ends our history lesson.
The watch itself should also be quite familiar to you all. Even if you haven’t handled the real thing, then you probably stumbled upon one of the ubiquitous Chinese clones. The Luminor Marina is 44mm wide, 53mm long, and 15mm thick with 24mm lugs. It is, by any standard, a big damn watch. If you have arms like Popeye and find it is too small, Panerai will gladly sell you a 47mm model. My arms are closer to those of Olive Oyl, and yet, the 44mm Luminor didn’t look half bad. Yes, it filled the entirety of my 6.75″ wrist, but that’s rather the point of a watch like this, isn’t it? That 15mm height is spread over a broad surface area, so it never felt tippy or unbalanced. I felt could wear this all day without issue, and I did.
It’s easy to forget that the Luminor Marina was originally designed for rough work. That is partially a result of their current cost desirability and partially because they are so handsome, but they were among the original tool watches. The crown bridge is perhaps the most recognized Panerai Luminor feature. More than a guard, its lever compresses the crown to provide a watertight seal. Sure, it’s a bit of an anachronism, but such a cool feature and so much a part of the Panerai heritage. It still does the job admirably well. That compression crown, along with modern gasket materials and precision manufacturing techniques, gets the watch to an impressive 300m water resistance.
It’s crystals (front and rear) are sapphire, of course.
If this were an entirely new design crossing my desk, I might take issue with the fact that the crown bridge is the only unpolished surface on the watch and suggest that it would be better integrated into the overall design if it, too, were polished or if the case wore a combination of finishes. Can I reasonably level that criticism now on such a storied timepiece? I suppose I just did. It’s not as if no one has considered this before; other Luminor models have had polished crown bridges. As it stands, the brushed bridge on this particular unit serves as a reminder that the PAM is as much for go as it is for show.
If possible, the dial is even more recognizable (and more often imitated) than the case. There is a good reason for this. That sandwich construction displays huge markers, revealing the bright lume below. It is a layout that harkens back to those pre-war prototypes, and I would imagine it was a revelation when used in those early underwater ops. This model features a small seconds in place of the 9, lumed to match the rest.
Lume is in Panerai’s blood. Indeed, the Radiomir and Luminor names referred to the brand’s proprietary formulas, the latter less radioactive than the former. Today, they use safe, modern phosphorescents that still pack a punch.
The backside of the 111 is almost as pretty as the front. An exhibition window shows off the hand-winding OP XI Calibre. Based on the old ETA/Unitas ETA 6497/2, it was regulated to COSC specs and modified for a 56-hour power reserve. You also got engraved and Geneva-striped bridges.
You will find the usual information engraved on the caseback ring, including the production unit of its limited run of 2500, and the serial number, which I have obliterated with Photoshop because the people who buy and sell counterfeits have ruined it for the rest of us.
Finally, we get to the strap, which I can’t review because it isn’t on this watch. Original Panerai straps must be the loneliest straps on earth because a whole industry has arisen to supply incorrigible strap swappers with fresh boots for their PAMs. Being a strap nerd myself, I wholeheartedly encourage this practice, and it’s easy enough to indulge with Panerai’s screw bars. For the record, a lightly padded, medium brown, oil-tanned leather strap goes quite well with the Luminor.
The PAM 111 was produced as a limited run in the early 2000s and is no longer in the Panerai catalog. You can find them used for between $3500 – $6500, depending on condition and completeness. If you want a new one, the PAM 1084 Luminor Logo comes close, differing only in the application of the logo to the dial instead of the full written brand name.
So, could I pull off a big Panerai Luminor? Unequivocally, yes. For a watch so large, it is remarkably easy to wear. While you might be tempted to baby it, the Luminor’s storied history and tool watch specs encourage you to use it for everything. Trust me, the watch will not complain.
Finally, we return to my own particular hang-up: Is the Panerai, shall we say, too rich for my blood? Nope. I got over that in no time. The way I see it, there is no shame in having nice things, and no apologies are needed for treating yourself. The only sin is acting like an ass about it, and let’s face it, the people who do that are insufferable even when they aren’t flaunting their trappings of wealth. Folks like my friend who loaned me the watch or me (I’d like to believe) bring no such baggage. We will wear our watches, however expensive or cheap, because we love them, and we will inflict our enthusiasm only on fellow watch nerds.
If you have longed for a Luminor and have held back, I recommend letting go and giving one a try. They really are every bit as much fun as people say.
