Ferrari has finally done it. After years of denying, deflecting, and insisting it would never build an SUV—no, no, a “utility vehicle,” certainly not an SUV—it has delivered the Purosangue. And with it, Ferrari has completed its transformation from myth to brand strategy.
Let’s be clear: the Purosangue is an engineering marvel. A naturally aspirated V12. A chassis tuned within an inch of obsession. Performance figures that embarrass cars with half the doors and twice the ego.
On paper, it’s extraordinary.
That’s precisely the problem.
Ferrari didn’t lose its soul because it built something bad. Ferrari lost its soul because it built something perfect that should never have existed.
Ferrari Was Never About Practicality
Ferrari is supposed to be inconvenient. Slightly uncomfortable. Unreasonable. A Ferrari is meant to punish you just enough to remind you that driving is not about ease, but about desire.
You don’t buy a Ferrari because it fits your lifestyle; you buy it because you’re willing to bend your life around it.
An SUV does the opposite. It adapts. It accommodates. It says “yes” to things Ferrari has historically said “no” to: children, luggage, speed bumps, dignity in parking garages.
The Purosangue claims to be a Ferrari that can do it all. And that alone disqualifies it.
“But It’s Not an SUV”
Ferrari insists the Purosangue isn’t an SUV. It’s a “four-door, four-seat sports car.” This is linguistic gymnastics worthy of an Olympic medal.
Call it what you like—it’s tall, heavy, practical, and aimed squarely at buyers who want Ferrari drama without Ferrari sacrifice.
This isn’t a car for people who dreamed of Ferraris as kids. It’s a car for people who dreamed of status.
The Inevitable, Profitable Betrayal
Yes, Lamborghini did it first. Porsche did it earlier. Even Aston Martin caved. The SUV is the modern cash machine: high margins, high demand, low risk.
Shareholders love it. Accountants adore it. Dealers can’t keep them in stock.
But Ferrari was supposed to be better than that.
Ferrari’s power was never volume—it was restraint. The idea that not everyone could have one. That some lines would never be crossed.
The Purosangue proves that every line has a price. And apparently, that price comes with rear doors.
A Great Car, A Terrible Ferrari
Here’s the most uncomfortable truth: the Purosangue is probably fantastic to drive. It will outsprint, out-handle, and outclass almost anything in its category.
Reviewers will gush. Owners will brag. Sales will soar.
And yet, it remains an abomination.
Because Ferrari didn’t fail by building a bad SUV. Ferrari failed by building an SUV at all.
Some things should remain sacred. Some brands should know when to say no.
Ferrari used to. Now it just says “order book open.”