There is a term in behavioral economics called the IKEA effect, which says we value things more when we build them ourselves. It explains why you defend that wobbly BILLY bookcase like it’s family. MB&F and French clockmaker Maison Alcée have taken that idea, put it in a suit, and charged CHF 12,000 for it. Their new desk clock arrives at your door as 222 loose components in a wooden box, along with a set of watchmaking tools and a 250-page book. You are the assembly line, and the clock does not tell time until you make it.
It’s called the Nostromo, and it looks like a chrome beetle crouching on your desk. Maximilian Maertens, MB&F’s creative designer and Max Büsser’s anointed successor, designed it to celebrate 15 years of the M.A.D.Gallery. Maison Alcée manufactures the parts in the French and Swiss Jura, then hands the fun part to you. Roughly ten hours of tweezer work stand between the box and a running mechanical clock with a 14-day power reserve and a switchable hour chime. Only the regulating organ arrives pre-built, because some things are best left to people who do this for a living. Fifty pieces exist.
Designer: Maximilian Maertens for MB&F, crafted by Maison Alcée
The body is a symmetrical steel ovoid, two brushed arcs meeting top and bottom, wrapped around brass wheels and a saturated peacock blue dial ring floating dead center. That silhouette reads as carapace rather than xenomorph, closer to a scarab than anything H.R. Giger ever airbrushed. Every ounce of creature in this object lives in the three tapered legs below, which sweep outward in compound curves and end in points. Maertens had to leave the movement architecture assemblable by amateurs, so the sculpture went where the freedom was.
That movement comes from the Persée, Maison Alcée’s first clock, launched in 2022 and built on wristwatch architecture scaled up to desk size. Maertens turned the whole thing on its side, angled the display upward for easier reading, and split the Persée’s continuous dial ring into segments so the gear train shows through the gaps. The finished clock rotates on its feet, which sounds like a gimmick until you remember three-point support never rocks on an uneven desk. Black hands replace the originals for contrast against all that brass. The changes are small in engineering terms and enormous in posture.
Slotted screws sit visible across every plate, the steel is brushed instead of polished, and the brass wheels carry plain spokes with no anglage anywhere. That reads as a deliberate call rather than a cost saving, because every one of those surfaces will be handled by someone in cotton gloves who has never held tweezers. Maison Alcée even had its screwdriver blades made in a copper-beryllium alloy, softening them specifically to reduce the risk of scratching your own clock. The kit includes seventeen tools, several adapted for beginners. The pedagogy runs all the way down to the hardware.
Ridley Scott borrowed the name Nostromo from a Joseph Conrad novel, and Ron Cobb designed the ship as a grimy commercial tugboat crewed by people arguing about bonuses. Giger got the monster and the derelict. Most of us have merged the two in memory, which is why the word now sounds biomechanical. Maertens, a self-declared Giger obsessive, has effectively put Cobb’s name on a Giger-adjacent body, and I doubt anyone at MB&F loses sleep over it. The brand has been mining outer space since HM1 in 2007.
CHF 12,000 ($14,840 USD) excluding VAT, sold through the M.A.D.Galleries in Geneva and Dubai and MB&F LABs worldwide, with deliveries landing October to November. A base Persée runs closer to EUR 5,500 ($6,379 USD), so the premium buys the Maertens design and the 50-piece cap rather than more mechanism. Here’s the catch, though. A company whose entire philosophy is teaching horology through your own hands has capped this particular lesson at fifty units for fifty eager students. The clock is wonderful. The classroom is very small.