He stops before it starts.
Seven lenses he can see, and nothing left on your wrist for him to take — every frame leaves the watch the instant it is captured. To do anything to you he has to come inside arm's reach, and that is exactly where the lenses are pointed. You press early — hand at your side, while he is still only talking — and only then say it: this is being recorded, it has already gone to the people I chose, they are watching now, and breaking this watch changes none of it. Most of the time that is where it ends.
Pairs with your phone · cloud-relayed · end-to-end encrypted
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What stops him is not being seen. It is that he cannot undo it.
So nothing about this watch is hidden — seven lenses around the bezel and a recording light beside them, visible to anyone facing you. But a visible camera on its own is only a threat, and threats get called. This one is already past the point where anything he does matters.
Why it is on your wrist
Nobody is assaulted from across the road. He has to come inside arm's reach.
To take your wrist, cover your mouth, block a doorway or push you into a car, he has to close to roughly thirty or forty centimetres — the distance at which people touch each other. That is not a detail. It is the one distance a camera on a wrist is good for, and it is the one distance he cannot avoid and still do anything to you.
A few metres away
It sees a person.
That someone was there, how they moved, how close they came, and when. Not who. At that range no camera on a wrist gives you a face, and we are not going to tell you otherwise.
Close enough to touch you
It sees a face.
At contact range a face fills a large part of the frame. That is the distance he has to be at to do anything at all — so he cannot both stay out of the picture and reach you.
The watch does not recognise anyone. There is no face recognition in this product — not on the watch, not in our cloud, not on your phone. Nothing is matched against a database, nothing is scored or flagged, and the watch never decides who a person is. It records. Afterwards a human looks — you, your lawyer, an investigating officer — and a human decides whether they recognise him. That question belongs to them and to a court, never to our software.
Every other recording device keeps it on the device. Take the device, take the evidence.
This one has already let go of it.
Each frame leaves the watch the instant it is captured — to your phone, and on to the cloud. It is not sitting on your wrist waiting to be taken. Grab the watch, smash it, throw it in a drain: everything up to that second already exists somewhere he cannot reach. And the watch shows you this is true before you say it — two flashes of the light means it has all left. It is never a bluff.
Press first. Speak second. In that order, and it matters.
1 · Press — five seconds, saying nothing
He does not know you have done it.
The button needs a five-second hold, so you do it while he is still talking — hand at your side, nothing on your face. Announcing first would mean fumbling for a button in front of him with nothing yet true. By the time you speak, it has already gone out.
2 · Then say it
“I've turned on audio and video. It already left this watch. Breaking it changes nothing now. Back off.”
Every word of that is true when you say it, not a threat you are hoping he believes — and nothing he does next can take it back. Notice what she does not claim: not who he is. What she claims is that it is already beyond him, and that part is checkable.
He can see it
Seven lenses and a light. No hidden mode, because hidden defeats the point.
Nothing is stored on the watch
Frames relay off it as they are captured — to your phone, then the cloud. There is nothing on your wrist for him to take.
Nobody watches it but you
Leaving the watch does not mean anyone can see it. Until you press, it goes to your vault alone — not to us, not to your family.
Somewhere you feel safe? Twist it shut.
Home, a friend's kitchen, the office, a changing room. Turn the ring and metal moves across the lenses. Not a toggle you have to trust, not a mode a firmware bug can get wrong — the light simply cannot reach the sensor.
Open · seven lenses live · drag to rotate
Twist the ring. A holed metal strip sits in the case wall — a few degrees walks a blank onto all five rim lenses at once.
Slide the front cover. Separate from the ring, so the lens facing whoever you are talking to can be shut on its own.
Thumb the strap cover. It slides along the pod, toward the strap, and parks there.
Simplified for clarity — the real parts are a 0.9 mm brushed strip and two POM sliders. Nothing here is software: with a cover across a lens, no setting, no update and no fault can see through it.
One twist · the five around the case
A brushed ring set into the wall, with a hole over each lens. A single grip nub turns it a few degrees and all five go dark at once.
The front lens · its own slide
Separate on purpose, so you can close the one facing whoever you are talking to and leave the rest of your surroundings covered — or the other way round.
The strap lens · its own slide
Thumb it along the strap. Closed is closed — you can see the cover sitting over the lens, and so can anyone sitting across from you.
This is what makes it wearable anywhere.
A camera you cannot switch off is one you have to leave at the door — and a watch left at the door protects nobody. Being able to close it, visibly and with your hand, is what lets you wear it into a friend's home, a meeting or a fitting room without asking anyone to take your word for anything. Every lens on this watch can be covered.
Nobody buys a dashcam expecting to crash.
They buy it so that if anything ever happens, the truth is theirs. Panic buttons sold rescue — a promise nobody can always keep — and asked women to wear their own fear every day. We sell the one promise the technology keeps every single time: where cases collapse is almost never “nothing happened” — it's “nothing can be proven.” With this watch, that sentence retires.
You hold the only key.
Seven cameras record your world into an encrypted 15-day sealed cloud box, and you decide when it's running. Your nominees can't browse it. We can't read it. There is no admin override, and no account above yours. It opens exactly two ways — both yours:
There is no third way — unless you make one.
By default: no recovery path, no exception process, no backdoor any court order could open — we hold only ciphertext we cannot read. If you never press, no one on earth ever sees a frame.
There is now one door you can choose to build, and it stays shut unless you do. In Settings you can name a guardian — someone who could ask us to open your recording if you were ever unreachable. It answers the one case nothing else can: you cannot press SOS, and the recording that would find you is sealed to the only person who cannot open it.
A guardian can never watch you and never browse your days. Every request is checked against the number we hold, approved by two people here, and written into a log you can read. Removing one takes three months — because if someone ever takes your phone, they must not be able to delete the people who could find you. Having none at all is a complete answer, and it is what you start with.
One button. One promise. Nothing to manage.
No timers to configure, no modes to second-guess, no app to babysit. You decide when the box is recording — it's your watch, and you're an adult. Everything else fits in two sentences:
Press SOS
and your nominees see everything, live.
Don't press
and nobody ever sees anything.
Pause it whenever you like. It comes back on for you.
Recording is yours to control — you never have to justify switching it off. But a pause always carries a time limit you set, and when it runs out the box starts again by itself.
Why there's a limit at all
Because forgetting is the real risk. If a pause could run forever, one you meant to lift in twenty minutes would quietly stay off for good — and you'd be walking around unprotected without knowing it. The timer means your armour is never off just because you got busy. An SOS press resumes recording immediately, whatever the timer says.
It's simply a beautiful watch you'll enjoy wearing — step counter, sports activity and workout tracking, and faces to match your day. That matters more than it sounds: armour only works on a wrist it never leaves.
A search box for your own life.
You forget. The watch does not. Ask an ordinary question and it brings the moment back — the clip, the place on the map, and the words that were actually spoken.
“What amount did I commit to in that meeting?”
Jumps straight to the conversation and plays it back — the exact words, the date, and where you were sitting when you said them.
“Where did I leave my keys?”
Finds the last time they were in view of the cameras — and the places you stopped along the way. The picture, the spot and the time.
“How was my last fortnight, really?”
Fifteen days on one timeline: where you went, who you saw, what was said. Your own record, searchable in a sentence.
Four ways to search
Voice
Every word spoken near the watch becomes searchable text.
Sight
Objects, people and places the cameras saw, out to about arm's length. Search by name or by picture.
Place
GPS and indoor position. “Show me everywhere I was on Tuesday.”
Movement
Motion the cameras detect — a fall, a grab, a door, someone coming up behind you.
No other wearable can do this — because no other wearable is already watching, listening and locating all day with the wearer's consent.
Your memory — and only yours.
She searches her own past — what was said, where she was, who was there. Only she can run it. The index is built on the watch and the paired phone — a few megabytes a day, no raw video — and encrypted before it ever reaches our cloud. Your question is answered on your own device, against your own index, with your own key. It never leaves your phone, and we cannot run it.
It never records in secret.
Whenever the sealed cloud box is recording, a small red LED blinks beside the front camera. Anyone nearby can see it. That is a regulatory requirement for camera wearables — and the right thing to do regardless. No hidden lens, no silent recording, ever.
The light tells everyone
that the watch is recording right now.
Nobody can look later
Not your family, not your nominees, not us. You choose when the box records and you hold the only key — the light is the only thing anyone else ever sees.
One watch. Two very different jobs.
Almost every safety product is sold for the stranger in the car park. Most of what actually happens to women is the other one — and it needs something else entirely from a watch. This one does both, but not in the same way, and it is worth being clear about which is which.
A stranger · no warning
He does not talk first.
An ambush gives you no moment to announce anything, so nothing you say is part of what protects you. We will not pretend otherwise. What the watch does here it does without you:
- Keeps capturing through a struggle. The sensors freeze the whole frame at once, so a thrashing arm gives usable pictures instead of smears.
- Sends every frame off your wrist as it happens. Taking the watch from you takes nothing away.
- Records build, clothing, the way he moves, which way he left, the time, the place — and whatever the street heard.
This is the case where the watch cannot talk him out of it. What it can do is make sure the next morning is not your word against nothing.
Someone you already know
You can already name him.
The colleague, the neighbour, the ex. Nobody needs to work out who he is — you know, and so does everyone you have told. What has been missing is proof of what he does, and this is where the watch is at its strongest:
- Your own voice, on the record, telling him to stop. That single sentence ends the argument that it was mutual, or that you never minded.
- What he did after you said it — that he came closer, blocked the door, stayed — timestamped, in frames.
- The same thing on Tuesday, and the Tuesday after. A pattern is what a harassment or stalking case actually turns on, and a pattern is the one thing memory is worst at holding.
- A record he cannot reach, cannot delete, and cannot pressure you into deleting — because you could not delete it for him even if he made you want to.
This is where a watch genuinely stops something. He has a name, a job and a reputation, and he is the one who now has something to lose.
Undeniable. Timestamped. Court-ready.
What this does not do
It does not identify anyone. A person does that, afterwards.
There is no face recognition in this product. Nothing is matched against a database and the watch never decides who anyone is — it captures and seals what was in front of it. Whether a face in that recording is recognisable is a judgement for you, for an investigating officer and ultimately for a court, and we would rather it stayed there than have software make the claim on their behalf.
Distance is the real limit, and it is worth stating plainly: a few metres away, at night, with your arm moving, the picture shows that a person was there, how they moved and how close they came — not who. What makes a wrist camera worth wearing anyway is that an assault is not committed at a few metres. To do anything to you he has to come inside arm's reach, and that is where the lens is looking. Any wearable claiming to identify a stranger across a street is selling you a promise the physics will not keep.
What it does instead is make the record impossible to destroy, impossible to alter, and possible for anyone to verify without trusting us. We never promise 24/7 protection or guaranteed rescue either — no honest product can, and watches come off. Whether evidence is admitted always turns on the facts of a case. So what we promise is narrower, and unbreakable: whatever the watch witnessed is undeniable.
What she actually does.
In two of these three, nothing bad happens. That is the product working — not the product going unused.
Late cab · wrong turn
The route stops matching the map. She says nothing for five seconds — hand down, holding the button. Only then does she speak: it is on, it has already gone, and there is nothing left on this wrist to take. He can see seven lenses and a light on her wrist. The route corrects itself.
Nothing happened — the winWork · the colleague who is “only joking”
Months of small things, each deniable on its own, none of them witnessed. What she never had was something anyone would accept. Now each one is sealed at the moment it happened, so it cannot be waved away as edited or reconstructed afterwards.
A complaint that stands upWalking home · followed
The people she chose get a live view, her location, and the hour leading up to it — while it is still happening. She doesn't unlock anything, doesn't type, doesn't explain. And if the watch is taken, what it saw is already gone from it.
Help arrives knowing what it is walking intoNowhere do we promise you will be safe, or that help will arrive. We promise a deterrent and a record — the two things a watch can actually deliver.
Armour, not alarm
To you
“A beautiful watch with a sealed cloud box. Nobody sees your life unless you decide otherwise — not your family, not us. But anything done to you becomes undeniable, timestamped, court-ready. Wear the proof.”
The old way, and ours
“Every safety gadget before this sold rescue — and asked women to wear their own fear. This is the first that sells proof. Armour, not alarm.”
The message that deters
“It's already uploaded.”
Your life. Your key. Your proof.
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