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Asaoka’s story begins not in Le Brassus or Glashütte, but in the Kanagawa Prefecture of Japan. Raised in a family that had long since transitioned from swordsmithing to ironworking, his childhood was infused with the elegance and discipline of craftsmanship. He was surrounded by tools, lathes, and finely forged steel elements that whispered of balance and mechanics long before he understood how those might translate into horology. This early exposure to the tactility of metal and the aesthetics of the Japanese artisan tradition would shape his entire creative outlook.
Originally trained in industrial design at the prestigious Tokyo University of the Arts, Asaoka began his career creating consumer products and magazine layouts. But a fascination with mechanical intricacy kept pulling at him. He found himself disassembling vintage watches, reverse-engineering their secrets in his Tokyo workshop. Then came a pivotal moment: the discovery of George Daniels’ seminal book “Watchmaking.” With no formal education in horology, Asaoka treated Daniels’ work not as a manual but a manifesto. Over the years, he taught himself every technique he needed—from machining gears and designing bridges in CAD software to regulating escapements by hand. When he unveiled his first tourbillon wristwatch in 2009, it wasn’t just a debut—it was a declaration.
And this wasn’t just any tourbillon. Asaoka didn’t replicate Swiss norms; he rethought them. His movement was entirely original, developed over several years, with custom components made in-house. Unlike many independent watchmakers who rely on outsourced ébauches, Asaoka handcrafts his calibres from the ground up in Tokyo. The tourbillon cage, for example, wasn’t simply a rotating carriage—it was a sculptural expression of his mastery of balance and mass distribution, built for aesthetic purity and functional integrity. The scale of precision he achieved—working within micron tolerances with no institutional support—remains one of the most astonishing feats in modern watchmaking.
But Hajime Asaoka is not merely a builder of movements; he is a philosopher of time. His aesthetic principles are steeped in traditional Japanese values like wabi-sabi and shibui—celebrations of subtlety, imperfection, and restraint. He doesn’t believe in opulence for its own sake. Instead, he strives for harmony: the movement architecture, dial layout, and case proportions must all speak to one another without screaming. It’s the kind of design logic that rewards long contemplation. What he calls “kaizen”—constant incremental improvement—is evident in every piece. No two editions are truly identical. Each evolves, each refines, each edges closer to his vision of perfection.
Asaoka works almost entirely alone. His Tokyo atelier is the antithesis of a high-volume factory. It’s a sanctum where watches are born through patient, deliberate labour. He uses traditional manual lathes and milling machines, some of which he’s modified himself. Nearly every part is crafted in-house, from bridges to hands to mainplates. While he has occasionally collaborated with outside specialists for high-temperature treatments or galvanic processes, the core of each watch—its soul—is undeniably his own. This solitary approach draws natural comparisons to Roger Smith, though Asaoka’s design language is distinctly Japanese.
FUN FACTS
- Origami Art: Hajime Asaoka is renowned for his intricate and innovative origami designs, pushing the boundaries of traditional paper foldin
- Origami Instruction: He has created numerous instructional books and videos that teach people how to fold origami, making the art accessible to a wider audience.
- Exhibitions: Asaoka has showcased his work in various exhibitions around the world, highlighting the beauty and complexity of origami.
- Collaboration with Artists: He has collaborated with other artists and designers, blending origami with different art forms and mediums.
- Educational Contributions: Asaoka is also known for his efforts in promoting origami as a tool for education, particularly in teaching concepts of geometry and creativity.
Among his most revered creations is the Tsunami. This watch is anchored by an unusually large 15mm balance wheel—nearly twice the size of most conventional counterparts. The purpose? To enhance stability and rate consistency. Asaoka designed and manufactured the Tsunami’s entire movement from scratch, ensuring it harmonised with the oversized wheel both visually and mechanically. The architecture reveals itself like a floating city through the caseback, the bridges laid out with geometric precision and a kind of poetic symmetry. It is widely considered the definitive statement of his philosophy—a watch where mass, movement, and minimalism are choreographed to perfection.
Reputation by Results
His Project T, a watch with a hand-wound tourbillon calibre developed entirely in-house, further established his place in high horology. Again, everything was done from first principles, from gear trains to the bespoke escapement. The Project T doesn’t just display time—it displays the maker’s ethos in every turn of the cage.
For those unable to secure one of his haute horlogerie masterpieces, Asaoka introduced Kurono Tokyo—a sub-brand designed to offer high design and mechanical quality at a more accessible price. Kurono watches feature simpler calibres and are produced in slightly higher quantities, but they retain his aesthetic DNA: concentric dial motifs, elegant casework, and a refined sense of proportion. They sell out in minutes. While Kurono uses outsourced movements, every design is his, and every release is met with global anticipation.
Unlike many modern brands, Asaoka avoids aggressive marketing. His reputation has been built quietly, organically, through word of mouth and the sheer power of his creations. He is not endorsed by celebrities, nor does he need to be. The mystique of his watches lies in their scarcity, their craftsmanship, and the devotion of those who understand their value. He doesn’t court fame; he courts truth. That alone sets him apart in a world awash with hype.
As for patents, Asaoka has generally avoided the route of legal protection. His work speaks for itself, and his processes are so meticulous, so bound to his own hands and tools, that imitation would be nearly impossible without years of study. He has, however, developed unique mechanisms and components—particularly in his tourbillon designs and balance assemblies—that are so idiosyncratic, they serve as natural signatures.
His ambition is not to expand or industrialise, but to continue creating at the highest level possible, piece by piece. Asaoka remains deeply committed to Japanese horology, not as a competitor to Switzerland but as a parallel tradition. He sees watchmaking as a cultural act—a way to contribute something enduring, meaningful, and personal to the human story of time.
In Hajime Asaoka, we don’t just find a watchmaker. We discover a poet of the lathe, a philosopher of escapements, and a living argument that independent artistry still has a place in the heart of high horology. His watches are not just worn; they’re studied, admired, and ultimately understood only by those willing to slow down and listen to what they quietly say.
If Hajime Asaoka’s atelier pieces like the Tsunami are rare haikus carved in steel—singular, uncompromising, and deeply meditative—then Kurono Tokyo is his way of composing a symphony. A symphony that doesn’t dilute his artistic vision, but extends it. It speaks not just to collectors and connoisseurs, but to a new generation of enthusiasts who crave meaning in their machines. And the story of Kurono is more than a brand—it’s a philosophy about access, identity, and honouring tradition in a world that’s too often obsessed with volume.
Kurono Tokyo wasn’t born from a desire to scale up. It wasn’t a move toward market share or a concession to commerce. Instead, it came from Asaoka’s recognition that his handmade atelier watches, as beautiful as they were, had become so exclusive that even those who deeply admired his work would likely never own one. He saw this not as a triumph, but as a limitation—and being the kind of watchmaker who leads with ethics, not ego, he decided to do something about it.
So in 2019, he launched Kurono Tokyo. Not as a sub-brand. Not as a gimmick. But as a personal project designed to democratise his aesthetic, offering mechanical watches built to his design standards, with his oversight, but produced in very limited quantities at more approachable price points. What’s extraordinary is how he maintained control over the look, the feel, and the spirit, without ever compromising the integrity of the pieces.
Design-wise, Kurono watches are unmistakably Asaoka. You see it in the architecture of the dials, often layered and deeply lacquered, inspired by Art Deco, Japanese minimalism, and mid-century geometry. The fonts are uniquely drawn, the indices precisely applied, and the hands shaped to reflect light in a way that elevates legibility to an art form. Asaoka once said he views a dial like a stage set: every element must play its part in telling a coherent visual story. And Kurono is full of those stories.
Take the Kurono Chronograph I, for instance. On paper, it’s a mecha-quartz chrono. But to reduce it to its specs is to miss the point entirely. The watch is about restraint and beauty—it recalls 1940s Swiss sport watches, but imbues them with Japanese restraint and perfect symmetry. The curved lugs, the boxed crystal, the subtle variations in colour across the sub-dials—this is storytelling through aesthetics.
Then came the Kurono Anniversary series, with their rich dial tones—Midori green, Mori deep forest, and Toki pink—each one not just a visual experiment but a reflection of seasonal and emotional states drawn from Japanese culture. These weren’t colours for trendiness’ sake. They were emotions, rendered in lacquer.
Even the movements are a study in honesty. No pretence. No false “in-house” claims. Kurono models typically use Miyota mechanical movements—robust, reliable, Japanese, and most importantly, not pretending to be what they’re not. Asaoka isn’t interested in fake luxury. He’s interested in sincerity. And Kurono, at every turn, reflects that.
Crucially, Kurono Tokyo watches are made in Tokyo, just like Asaoka’s atelier masterpieces. They are assembled with care, vetted for quality by teams he trusts, and released only in small batches. Each drop is limited, each release emotionally curated, and the entire process resists the cold logic of mass production. That has made them incredibly sought after—selling out in minutes—but Asaoka’s refusal to increase supply just to meet demand speaks volumes. He’s protecting the soul of the brand.
There are no celebrity endorsements, no PR blitzes, and no false scarcity games. Asaoka communicates directly with his followers. He’s open about the limitations, the waiting lists, and the challenges. And that transparency has bred fierce loyalty. People don’t just buy Kurono watches; they join something. A movement, a culture, a philosophy that says, “Yes—this is still possible.”
Some have asked whether Kurono diminishes the exclusivity of Asaoka’s atelier pieces. But the truth is, it enhances them. Because Kurono is not a diluted version of Asaoka’s craft—it’s a gateway to his world. A place where more people can understand the beauty of proportion, finish, and storytelling in watchmaking. And crucially, it’s not mass-market. It’s micro-curated.
What Hajime Asaoka has done with Kurono Tokyo is redefine what it means to be accessible in horology. He’s proven that “accessible” doesn’t mean compromised. It means inclusive. It means inviting. It means respecting a new wave of collectors without alienating the old guard. Kurono may not be made by his own hands, but it is made from his soul, and every watch carries that imprint.
Through Kurono, Asaoka has given time back its emotional dimension. He’s shown that watches can still be poetry on the wrist—whether they’re crafted alone in a studio or guided into existence through a community’s shared passion.
And in doing so, he’s not only expanded his audience—he’s expanded horology itself.
f the Tsunami is a lyrical meditation on balance, and Kurono is the open hand extended to fellow dreamers, Project T is Asaoka’s proof of engineering brilliance—a boundary-pushing, steel-cased embodiment of everything he learned, honed, and dared to attempt as a true independent. It’s arguably the most underappreciated masterwork in his portfolio, and yet, if you study it deeply, it might just be his boldest statement: a tour de force that quietly declares, “I will not be bound by tradition, and I will not imitate.”
Project T was conceived not as a vanity project or a display of mechanical peacocking, but as an intellectual challenge. It was an exercise in vertical integration—in true independent watchmaking, where not only the design, but the execution, machinery, tolerances, architecture, and even case production are born under one roof. And that roof, in Asaoka’s case, is his Tokyo studio. There’s no team of fifty. No outsourced complication modules. No templates. Just one man, his tools, and an obsession with doing things the right way, even if that means the hard way.
What makes Project T extraordinary isn’t that it features a tourbillon—it’s how he re-engineered the tourbillon from the ground up. Asaoka wasn’t interested in replicating Breguet’s invention for aesthetic clout. Instead, he sought to create a tourbillon that could serve its original purpose: improved isochronism and rate stability in a wristwatch, not a pocket watch. To do that, he built his escapement, his cage, his bridge structure, and, crucially, he adjusted the beat rate and rotational speed to suit the wrist’s natural movements. The result is a tourbillon that’s not just functional—it’s practical. And that is a rare thing indeed.
