It's Here - But Is It Really a Ferrari?

What do you get when you add some ground clearance and reclining rear seats to a Prancing Horse? Something unexpected and exceptional. Just don't call it an SUV.

- Josh Condon

THE THING TO remember about Ferrari is that it marches, firmly and unfailingly, to the beat of its own batterista. At least that’s the story it likes to tell, and if you happen to suggest otherwise, then someone with a fashionable haircut will, firmly and unfailingly, try to steer you back on course. Ferrari, you understand, is utterly immune to what other, lesser brands are up to; its vehicles are never born of anything so pedestrian as demand.

So how to explain its first SUV, the Purosangue? (Say it like the Italians do: poo-roh-SAN-gway.) First, don’t call it an SUV. Ferrari certainly won’t, which at first seems like the carmaker stubbornly refusing to admit it has been knuckled into producing what it has long considered an aesthetically, philosophically, perhaps even morally compromised class of vehicle. In fact, it’s a welcome dose of exactitude in an automotive world suddenly gone fuzzy and weird.

Not too long ago, ‘SUV’ meant something specific—truck-based, body-on-frame—that the Purosangue decidedly isn’t. Actually, this 2+2 fastback is technically a crossover (not that Ferrari’s in a rush to claim that term, either). This minor linguistic glissade reflects the accelerated evolution of the modern automobile, with all its wild new mutations. And since cars no longer slot into a few neat categories, who’s to say we shouldn’t want a Ferrari with four full-sized seats and some ride height? Especially if it comes with a howling, naturally aspirated 725hp V12.