BMW didn’t need the Skytop.

That’s what made it matter.

It wasn’t the fastest BMW ever built. It wasn’t the most technologically advanced. It wasn’t practical, affordable, or scalable. What it was, however, was a half-million-euro admission that someone in Munich still knows what a dream looks like.

A two-seat, open-top grand tourer with a removable hardtop you can stash in the trunk is the kind of idea accountants normally murder before lunch. But BMW built it anyway—50 hand-assembled cars at €500,000 each—and every one of them sold. The Skytop didn’t just prove there was money in ultra-low-volume exotica. It proved BMW’s board was finally willing to say yes to Adrian van Hooydonk’s sketchbook after years of politely saying no.

Then came the Speedtop, and the message got even louder.

Seventy units. Same price. Same glorious twin-turbo V8. But now the body was a shooting brake—one of the rarest, most style-driven silhouettes in the entire automotive world, and one BMW had never dared to put into production before. With its long, sweeping roofline dropping into a muscular rear haunch, the Speedtop looked like something a 1960s Italian coachbuilder might have dreamed up after a very good lunch.

Inside, BMW took what the Skytop started and went further. Better materials. More craftsmanship. Less “concept car” and more “bespoke luxury object.” Both cars run the M8’s S63 V8, which feels like a miracle in an industry currently obsessed with turning everything into a rolling battery pack.

So now the question isn’t whether BMW will keep going. Of course it will. These things sold out before most people even knew they existed.

The real question is: what should come next?

Not another open-top. Not another limited-run shooting brake. The logical next step is sitting right there, practically begging to be built.

BMW needs a grand touring coupe.

Not an M car. Not a Nürburgring hero. A proper, front-engine, long-hooded, two-door luxury GT—something that can roll up to a five-star hotel in Monaco looking like it owns the place, then rip across the Alps without breaking a sweat. The territory occupied by cars like the Bentley Continental GT, Aston Martin DB12, and Ferrari Roma.

BMW has never truly played there.

And BMW, by itself, probably still shouldn’t. A €500,000 BMW coupe sounds absurd—until you remember that BMW doesn’t stand alone anymore.

It owns ALPINA.

And ALPINA changes everything.

ALPINA has always been BMW’s parallel universe. Where M is about lap times, aggression, and tire smoke, ALPINA is about refinement, distance, and dignity. Their engines are tuned for smooth, effortless thrust instead of top-end drama. Their suspensions are built for autobahn hours, not track-day heroics. Their interiors have long been among the best in the business, with leather quality that can embarrass brands twice the price.

So imagine a bespoke, ultra-low-volume ALPINA grand touring coupe built on the same philosophical foundation as Skytop and Speedtop.

Picture a long-hooded, fastback GT with proportions that feel timeless rather than trendy. Elegant but muscular. Athletic without being aggressive. The ALPINA cues would be subtle and confident: forged multi-spoke wheels, a heritage paint color exclusive to the model, ALPINA lettering integrated into the design instead of slapped on as a decal.

Under the hood, the S68 twin-turbo V8 would get the full ALPINA treatment. Not necessarily more power—just better power. More linear. More cultured. A torque curve that feels like it was designed for crossing countries, not chasing lap records. The exhaust would be deep and rich, not loud and juvenile.

And the cabin? That’s where ALPINA would really earn its keep.

Think full-grain leather everywhere your eyes and hands go. Hand-finished details. The brogue-style stitching BMW introduced with Skytop finally living in a space where it makes complete sense. Open-pore wood, brushed aluminum, or whatever material a half-million-euro customer feels like specifying that day.

This is the crucial part: the price would make sense.

BMW has already proven it can sell €500,000 cars with roundels on the hood. Add ALPINA’s brand equity, and suddenly that number feels not just justified, but expected. ALPINA buyers are used to paying more for subtlety, craftsmanship, and a different kind of performance.

Build 50 to 70 of them. Sell them by invitation. Keep the exclusivity intact.

And just like that, BMW’s luxury architecture snaps into place. Rolls-Royce sits at the top, offering chauffeur-driven opulence. ALPINA becomes the driver’s alternative: sporting, elegant, and deeply luxurious without being ostentatious.

The Skytop proved BMW could do this.
The Speedtop proved it wasn’t a fluke.

An ALPINA grand touring coupe would prove BMW understands what it has unlocked.

And if you think Adrian van Hooydonk’s design team hasn’t already sketched it, you haven’t been paying attention. Some ideas are simply too good to stay in the notebook forever.

Source: BMW

When BMW unveiled the Skytop Concept back in 2024, most of us assumed it was one of those beautifully bonkers ideas destined for the design archive—like a wearable kidney grille or a six-wheeled iX. It looked sensational, of course, but production? Not a chance. And yet, in a rare case of Munich losing its collective mind in the best possible way, BMW decided to actually build it.

Just 50 examples, they said. Each one to cost upwards of €500,000, they said. And then — poof! — all fifty were gone before you could even say Verkaufsabteilung. The entire run was reserved “at the speed of light,” which is the sort of phrase that makes PR people sweat but accountants grin.

And now, a year later, deliveries have begun. The first lucky customer? None other than Italian racer and serial supercar hoarder Andrea Levy, who picked up his glittering new toy at BMW Welt — the Bavarian equivalent of a Wonka factory for grown-up petrolheads.

A Familiar Beast in Designer Clothing

Underneath, the Skytop is essentially an M8 Competition that’s gone through an haute couture makeover. Same chassis, same 4.4-litre twin-turbocharged V8 with 626 horsepower, same eight-speed Steptronic gearbox, same xDrive all-wheel drive system. In other words, it’s as fast and furious as ever: 0–100 km/h in 3.3 seconds.

But that’s about where the similarities end. The Skytop trades the M8’s coupe roof for a targa-style setup, featuring two removable leather-clad panels that turn the whole affair into a sun-drenched grand tourer for the Riviera set. The car is drenched in silver paint, matched with jewel-like, multi-spoke wheels, while the interior—swathed in brown-red leather—looks like it was upholstered by Hermes on a good day.

It’s a masterclass in restraint and excess all at once: elegant, decadent, and just a little bit mad.

Half a Million Euro Question

Of course, half a million euros is a lot of money for what is, technically, a re-bodied M8. You could buy two M8s, a villa in Tuscany, and still have cash left over for a vintage Z8 to park beside them. But that’s missing the point.

The Skytop isn’t about rationality. It’s about craftsmanship, rarity, and that intangible aura of want. It’s the sort of car BMW builds to remind people that it still can — that behind all the i4s, hybrid SUVs, and software subscriptions, there’s still a pulse of old-school, V8-powered lunacy beating in Bavaria.

And Then Came the Speedtop

As if the Skytop weren’t enough of a collector’s fever dream, BMW doubled down a year later with the Speedtop — a sleek, shooting brake variant limited to just 70 units. Think of it as the Skytop for people who want to bring along luggage, a Labrador, or perhaps a slightly less indulgent conscience.

The BMW Skytop is the sort of machine that reminds us why we fell in love with cars in the first place. It’s extravagant, irrational, and completely unnecessary — which, ironically, makes it utterly essential.

It’s also proof that sometimes, when a carmaker decides to go off-script, magic happens.

Source: BMW