I’ve been here before, deliberating provenance and value, their individual merits, and balance. Last time, it was with respect to the Maranez Samurai Army, an homage to the Doxa and Synchron Army, a watch with murky and contentious origins. A similar dynamic confronts me now as the subject of this review, the Synchron Ti300M, homages the Doxa Sub 300T’s design, but hails from a brand with a lineal connection to Doxa.
The intertwined history of Synchron and Doxa dates back to 1968, the year after the Sub 300 was released, when Synchron was founded as an umbrella corporation for Cyma, Ernest Borel, and Doxa. So while the Sub lineup is unquestionably Doxa’s intellectual property, its early golden years overlapped Synchron’s management of Doxa. I wouldn’t argue that Synchron has legacy rights to Doxa’s history, but the Ti300M is an interesting case of a brand referencing its back catalog, even if the original hit is no longer part of its portfolio.
In its current incarnation, Synchron is a bit of the Island of Misfit Toys for brands killed by the Quartz Revolution, including Aquastar, Aquadive, and strapmakers ISOfrane and Tropic. Synchron isn’t just an umbrella for legacy marques, though, as it has produced a handful of its own models over the past few years, with the Ti300M being the most recent example. The SEALAB version is limited to 500 models, but as Synchron has recently launched a yellow colorway, I anticipate the range will continue to expand by leveraging the bold colorways of Doxa’s Sub range. I infer that the SEALAB moniker (the all-caps name is a reference to the legendary subaquatic habitats, not a suggestion to shout it aloud) is Synchron’s label for the orange colorway, and what I will refer to the watch as henceforth, because “Ti300M” is a terrible model name.
Measuring at 41mm wide, 45mm lug-to-lug, and 11.9mm thin, the SEALAB’s case is a combination of broad shoulders and minimal height. The thinness is impressive for a dive watch rated to 300 meters of water resistance, and undercuts the Doxa Sub 300T by 1.6mm. The case’s squat dimensions keep its center of gravity close to the wrist, not that there is much weight to manage, thanks to the SEALAB’s grade 5 titanium construction. The watch feels purposeful, but not demanding, further illustrated by the horizontal brushing of the case flanks, which I prefer to Doxa’s funhouse-mirror polishing quality. As a result of these form factors, the SEALAB is very comfortable to wear, to the point that its presence is hardly noticeable when not actively using its functions.
Those functions include local time on the dial and a dual-scale rotating bezel to track elapsed time and decompression stop intervals during ascent to the surface. For dive watch aficionados, both the dial and bezel formats are familiar, though Synchron has riffed on the formula, with mixed results. There’s no mistaking the dial’s orange hue or the diagonal placement of the text, which is tailored to this model. A more notable deviation from the 300T source material is the treatment of the hour indices, which are polished applied markers with central lume channels. These add depth to the dial, and their black-polished finish adds a dash of glitz that flops between black and silver depending on the light. Though my preference would be an actual black coating on the metal surfaces, the black-polished steel slightly increases legibility, as it reflects even the faintest light.
The lume channels in the hour markers also increase low-light legibility compared to the Sub 300T, though there is one glaring lume omission to which I’ll return, and which you may be able to discern from the image below. The SEALAB’s handset is identically shaped to what we’ve come to know from Doxa – obelisk hour and minute hands whose proportions call to mind Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger in Twins, and a stick seconds hand with a lume plot that foreshadowed Minecraft. All three hands utilize the same black-polish finish as the hour indices, and to a similar effect, both in how they catch light, and how I wish they were painted black. I cannot complain about their application of lume, which glows with a matching bright intensity to the hour markers.
The same can’t be said for the decision not to use any lume on the 120-click unidirectional bezel, about which I have a strong complaint. On one hand, I acknowledge that most SEALAB owners will not use the SEALAB for its intended subaquatic purpose, rendering a lumed pip an affectation more than a functional imperative. At the same time, that is true of every dive watch, and it is disappointing that a watch marketed as a diving tool is lacking such an important element to fulfill that intent. Given the other deliberate choices to invest in quality materials – grade 5 titanium and an upscale movement – it is gear-grindingly bothersome not to spend a bit more for a tiny splotch of luminous paint for one of the bezel’s pips. At least the bezel rotates crisply, and with enough positive tactile feedback, that you can count its 120 clicks in low light, even if you can’t see what the bezel indicates.
The upscale movement powering the SEALAB is the La Joux-Perret G100, an upgrade over the Sellita SW200 you’ll find in a Doxa Sub 300T. It is slightly thinner (4.45mm to 4.6mm), and has a far longer power reserve (68 hours to 38 hours) without sacrificing beat rate (28,800 bph for both). The G-100 is also developed from the Miyota 9 series movement, which, in my experience, has been far more reliable than the SW200. The G100 isn’t a mere cosmetic upgrade of the Miyota 9-series, a movement I love, but includes a heavier, more robust rotor, an enhanced anti-shock system, and the aforementioned power-reserve boost.
In the giveth-and-taketh comparison between the SEALAB and Sub 300T, the former cannot be purchased with a bracelet at the time of writing. Instead, the launch limited edition model comes with an orange Tropic strap – the genuine article, compliments of the brands’ shared ownership – and a seatbelt fabric pass-through. The pass-through is anodyne, while the Tropic is outstanding. Sturdy yet pliable, it holds the SEALAB securely without feeling like a pair of vice grips around your wrist, and breathes well. If neither of the straps are to your liking, it’ll be easy to find a 20mm strap that meets your preference. As for a bracelet, I’m curious to see if one is eventually offered as the SEALAB lineup expands.
As you can discern from this review, it was a challenge for me to review the SEALAB in and of itself, given how closely it hews to the Sub 300T. As an objective thing, it is well-made and capable, but that isn’t all there is to a watch. Compared to the Sub 300T, the SEALAB has some compelling merits: it is nearly half the price ($1,390 vs. $2,150 on rubber) despite using a more expensive case material, a better movement, and being finished to a higher standard than the Sub 300T. Yet there are some choices – particularly the black-polished dial furniture and handset, and the lack of a lumed pip on the bezel – that are a step back from the Doxa. There’s also the matter of its close resemblance to a Doxa Sub, when, despite Synchron’s prior ownership of Doxa and the Sub lineup, there is no present affiliation between the brands. Nor was there a historical Synchron-labeled Doxa Sub (that I’m aware of) which the SEALAB harkens back to.
When I reviewed the Maranez Samui Army, I noted that “it heavily, unmistakably references a fairly iconic model, the Doxa (or Synchron?) Army, yet it does so honestly and with respect for the source material.” In heeding my own counsel, I realized the same applies to the SEALAB. Whatever label you prefer for the broader watch enthusiast community, we tend to use homage as a derogatory term, but rarely for its more common meaning: “something that shows respect or attests to the worth or influence of another.” Like the Samui Army, the SEALAB is an expression of its creators’ adoration for what Doxa makes, imbued with their own design sensibilities. These types of homages – not the cash-grab clones we often lament – are the result of the “what would I do if…?” question that we’ve all asked ourselves.
So while questions of provenance over design tore at my mind while writing this review, I stopped looking at the SEALAB for what it isn’t, and appreciated it for its own merits. In so doing, my adoration for its understated nature grew, as did my appreciation for its reliability and capability. Now, if someone at Synchron could just request some luminous paint for one of the lume pips, I’ll drop my quibbles.
Check here for further information on the Synchron Ti300m SEALAB.
