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When Lamborghini Loses the Roof, It Finds Its Soul

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There are convertibles, and then there are Lamborghinis that simply forgot the concept of a roof altogether. The difference isn’t semantic—it’s philosophical. When Lamborghini builds an open-top V12 machine, it’s not chasing sunlight and scenery. It’s chasing sensation—the kind that pins your spine to carbon fiber while a twelve-cylinder orchestra detonates inches behind your skull.

From the tail-happy theater of the Lamborghini Diablo Roadster to the operatic violence of the Lamborghini Aventador Roadster, Sant’Agata’s open-air lineage has always been about excess turned experiential. But if those cars are wild, the brand’s “Few Off” roadsters are something else entirely—machines that feel less like production cars and more like rolling declarations of technical dominance.

These are not convertibles in the traditional sense. They are rarefied objects—built in numbers so small they border on myth—where engineering ambition, design extremism, and raw performance converge without apology. They don’t just deliver speed; they deliver an event.

The DNA traces back further than you might expect. In 1968, the Lamborghini Miura Roadster—a one-off interpretation by Bertone—hinted at what could happen when Lamborghini loosened its own rules. It wasn’t just a roofless Miura; it was a statement that even the company’s most sacred forms weren’t beyond reinvention.

That idea simmered for decades before erupting into something far more aggressive. Enter the Lamborghini Reventón Roadster, the car that effectively launched the Few Off roadster bloodline. Limited to just 15 examples, it looked less like a car and more like it had been cleared for takeoff. Fighter-jet-inspired surfaces, razor edges, and a 6.5-liter V12 producing 650 horsepower made it brutally fast—0–100 km/h in 3.4 seconds, with a top end north of 340 km/h. More importantly, it introduced Lamborghini’s first fully digital instrument cluster, proving that theatrics and technology could coexist.

If the Reventón was dramatic, the Lamborghini Veneno Roadster was unhinged. Built to celebrate Lamborghini’s 50th anniversary (in coupé form), the roadster variant took the concept of aerodynamics and turned it into sculpture. Only nine were made. With 750 horsepower from its naturally aspirated V12, it hit 100 km/h in 2.8 seconds and kept pulling to 355 km/h. Every surface seemed designed by wind tunnel and imagination in equal measure—massive wings, exposed aero elements, and carbon fiber everywhere, including Lamborghini’s exotic Carbon Skin® interior.

Then came the Lamborghini Centenario Roadster, a centennial tribute to founder Ferruccio Lamborghini. Limited to 20 units, it refined the madness with technology that would later trickle down into more “normal” Lamborghinis. Rear-wheel steering sharpened agility, a touchscreen infotainment system modernized the cabin, and the 770-hp V12 delivered the now-familiar 2.8-second sprint to 100 km/h. It was still outrageous—but now it was also quietly influential.

And then, inevitably, electrification arrived. The Lamborghini Sián Roadster didn’t abandon the V12—it amplified it. Pairing the traditional 6.5-liter engine with a 48-volt electric motor integrated into the gearbox, it produced a combined 819 horsepower. Limited to 19 units, it marked the beginning of Lamborghini’s hybrid era, without dulling any of the brand’s signature brutality.

Across more than six decades—from the Miura Roadster’s experimental spark to the Sián’s electrified fury—these Few Off machines have defined the outer edge of what a supercar can be. They are not designed to be practical, attainable, or even particularly usable. That’s the point.

Because when Lamborghini builds a roofless V12 flagship in single-digit or near-single-digit numbers, it isn’t solving a problem. It’s making a statement: that performance can still be theatrical, that design can still be fearless, and that the experience of driving—wind in your face, V12 at full scream—can still feel like the most important thing in the world.

And in an era increasingly defined by silence and software, that might be the most radical idea of all.

Source: Lamborghini

NEW CARS

Ferrari Tailor Made 12Cilindri

Ferrari’s Tailor Made program has always flirted with excess, but this latest creation—a one-off 12Cilindri developed exclusively for South Korea—doesn’t just push the envelope. It hand-weaves, lacquers, screen-prints, and sonifies it. If most bespoke Ferraris are haute couture, this one is closer to a traveling museum exhibition that just happens to have a naturally aspirated V-12 up front.

Called simply the Tailor Made 12Cilindri, this car is Ferrari at its most self-aware: a brand that knows its engineering is untouchable and therefore feels confident enough to let artists, designers, and cultural curators take the wheel aesthetically. The result is less about horsepower figures and more about storytelling—though the fact that the story is wrapped around one of Ferrari’s most important modern flagships makes it all the more compelling.

The project took nearly two years and spanned three continents. Maranello handled the hard bits, naturally, while COOL HUNTING®—the New York–based design and culture publication—acted as creative conductor. The real stars, however, are the South Korean artists whose work defines nearly every surface of the car. This isn’t a Ferrari with a theme; it’s a Ferrari that is the theme.

Start with the paint. Ferrari calls it Yoonseul, a newly developed transitional finish inspired by a Korean word that describes sunlight shimmering across water. It’s not marketing poetry either. The color genuinely shifts as light moves across the body, flowing from green to violet with blue undertones. One moment it recalls celadon ceramics rooted in Korean history; the next, it feels like neon reflections bouncing off the glass towers of modern Seoul. Ferrari has played with complex paints before, but this one feels unusually alive.

Inside, the collaboration becomes even more ambitious. Textile artist Daehye Jeong, known for her ethereal horsehair weaving, brings traditional Korean craft directly into the cabin. Her patterns appear in a newly developed 3D fabric used on the seats and flooring—the first time Ferrari has employed such a material. The same motif is screen-printed onto the glass roof, turning sunlight into a shifting pattern of shadows. Most striking of all, a handwoven horsehair artwork sits on the dashboard itself. This isn’t trim pretending to be art; it is art, permanently integrated into the car.

Ferrari’s engineers had to work closely with designers and suppliers to make that possible, and it shows. Nothing feels tacked on. The materials respect the car’s architecture, rather than fighting it.

Artist Hyunhee Kim takes over the visual identity. Known for her translucent reinterpretations of traditional Korean objects, she reimagines Ferrari’s most sacred icons—the Prancing Horse, the wheel caps, the Scuderia shields, even the long “Ferrari” nameplate—in a semi-transparent finish. It’s a bold move, and one Ferrari would never attempt on a production car, but here it works. The center tunnel inside carries the same translucent treatment, joined by a hand-crafted dedication plate rendered in traditional calligraphy.

Kim’s contribution even extends to the trunk, where she designed a custom case that doubles as luggage and houses a Ferrari key reworked in her signature visual language. It’s the kind of detail that feels excessive until you remember this is a car likely destined for climate-controlled storage anyway.

White, a color Ferrari usually treats cautiously, becomes a statement thanks to contemporary artist TaeHyun Lee. Drawing from traditional Korean lacquer techniques, Lee inspired a series of elements finished in brilliant white—including the brake calipers and the shift paddles. Yes, white brake calipers on a factory Ferrari are a first, and no, they don’t feel like a gimmick. Against the iridescent bodywork, they read as intentional punctuation marks.

Then there’s sound—visualized. The South Korean duo GRAYCODE (jiiiiin) translated the 12Cilindri’s V-12 soundtrack into a graphical waveform that’s subtly rendered across the bodywork using a darker variation of the same transitional paint. It’s a literal expression of the engine’s voice, frozen in motion, and it might be the most Ferrari idea of all: turning mechanical noise into visual drama.

What makes this Tailor Made 12Cilindri remarkable isn’t just the craftsmanship or the novelty of its materials. It’s Ferrari’s willingness to step back and let external creative voices reshape its most recognizable symbols. The company didn’t dilute its identity in the process—it reinforced it. This car still looks unmistakably like a Ferrari. It just happens to speak fluent Korean design language while doing so.

No price has been announced, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. This 12Cilindri isn’t about cost or collectability. It’s about Ferrari demonstrating that personalization, when taken seriously, can move beyond color palettes and stitching samples into something closer to cultural dialogue.

In a world where “bespoke” often means little more than a new shade of red, Ferrari just built a rolling argument for why craftsmanship, art, and engineering still belong in the same sentence. And yes, it still has a V-12. Some traditions are simply non-negotiable.

Source: Ferrari

NEW CARS

Apollo Evo: A Track-Only V12 Hypercar That Makes Subtlety a Casualty

Three years is an eternity in the hypercar world, but Apollo would argue the wait was the point. After first surfacing as a prototype, the Apollo Evo has finally emerged in production form—and it hasn’t mellowed with age. If anything, it’s gone further off the deep end. Limited to just 10 examples and designed strictly for the racetrack, the Evo is the logical, louder continuation of the already unhinged Intensa Emozione. The first customer car is now under construction, and the message is clear: this thing was never meant to blend in.

Freed from the burden of road legality, Apollo has designed the Evo with a singular focus on performance and spectacle. The result is a car that makes even the most extroverted creations from Pagani or Koenigsegg look almost conservative. This is not a machine interested in compromise—or subtlety.

At its core sits a carbon-fiber monocoque that tips the scales at just 165 kilograms (364 pounds). That’s a 10 percent weight reduction over the IE’s already feathery structure, while stiffness has increased by 15 percent. Apollo doesn’t just talk about weight savings in marketing terms—it engineers them into the foundation of the car.

Drape that tub in bodywork and the Evo’s intent becomes impossible to miss. Sharp LED lighting slices into the front and rear, while a towering roof scoop feeds air into the mechanical madness below. Out back, a massive diffuser and an active rear wing dominate the view. That wing isn’t just for show, either: Apollo claims it can generate a staggering 1,300 kilograms (2,866 pounds) of downforce at 320 km/h (200 mph). At that point, the Evo is theoretically capable of producing more downforce than its own curb weight—a stat that neatly sums up how far removed this car is from reality as most drivers know it.

The interior is no refuge from the insanity. Apollo has stripped away anything that doesn’t serve a direct function, exposing the car’s structural and mechanical elements rather than hiding them behind leather and trim. The dashboard itself doubles as a structural beam, and the control layout follows a logic dictated by track use, not convenience. This isn’t minimalism for aesthetic reasons—it’s functional brutality. The Evo doesn’t want to coddle its driver; it wants to involve them.

Then there’s the engine, and it’s the reason purists will pay attention. In an era increasingly dominated by turbochargers, hybrid systems, and silent electric propulsion, the Evo proudly sticks with a naturally aspirated 6.3-liter V12. Derived from Ferrari’s F140 engine family—the same lineage that powered cars like the F12 Berlinetta—it revs to 8,500 rpm and produces 800 horsepower and 564 lb-ft of torque (765 Nm). No turbo lag, no battery assistance—just displacement, revs, and noise.

Power is sent exclusively to the rear wheels through a six-speed sequential gearbox, reinforcing the Evo’s old-school, driver-first ethos. There’s no mention of all-wheel drive, torque vectoring, or electronic trickery designed to make things easier. The assumption here is that if you’re buying an Apollo Evo, you already know what you’re doing—or you’re willing to learn the hard way.

The rolling stock matches the aggression. Forged wheels measure 20 inches up front and 21 inches at the rear, wrapped in Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 R tires—the kind of rubber you choose when longevity is irrelevant and grip is everything. Combined with the Evo’s low mass, the numbers get serious quickly.

Despite its dramatic aero and V12 soundtrack, the Evo weighs just 1,300 kilograms (2,866 pounds). That power-to-weight ratio helps launch it to 100 km/h (62 mph) in just 2.7 seconds, with a claimed top speed of 335 km/h (208 mph). Those figures put it squarely in modern hypercar territory, but the way it gets there—naturally aspirated, rear-wheel drive, sequential gearbox—feels increasingly rare.

As exclusive as the hardware is, Apollo is pushing individuality even further. Every Evo will be a one-off, with each owner choosing their own combination of materials and finishes. Pricing starts at €3 million (about $3.5 million) before taxes, and first deliveries are expected in the first half of this year.

The Apollo Evo isn’t trying to be the future of performance cars. It’s a defiant celebration of excess, noise, and mechanical purity—a reminder that sometimes the most exciting answer to modern automotive trends is to ignore them entirely.

Source: AutoExpress