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Jason Lee

Hublot is a brand that invites strong reactions, often before anyone has spent meaningful time with the watches. That’s partly because the catalogue is so broad — from comparatively simple Classic Fusions on one end to wildly technical MP pieces on the other — and partly because online narratives can harden into “truths” without many wrists-on encounters to test them. After wearing and owning a few Hublots, and most recently spending time with the Spirit of Big Bang Frosted Carbon, I’ve come to feel that Hublot is best understood as two parallel propositions: entry-level design-first luxury with outsourced, modestly finished movements, and higher-end, materially‑driven watchmaking that, in places, holds its own in finishing and theatre against far pricier competition.

This isn’t a blanket defence of the brand, nor is it a takedown. It’s an attempt to place the Spirit of Big Bang Frosted Carbon in its proper context — and to explain why, despite my scepticism, it’s the reference that finally clicked for me.

Two Hublots, two value propositions

Let’s start with the obvious fork in the road. On one branch sits the Classic Fusion, the gateway Hublot that, for many, defines the brand. At retail, these are not inexpensive watches. Yet the movements inside are mostly Sellita or ETA ebauches with finishing that is serviceable rather than special. For enthusiasts who care deeply about what’s under the hood, that gap between price and perceived horological content is where the value proposition falls down. If you look only at Classic Fusion, it’s easy to see “meme Hublot” talking points confirmed.

The other branch is where Hublot’s pitch gets more compelling. Go upmarket into the MP series — pieces like the MP‑10 or MP‑11 — and the finishing, architecture and sheer audacity step up considerably. I won’t claim to be a movement expert, but having lived with and scrutinised sports icons like the Patek Philippe Nautilus, Audemars Piguet Royal Oak and Vacheron Constantin Overseas, I don’t find the top-end Hublot finishing obviously inferior to the naked eye. Anglage is sharper, surfaces are crisper, and the overall sense is of a watch executed to a high standard, albeit in a very different design language to Geneva’s old guard.

In other words, Hublot’s “value” scales with how far you climb the range. Stay near the entry point, and you’re paying a premium for the look. Step up, and you begin to see where the money goes — into materials, finishing and theatre.

A personal checkpoint: the Spirit of Big Bang Tiger

My first Hublot purchase wasn’t intended to prove a point so much as to interrogate my own assumptions. I bought the Spirit of Big Bang Tiger to judge the watch in person, away from screenshots and punchlines. It turned out to be a well-executed design that wore better than I expected, with Hublot’s familiar sandwich of case elements creating real depth and interest.

It was not without issues. The chronograph counters were busy to the point of compromised legibility, and the date display was equally hard to catch at a glance. The pushers also felt stiff, which dulled the tactile pleasure of using the chronograph. None of these are deal-breakers in isolation, but they were enough for me to file the watch under “strong idea, imperfect execution”.

When scepticism meets the wrist: the Frosted Carbon call

So when the call came for the Spirit of Big Bang Frosted Carbon, I approached it with caution. The checklist of concerns wrote itself. Would the same legibility issues persist? Would the pushers still feel stubborn? And was I prepared to pay for another iteration of a watch powered by a movement architecture whose roots go back to the late 1960s?

On paper, those were fair doubts. In the metal, they receded quickly. The frosted carbon case doesn’t read like a gimmick; it reads like material used with intent. Hublot’s “Art of Fusion” is often described as an ethos, but here it’s a tactile experience: the case looks hand‑tooled by light. The frosting breaks up reflections and emphasises the layered structure of the carbon, which shifts from subtle to statement with the angle. Crucially, it doesn’t feel fragile or precious. It feels like a purpose-built case that happens to catch the eye.

The date display is also markedly improved. Where the Tiger had me squinting, the Frosted Carbon’s date is cleaner to locate and read. This sounds minor, but it changes how you interact with the watch day to day; you stop working around the design and simply use it. The chronograph registers remain busy — that’s part of the openworked aesthetic — but the basic time display is less cluttered than before, and that matters.

Strapped on the supplied fabric, the watch presents as a coherent object rather than a collection of ideas. The strap visually grounds the case while keeping the overall package light and wearable. For once, I didn’t find myself instinctively imagining strap swaps to “fix” the look; the pairing works out of the box.

The El Primero question, asked fairly

Hublot’s use of an El Primero–derived movement invites predictable criticism. For some, “1969” is a synonym for “outdated”. For others, it signals proven architecture with a storied track record. Both positions can be true depending on what you value. If you want a chronograph that announces novelty through in-house design language and a new calibre designation, you won’t find that here. If, however, you want a high-frequency automatic chronograph that has been iterated over decades, serviced around the world and adapted to contemporary finishing standards, the El Primero lineage still makes sense.

In the Frosted Carbon, the openworked execution brings the layout into the foreground, and under the right light, the bridges and steel components show attractive contrast, including specular surfaces that read like black polish. I don’t claim lab-grade finishing analysis; I’m reporting what the eye sees. And what it sees is pleasing.

Legibility, revisited honestly

Skeletonisation is a balancing act: show enough to justify the concept, hide enough to preserve quick reading of the time and registers. The Frosted Carbon lands in the middle. The main dial elements — hours and minutes — are fine in most light, and the improved date window is genuinely better. The chronograph counters remain an aesthetic treat rather than a paragon of functionality. If you’re buying the watch to time laps at Le Mans, you will be better served elsewhere. If you’re buying it for the engineering theatre and the way it sits on the wrist, you’ll likely accept (or even enjoy) the compromise.

A note on daily wear: the frosted carbon handles smudges and micro-marks better than polished metal. It’s a mischievous finish — it dances in bright light — but it’s also practical in low-stakes ways. That unusual mix of flamboyance and forgiveness suits the watch’s character.

Design cohesion and the “budget RM” conversation

Richard Mille RM27 05 — Richard Mille RM 27-05

Comparisons to Richard Mille are inevitable any time a tonneau case, exotic material, and openworked dial appear in the same sentence. Call the Spirit of Big Bang Frosted Carbon a “budget RM” if you like, but that framing can obscure what Hublot is actually doing well here. The case architecture feels distinctly Hublot — the multiple planes, the fasteners as visual punctuation, the sense of layered construction — and the carbon frosting adds a texture RM rarely uses in this exact way.

Where the comparison is useful is in setting expectations. If you’re drawn to the high‑tech, highly architectural look of modern skeletonised pieces but don’t want to spend RM money, the Frosted Carbon scratches much of that itch with its own personality. You get the spectacle and the materials story, and you get it in a package that, to my wrist, feels resolved.

Where it stands within Hublot’s recent output

Over the last decade, Hublot has produced a steady flow of Spirit of Big Bang references in different materials and colourways. Many of them are visually striking; some feel like they lean too hard on surface treatment or palette. The Frosted Carbon avoids that trap. The material isn’t just a coat of paint; it’s integral to the case and to how the watch expresses itself. That alone places it near the top of the Spirit family for me. It also aligns most closely with what Hublot does best when it’s at its best: combine innovative materials with industrial design that looks engineered rather than styled. You sense that philosophy here. The watch doesn’t apologise for being modern; it embraces it.

Who should consider it

If you primarily evaluate watches from the caseback, loupe in hand, and prize hand‑finished flourish above all else, Hublot’s MP pieces may speak more directly to you than the Spirit line. If, however, you want a modern, skeletonised chronograph that feels more like industrial art than retro homage; if you appreciate new‑school materials used in a way that’s tactile rather than merely decorative; and if you’re realistic about the usability compromises that come with the territory, the Spirit of Big Bang Frosted Carbon sits in a sweet spot.

It’s also a model that flatters a range of wardrobes. On the supplied fabric strap, it threads the needle between aggressive and wearable. It’s light enough for long days, expressive enough to feel special, and resilient enough to take on daily life without babying. Those are qualities that matter more in practice than spec sheet one‑upmanship.

Closing thoughts

I began this process as a sceptic with specific reservations, many of which were formed by prior experience with a different Spirit reference. The Frosted Carbon didn’t magically erase every concern. The chronograph counters are still busy. But the watch corrected the thing that most affected real-world use — the date legibility — and wrapped its improvements in a case that genuinely elevates the design.

More broadly, it reinforced a view I now hold about Hublot: judge the brand by its peaks, not its averages. At the entry level, Hublot still asks a lot for movements and finishing that don’t match the price if judged purely by traditional yardsticks. Higher up, the brand’s proposition comes into focus, and the Frosted Carbon is a good example of that. It’s a modern, materially serious watch with a movement that, while historically rooted, presents itself attractively and reliably. It expresses Hublot’s “Art of Fusion” without shouting, and it does so in a way that feels honest to the company’s identity.

If you’re unmoved by movement aesthetics, the good news is you can appreciate most of what this watch offers from the front. If you are movement-curious, there’s enough finishing interest here to reward a lingering look. Either way, the Spirit of Big Bang Frosted Carbon earns its place as one of the standout Spirit references of the past decade — not by chasing heritage, but by doubling down on what Hublot does that few others attempt. For a brand that thrives on audacity, that restraint — letting material and architecture do the talking — might be the most persuasive argument of all.