In the heart of Berlin, where history hums through cobbled streets and industrial echoes, a name once synonymous with mechanical mastery has been resurrected—like a phoenix rising from the ashes of war. Askania, the legendary watch and instrument forge born in 1871, didn’t just tell time; it orchestrated it, with the precision of a conductor and the audacity of an aviator.
Carl Bamberg, a disciple of the optical wizard Carl Zeiss, didn’t merely craft instruments—he bottled lightning. His workshop became a sanctuary where gears whispered secrets and dials gleamed like constellations. By the 20th century, Askania’s creations weren’t just tools; they were mechanical sonnets, adorning cockpits, ship bridges, and the wrists of those who demanded perfection.
The Second World War scattered Askania’s legacy like shrapnel. But decades later, Leonhard R. Müller—a man whose pulse synced with the tick of pilot watches—dug through the rubble of history. To him, reviving Askania wasn’t just business; it was horological archaeology. He didn’t reboot a brand; he rekindled a soul.
Today, Askania’s workshop is a temple of anachronism in a digital age. Their watches? Not mere accessories, but heirlooms in motion. Each piece is a bridge between eras: a 1920s aviator’s chronograph reborn in titanium, a marine compass reimagined as wrist art. The company’s 150th anniversary isn’t just a milestone—it’s a middle finger to obsolescence.
What makes Askania endure? A trifecta:
Forget trends. Askania trades in timelessness. Their wares aren’t bought; they’re adopted. And as the second hand sweeps toward the future, one thing’s certain: this Berlin phoenix isn’t done flying.
