Lewis Hamilton embodies the Ferrari dream
The shot is iconic, set to echo through time as a totem of power. Lewis Hamilton, a picture of sartorial elegance, clad in a crisp black suit, looms outside the baroque Maranello headquarters of Scuderia Ferrari. A vintage F40, in classic red, lurks to one side, while the seven-time world champion stands proudly, with a smouldering gaze of determination, beckoning the crowning chapter of his remarkable odyssey.
“There are some days that you know you’ll remember forever, and today, my first as a Ferrari driver, is one of those days,” Hamilton wrote on Instagram, where the photo received 5.5 million likes. “I’ve been lucky enough to have achieved things in my career I never thought possible, but part of me has always held on to that dream of racing in red. I couldn’t be happier to realise that dream today.”
The photo captures a feeling, a miasma, an enchanted ideal. With aura and atmosphere, it tells a commanding truth: that Lewis Hamilton, one of the greatest F1 drivers who ever lived, embodies the Ferrari dream.
That dream orbits excellence – an unceasing quest for supremacy laced with style and sophistication.
That dream commands awe – a magical magnetism luring the elite.
That dream is one I, too, have always harboured, despite never being the biggest F1 fan.
Indeed, when it comes to cars, I’m an ignorant buffoon. I never watched Top Gear. I loathe oily hands. And my wife usually fills up the washer fluid after I let it run dry for weeks on end. Perhaps understandably, then, I have never quite ‘got’ F1, either. Grand prix success seems more related to technology and engineering than skill and daring, while esoteric concepts like tyre degradation and DRS break my brain. All the drivers should have the same car, I regularly tell bemused petrolheads, so we can truly differentiate talent. That, apparently, is an absurd suggestion, but it seems logical to me, nevertheless.
Still, Ferrari has always mesmerised me – even from afar. Like the Yomiuri Giants or Boca Juniors, it is one of those far-flung institutions I subconsciously revere despite seeming day-to-day indifference. I experienced the timeless hegemony of Michael Schumacher as a kid, and the monolithic majesty of his darting red arrow proved epochal.
In my mind, Ferrari has always been the standard bearer for greatness – in sport, but also in haute couture, rubbing shoulders with Real Madrid and Gucci, the Dallas Cowboys and Armani, the New York Yankees and Prada. Even to me, a self-confessed car noob, there is something tantalising about Ferrari. It is the automotive pinnacle. You can keep your Bugattis, Lamborghinis, Bentleys and Porsches. They do not move the needle for me. But Ferrari? Ferrari stands alone, a cut above the rest.
Articulating the quintessence of a brand can be incredibly difficult, like trying to hug a hippo or catch a slippery eel. However, an enchanted, beguiling contradiction clearly lies at the heart of Ferrari’s eminence – exuberance hewn from austerity, grandeur born of discernment. Scarcity and exclusivity moderate the mystique, which has a svelte penchant for self-renewal.
There is also a suave Italian reticence to the Ferrari milieu – a judgemental distrust of the cheap, garish and mass-produced. Ferrari is a thinking man’s idyll, transforming cerebral contemplation into an unspoken status symbol. Ferrari is a fine wine, a Swiss watch, a rich espresso. Ferrari is a leather wallet, a dapper aftershave, a Cuban cigar. Ferrari is an accoutrement of luxury, and its ambiance informs a lifestyle.
That lifestyle is imbued with the passion, hunger and obsession of Enzo Ferrari, the eponymous patriarch who established the team in 1929. Triumph on the track encouraged sales in the showroom, as adoring aficionados sought to buy – and emulate – the attendant prestige. Those values are woven into the brand, sacred fibres in a tapestry of velvet, cashmere and silk.
Ferrari appeals to a certain refined palette, and its steadfast refusal to be anything else – to mutate, bastardise and dilute its essence in pursuit of mainstream penetration – makes it aspirational. And it is that aspiration – that demand not only to win, but to win with class – which wooed Hamilton, the most celebrated driver of his generation.
As a British sports fan, and a Ferrari admirer, the synergy has really piqued my curiosity. In a patriotic sense, it is redolent of David Beckham becoming a Galactico, while the general optics of ‘the most powerful team signing the best available talent’ echoes Mbappé-to-Real, LeBron-to-the-Lakers and Deion-to-Dallas. By landing Hamilton, Ferrari also honours its heritage of importing world champions, from Sebastian Vettel and Fernando Alonso to Schumacher, Alain Prost and Nigel Mansell.
Of course, Vettel and Alonso failed to repeat their championship ways in red. In fact, Kimi Räikkönen was the last Ferrari man to win the drivers’ championship, in 2007, while the constructors’ title has not returned to Maranello since 2008. Intriguingly, such droughts are broadly similar to those endured by other juggernauts referenced in this ode, particularly the Yankees and Cowboys. History and tradition only get you so far in modern sports, and innovation is needed to maintain a competitive edge.
To that end, F1 has largely been dominated by two teams since Schumacher retired: Red Bull and Mercedes. Fifteen seasons have passed since any other manufacturer harnessed a championship driver. And that, strangely, makes Hamilton something of an underdog heading in 2025. I’m keen to see how that unfolds.
Most oddsmakers project a second-row finish for Hamilton this year. As such, the move, and the mission to restore that Ferrari sheen, may seem quixotic. But to a certain extent, the Ferrari dream is not even about wins and trophies. Glory greases the poetry, sure, but there is an ineffable allure that persists regardless. It is the prancing horse, the adoring tifosi, the majestic Maranello. Motorsport offers no greater stage.
By Hamilton’s own admission, even as he raced at his zenith with Mercedes, there was always part of him that yearned to grace that stage. There was always a small part of him that deferred to Schumacher, whose mercurial brilliance he mimicked on the go-kart tracks of yore. Now, Lewis gets the chance to tread in Michael’s footsteps, and to break the record they currently share for the most world titles ever.
“Today, we start a new era in the history of this iconic team,” Hamilton wrote on Instagram. “I can’t wait to see what story we will write together.”
Touché, Lewis. Touché.
And I will come along for the ride – even as an F1 novice.