News

Audi revealed the interior of the Q9

There’s a certain expectation that comes with a new Audi flagship. Usually, it arrives wrapped around horsepower figures, Nürburgring lap times, or some fresh interpretation of “Vorsprung durch Technik.” But the upcoming Audi Q9 appears ready to redefine the brand’s idea of progress altogether.

Because while Audi hasn’t yet revealed the powertrain lineup for its first full-size SUV, it’s already made one thing abundantly clear: the Q9 isn’t being sold as a performance machine. It’s being sold as a place to be.

And honestly? That may be the smartest luxury-car decision Audi has made in years.

The Q9 enters a segment dominated by rolling fortresses like the Range Rover, BMW X7, and Mercedes-Benz GLS-Class—vehicles that long ago realized wealthy buyers care just as much about atmosphere as acceleration. Audi’s answer is a three-row SUV that treats its interior less like a cockpit and more like a high-end lounge.

That starts with sheer space. Audi is offering the Q9 with either six or seven seats, but the real showpiece is the optional business-class-style middle row. Instead of a bench, buyers can spec two individual power-adjustable captain’s chairs with ventilation built directly into both the cushion and backrest. It’s the sort of feature that sounds suspiciously unnecessary until you experience it during a six-hour motorway haul.

Even the front seats lean harder into comfort than aggression. Sure, Audi still calls them “sports seats plus,” but they come equipped with massage and ventilation functions designed more for decompressing than corner carving. The message is subtle but unmistakable: this is an SUV for devouring continents, not apexes.

The Q9’s cabin tech also feels notably different from Audi’s recent obsession with screen count. Instead of overwhelming occupants with digital clutter, the focus here is sensory immersion. The updated Bang & Olufsen 4D sound system doesn’t just play music—it attempts to physically involve you in it. Seat-mounted actuators allow occupants to literally feel bass and rhythm through the seats themselves, while Audi’s Interaction Light stretches across the dashboard and syncs ambient lighting effects to whatever track is playing.

It could’ve sounded gimmicky. Instead, it sounds like Audi finally understands what modern luxury buyers actually want: mood.

Then there are the doors. Yes, really.

For the first time in an Audi, every door is electrically powered. Open them through the key fob, the infotainment system, the brake pedal, or even the seatbelt buckle. It’s a feature that initially sounds like peak overengineering until you consider the audience. Parents juggling strollers, executives climbing out in tight parking garages, or anyone carrying enough shopping bags to qualify as a logistics operation may suddenly find themselves wondering why every luxury SUV doesn’t work this way.

More importantly, Audi built genuine functionality into the system. Surround sensors can stop a door from opening into obstacles—or even detect approaching cyclists. It’s luxury tech with an actual purpose beyond showroom theatrics.

The panoramic roof continues that philosophy. Measuring roughly 1.5 square meters, it uses switchable transparency technology that allows individual sections of the glass to turn opaque at the touch of a button. No traditional sunshade necessary. It blocks UV rays, reflects infrared heat, and automatically frosts itself when parked to prevent outsiders from peering in. In upper trims, integrated LED lighting turns the roof itself into part of the ambient lighting system.

And while the Q9 clearly aims for technological sophistication, Audi wisely avoids turning the interior into a cold science experiment. Materials matter here. Wool upholstery blended with alpaca fibers, Dinamica microfiber, open-pore wood trim, matte finishes, and carefully coordinated color palettes suggest Audi designers spent more time studying boutique hotels than consumer electronics.

That restraint may end up being the Q9’s greatest strength.

Luxury interiors across the industry have increasingly become exercises in visual overload—giant displays, piano-black fingerprints, and enough RGB lighting to resemble a gaming PC. The Q9 sounds refreshingly calmer. Audi describes the cabin as a “sanctuary,” which is admittedly the sort of corporate language usually reserved for wellness retreats and overpriced spas. Yet the details suggest the company might actually mean it.

Of course, Audi still hasn’t shown us everything. Powertrains, chassis specifications, and performance figures remain under wraps ahead of the Q9’s official debut in Summer 2026. But maybe that’s fitting. For once, the numbers feel secondary.

The real story of the Q9 isn’t what happens when you floor it.

It’s what happens when you close the door.

Source: Audi

Story

Meet Veyron 5.1, the Prototype That Invented the Hypercar Era

There are Bugatti Veyrons, and then there’s Chassis 5.1—the prototype that helped invent the modern hypercar before the world even knew what one was.

Long before wealthy collectors queued for delivery slots and YouTube algorithms turned 253-mph runs into digital folklore, Bugatti was still trying to answer a terrifyingly simple question: could a 1,001-horsepower, quad-turbocharged W-16 grand tourer actually work in the real world? Chassis 5.1 was one of the cars tasked with finding out.

Now, two decades later, the once-shadowy development mule has emerged from Bugatti’s archives through the company’s La Maison Pur Sang certification program, culminating in a public appearance at the 2026 Concorso d’Eleganza Villa d’Este. And if the Veyron is the car that changed the trajectory of performance engineering forever, 5.1 is one of the machines that made that revolution possible.

At first glance, it might look like just another early Veyron. But this is no ordinary pre-production relic parked under velvet ropes for nostalgic effect. Chassis 5.1 is one of only six pre-series Veyrons built before customer production began—a rolling laboratory developed during the most audacious engineering program the automotive world had ever seen.

Back in the early 2000s, the Veyron wasn’t merely ambitious; it bordered on absurd. Volkswagen Group chairman Ferdinand Piëch demanded a road car capable of 400 km/h, wrapped in uncompromising luxury, and durable enough to survive traffic jams afterward. In today’s EV-hypercar era, outrageous numbers are everywhere. In 2005, they sounded like science fiction.

Which is precisely why cars like 5.1 mattered.

This particular Veyron lived the hard life before customer cars ever reached showroom floors. It endured punishing high-speed testing on Nevada’s salt flats, where engineers subjected the drivetrain, cooling systems, and aerodynamics to brutal desert conditions. Temperatures climbed, mechanical stress intensified, and the W-16’s unimaginable torque threatened to expose weaknesses no production car had ever needed to confront before.

Among the engineers overseeing the program was Dr. Wolfgang Schreiber, the technical mastermind who helped develop the Veyron’s seven-speed dual-clutch gearbox—an engineering achievement arguably as impressive as the engine itself. At the time, no transmission had ever been asked to reliably manage that much power in a road car. The Veyron didn’t just need to go fast; it needed to survive doing it repeatedly.

And somehow, it did.

By September 2005, Chassis 5.1 had evolved from development prototype into rolling ambassador. Registered in Germany and no longer confined to test facilities, it headed to Sicily for the Veyron 16.4’s first major international dynamic event. There, customers and journalists experienced the car not as an engineering exercise, but as a fully formed statement of intent.

Those Sicilian drives would become part of Bugatti mythology. Photographs of Ferdinand Piëch riding inside 5.1 captured something larger than a press event: the realization of an obsession that many thought impossible. The Veyron wasn’t simply faster than everything else—it fundamentally reset the boundaries of what a production car could be.

And Chassis 5.1 was right at the center of it.

Like many development cars, 5.1 never stayed static for long. Over the following years, Bugatti continuously evolved its configuration as the company refined the Veyron into its final production identity. Interiors changed. Engine-bay finishes were revised. The car migrated from Europe to North America, appearing at Pebble Beach, The Quail, and private client events as Bugatti carefully introduced the world to its technological moonshot.

But unlike pampered concours queens that spend their lives preserved in climate-controlled garages, 5.1 accumulated real mileage—more than 21,000 kilometers by 2007. Inspection records and recalibration logs from Bugatti Greenwich reveal a machine that genuinely worked for a living. This wasn’t a static prototype assembled for auto-show duty. It was used relentlessly in pursuit of perfection.

That history is exactly what makes the car fascinating today.

Rather than restoring away its past, Bugatti’s La Maison Pur Sang division has chosen to document and authenticate it with forensic precision. The program—part certification service, part historical archaeology—traces each significant Bugatti’s life through factory records, photography, engineering documentation, and physical inspection. In the case of 5.1, that process uncovered the full scope of a car whose importance had remained buried in internal archives for years.

The result is something far more compelling than a restored supercar. Chassis 5.1 is effectively a living development archive—a machine carrying the fingerprints of engineers, executives, test drivers, and technicians who collectively created the hypercar era.

Its appearance at Villa d’Este 2026 feels especially fitting. In the company of icons like the Bugatti EB110 GT and prewar masterpieces such as the Bugatti Type 57C Aravis, the Veyron represents a pivotal turning point in Bugatti history: the moment the company stopped reviving old legends and started creating entirely new ones.

Today, the Veyron’s achievements can almost feel normalized. We live in a world where 1,000 horsepower no longer guarantees headlines and 250 mph is merely a benchmark to surpass. But Chassis 5.1 serves as a reminder of how impossible the Veyron once seemed—and how much experimentation, risk, and sheer engineering stubbornness it took to bring that impossible vision to life.

Before the Veyron became a legend, 5.1 was the car helping Bugatti figure out whether the legend could exist at all.

Source: Bugatti

Story

On Ice With the 1,800-HP Bugatti Tourbillon

The Arctic has a way of exposing weakness. At -30 degrees Celsius, with polished ice stretching to the horizon and the sun barely clawing its way above the Swedish treeline, there’s nowhere for engineering shortcuts to hide. Which is exactly why Bugatti hauled its all-new Bugatti Tourbillon prototypes to the frozen proving grounds of Arjeplog.

If the Chiron represented the peak of brute-force excess, the Tourbillon feels like Bugatti attempting something more sophisticated: building a hypercar that doesn’t merely overwhelm physics, but negotiates with it. The company calls this a “new era,” and for once, the marketing department may not be exaggerating.

At the center of the Tourbillon sits one of the most audacious powertrains ever fitted to a road car: a naturally aspirated V16 paired with three electric motors, producing a combined 1,800 horsepower. In an era increasingly defined by turbochargers and silent EVs, the decision to build a screaming atmospheric sixteen-cylinder engine borders on rebellion.

But in northern Sweden, outright horsepower matters less than what the car does with it.

That’s the uncomfortable truth of winter validation. Ice doesn’t care about Nürburgring lap times or top-speed records. On low-grip surfaces, every flaw in calibration becomes immediately obvious. The Tourbillon’s all-wheel-drive system, torque vectoring, regenerative braking, ABS, and electronic stability systems are forced to work together under conditions where grip can disappear in an instant.

And that’s precisely the point.

“We are here to test and develop the Tourbillon in extreme conditions,” explained Miroslav Zrnčević, Bugatti Rimac’s chief development driver. “HVAC, ABS, ESC systems, traction control, and vehicle dynamics in general.”

That may sound routine, but nothing about validating a 1,800-hp hypercar on frozen lakes is routine. Particularly when Bugatti insists the car must behave with the same composure in a blizzard as it would storming down an unrestricted autobahn.

Modern hypercars often chase performance through sheer computational force, burying drivers beneath layers of electronics. The Tourbillon appears to be chasing something subtler: preserving emotional connection while allowing technology to quietly save the day underneath.

That balancing act becomes clearest in the car’s driving modes. Comfort mode prioritizes stability and confidence, taming the V16 hybrid monster into something surprisingly approachable. Sport loosens the leash, shifting the balance toward neutrality and allowing the chassis to rotate more freely. Then comes Track mode, where torque migrates rearward and the car begins to behave less like an all-wheel-drive missile and more like an oversized rally weapon with impeccable tailoring.

Bugatti says the systems remain harmonious even as the car permits greater slip angles and more aggressive responses. Translation: the Tourbillon wants to entertain you, not merely intimidate you.

That matters because Bugatti’s biggest challenge today isn’t building speed. Rimac can do speed. Koenigsegg can do speed. Even heavily electrified luxury sedans now produce absurd acceleration figures. The real challenge is building character in an age where performance is becoming increasingly digitized.

And character is exactly what the Tourbillon seems determined to preserve.

The engineering effort behind that goal borders on obsessive. Bugatti’s winter campaign lasted four weeks, with teams working day and night as temperatures fluctuated and surfaces transformed from polished ice to slush to dry asphalt. The changing conditions allowed engineers to test “MU-jumps,” moments where the car transitions suddenly between dramatically different levels of grip mid-corner or under braking.

For a machine combining regenerative braking with traditional hydraulic systems through brake-by-wire technology, those transitions are critical. The brake pedal can’t feel artificial or unpredictable. In a Bugatti, it has to feel natural, even while an orchestra of computers works invisibly beneath the surface.

There’s also something wonderfully old-school about the entire exercise. While much of the automotive industry leans heavily on simulation, Bugatti still sends engineers into the Arctic wilderness to chase perfection the hard way. Real ice. Real cold. Real risk.

And somewhere in that frozen silence — between the aurora overhead, reindeer crossing the proving grounds, and the howl of a naturally aspirated V16 echoing across a Swedish lake — the Tourbillon begins to make sense.

Because this car isn’t simply replacing the Chiron. It’s attempting to answer a larger question: what should a hypercar feel like in the electrified future?

Bugatti’s answer, at least for now, is reassuringly irrational. A sixteen-cylinder engine. Three electric motors. Enough computing power to rewrite the laws of traction. And an engineering team stubborn enough to spend sleepless Arctic nights making sure all of it feels utterly seamless from behind the wheel.

If that sounds excessive, well, that’s because it is.

And a Bugatti should never be anything less.

Source: Bugatti

Cars and catalogues