‘If it’s not hard, you should not believe in it,’ says founder of Akrivia watches which fetch millions

SINGAPORE – He is one of the most celebrated independent watchmakers of his generation, a man whose creations are so coveted, they command staggering prices at auction. Yet, Mr Rexhep Rexhepi does not want to talk about success.

Instead, the 38-year-old founder of Akrivia wants to talk about failure, frustration and the formative power of hardship.

“If it’s not hard, you shouldn’t believe in it,” he says, articulating the guiding principle of his life and work. It is a mantra inherited from his late paternal grandmother, a belief forged in the crucible of a difficult childhood and tempered by years of struggle.​

Born in Kosovo in 1987, Mr Rexhepi led an early life that was far from the serene precision of the Swiss watches he would one day create. 

He was raised by his grandmother after his mother left when he was three, while his father worked in Switzerland. His earliest memories are punctuated by his father’s visits home and the Tissot watch on his wrist.

“I would take it from his wrist and listen to the tick tock, tick tock. It was a piece of magic and I was intrigued,” says Mr Rexhepi on a recent visit to Singapore.

In 1998, he joined his father in Geneva, escaping the Kosovo war.

Adapting to a new country and language was a challenge.

“You have to adapt to everything. You don’t want to leave the country, but you leave. You have to just make these changes; you don’t have a choice.”

Fortunately, the young immigrant found his calling. At 15, he secured a coveted apprenticeship at the venerable Patek Philippe, a testament to his prodigious talent.

Though his father had dreamt of him becoming a doctor or lawyer, Mr Rexhepi’s path was set. After his time at Patek Philippe, he further honed his skills at the workshop of another master independent, F.P. Journe.​

But the dream was always to be his own master. In 2012, at just 25, he took the leap and founded his brand, Akrivia, the Greek word for “precision”.

He started, like many entrepreneurs, from a humble apartment, armed with immense talent but little else. The world, however, was not waiting. For three years, he did not sell a single watch.​​

Those were the desert years, a period of immense pressure and mounting debt. “It was hard,” he says. 

Lesser men would have quit. But every morning, he would tell himself: “I deserve much more than this.”  

With a cheeky grin, he says he had been “brainwashed” by his grandmother, who died in 2013. Growing up, she constantly reminded him that the struggle was a necessary part of the journey.​

“You have to continue,” he says with quiet intensity. “When you are down, you are down. If you stop, you will be even worse. You don’t have a choice.”

That sheer, unyielding willpower eventually paid off. The tide began to turn as collectors started to notice the extraordinary quality and unique aesthetic of his work.

His first creation, the AK-01 Tourbillon Chronograph Monopusher, debuted in 2013, showcasing a distinctive, complex case and a level of finishing that would become his signature.

Then came the Chronometre Contemporain, a watch that won the prestigious Grand Prix d’Horlogerie de Geneve in 2018, catapulting him into the top echelons of watchmaking.​

Today, Akrivia produces just a few dozen timepieces a year, each a masterpiece of hand-finishing and mechanical ingenuity.

Demand far outstrips supply, leading to a frenzy in the secondary market. In 2024, three of his watches sold for a combined US$4.3 million (S$5.58 million) at auction.

It is a level of success that can corrupt, but Mr Rexhepi remains grounded, almost fearful of the hype.​

“I’m scared. This is not real, you know?”

He adds: “I want to be known for my work. I don’t want to be known for the prices in auction.”

To maintain his standards, he once shelved a completed watch that he knew would sell, simply because he felt it was not good enough.​

His philosophy is one of constant evolution, a restless dissatisfaction with the status quo. He deliberately keeps production of any single model extremely limited – often just 50 pieces – before moving on to a completely new challenge. 

“Comfort doesn’t let you evolve,” he says. He calls this approach selfish, but it fuels his need to explore and grow rather than cash in on a successful formula. 

“If one day I stop,” he says, “you know that I’m dead.”​

This relentless drive is now being passed on. In a move that brings his journey full circle, Mr Rexhepi has taken on an apprentice – handpicked from more than 100 applicants – feeling a deep responsibility to pass on the knowledge he received. 

In a poignant twist, he recently hired his former mentor from his Patek Philippe days. The man who taught him the fundamentals is now helping him build his legacy.

In more ways than one, Mr Rexhepi’s journey has come full circle. 

“It’s hard to believe,” he says, the emotion evident in his voice. “I’m very proud.”

Success, however, has not softened him. If anything, it has made him more demanding of himself, his craft and the industry that has embraced him. 

“I’m very frustrated because I want to go a bit faster but I’m not able to.”

But this tension – between satisfaction and restlessness, gratitude and hunger – is a “happy” frustration.

For Mr Rexhepi, the journey is not about status or wealth. It is about honouring the people who believed in him: his father, his mentor and, above all, his grandmother.

“Suffering is super good. If you don’t suffer, it’s not important enough. If it’s not difficult, it’s not important enough.”