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When Ferrari stepped onto the stage with the Purosangue, the room did more than clear — something like a century of assumptions about what a Ferrari could be shifted. The company that once swore never to build a four-door made the Purosangue not as a concession, but as a manifesto: you can have utility without losing the razor-edge of performance. It’s the sort of car that makes purists wince and pragmatists sit up, and that tension is exactly what makes the Purosangue interesting. Ferrari calls it the “thoroughbred” — and it behaves like one: bred for speed, trained for unpredictably good manners.

Start with the headline facts because they matter: the Purosangue is Ferrari’s first production four-door, four-seater, unveiled in September 2022 and built in Maranello. It’s not an SUV in the vulgar sense of the word — Ferrari actively distances the model from the label — but its architecture clearly borrows from the high-riding, roomy segment that buyers now crave. That demographic shift isn’t accidental; Ferrari saw a market where clients wanted the drama of a Prancing Horse but with space for real life. The result is a car that tries to square sports-car DNA with everyday usability.

Under the bonnet is a deliberate, almost defiant choice: a high-revving, naturally aspirated V12. Numbers vary slightly by report and tuning, but you’re looking at roughly 700–725 horsepower from that engine in production form. Ferrari kept the V12 visceral — no hybrid band-aids, no forced induction compromises — and that sound, that throttle response, is at the core of why the Purosangue feels like a Ferrari and not just a fast four-door. That engine choice is a statement: if you want utility, Ferrari says, you can still have poetry under the bonnet.

But the Purosangue is more than a big-engine car with doors. The engineering is where Ferrari’s stubbornness became intriguing creativity. The layout uses a front mid-engine configuration with an all-wheel-drive system adapted. That drivetrain, combined with an advanced eight-speed transmission and electronic trickery — active suspensions, torque vectoring, four-wheel steering — allows the car to dart and tuck in ways conventionally reserved for lower, lighter sports cars. The body control is intentionally sophisticated: Ferrari wanted minimal body roll without transforming the car into a numb, isolationist luxury cruiser. That balance is a delicate thing, and on paper it’s the place where the Purosangue does most of its heavy lifting.

Design-wise, the Purosangue is elegant instead of ostentatious. From the side it reads almost like a grand tourer with grown-up proportions — longer roofline, muscular haunches, and a fastback silhouette that keeps the profile taut. One of the more striking details is the use of coach (rear-hinged) doors at the back: a nod to practicality and theater at once. It gives easier rear-seat access and a touch of cinematic flourish when you open them in a quiet car park. Ferrari’s exterior is careful to avoid the chunky SUV clichés — no oversized grille, no SUV stance — instead it’s a poised, athletic presence that suggests speed even when still.

Inside, Ferrari took a different tack than some rivals that pile on screens and buttons. The cabin is a study in driver-centric ergonomics blended with four-seat luxury. The front seats cocoon the driver in a layout that’s instantly familiar to anyone who’s spent time in a Ferrari: wheel, big rev counter, and everything oriented around the act of driving. But the back seats aren’t an afterthought — they are real seats with real comfort, making the Purosangue a genuinely usable four-seater for long trips. Materials are what you’d expect from Maranello: leather, Alcantara, and trims that feel handcrafted rather than factory-decorated. The juxtaposition of aggressive performance cues and domestic comfort is what makes the Purosangue a hard car to sum up quickly.

Who is this car for? The easy answer: people who want a Ferrari but sometimes need a car that behaves like one you could use daily. That could be a family with money to burn, collectors who want an all-seasons Ferrari, or owners who genuinely need a car that can handle grocery runs and mountain passes in the same afternoon. But there’s also a cultural answer: the Purosangue is Ferrari’s admission that the brand must evolve or become quaint. The automotive market is changing — electrification, shifting buyer tastes, and the premium placed on utility — and Ferrari has chosen to push its engineering into that space on its own terms. Instead of making a bloated SUV with a badge, it made a Ferrari that happens to have four doors. For many buyers, that’s the difference between indulgence and hypocrisy.

Driving impressions — and this is where subjective language matters because raw numbers don’t tell the whole truth — lean heavily on the V12’s character. The engine revs like a piano key: quick, precise, and with harmonics that make the passenger compartment vibrate in a very particular, desirable way. The steering is tuned to deliver feedback more than comfort; it asks for involvement. Even though the Purosangue is heavier than a 488 or a Daytona, the chassis engineering keeps weight feeling well managed rather than oppressive. The electronic systems — designed to keep the car composed — work so well that the Purosangue handles twisting roads with a confidence that surprises. It’s not a sports car that has been softened into an SUV; it’s a GT that can sprint, corner, and cover long distances without fatigue. Reports from journalists who have driven it on mountain roads and track days back that up.

There are tradeoffs, of course. The Purosangue’s size and price put it in a unique and exclusive bracket. Expect a sticker that starts well into six figures — reports put recent model pricing well north of $400,000 in certain markets — and that’s before options. It’s also not an efficient car by modern standards: the V12 is magnificent, but it isn’t kind to fuel economy or emissions calculators. For buyers who demand environmental virtue or low running costs, the Purosangue will be a difficult sell. For the buyer who prioritizes experience and sensation, those costs are part of the calculus.

Compare it to rivals — Lamborghini Urus, Aston Martin DBX, Porsche Cayenne Turbo — and the differences are philosophical as much as technical. The Urus is loud and extroverted; the DBX leans into grand-tourer luxury; the Cayenne blends performance with a more measured practicality. The Purosangue sits closer to the supercar end of the spectrum and refuses to apologize for it. It asks for your attention in a way the others don’t — and for many buyers, that attention is precisely why they bought into the Ferrari legend in the first place. In short: it’s less an attempt to out-SUV the competition and more a refusal to dilute Ferrari’s core language. That stance will win some hearts and frustrate others, but it’s honest.

There’s also an interesting brand story behind the name. “Purosangue,” Italian for “thoroughbred,” was controversial — a charity and trademark battle played out before Ferrari could fully claim the word. It’s a reminder that naming a car is part PR, part legal chess, and wholly wrapped in cultural signaling: Ferrari wanted a name that meant lineage and purity, yet that very claim sparked debate. The optics of that fight felt oddly appropriate for a car that sits at the intersection of heritage and change.

So how should you think about the Purosangue? Don’t see it as Ferrari capitulating to market forces. See it as Ferrari expanding the vocabulary of what its cars can do while protecting the accent that makes the language recognizably Ferrari. The Purosangue is a compromise, yes — any four-door Ferrari would be — but it’s a compromise made with intention. It’s a car for someone who wants to arrive in a Ferrari without the constant apologies or practical limitations that two doors can bring. It’s for people who want a car that can be both a daily and a drama, a commuter and a concerto.

If you want a shorthand verdict: the Purosangue is brave, bordering on audacious. It doesn’t pretend to be the most practical choice, nor the greenest; it offers instead a very particular kind of joy — the rare combination of performance theater and genuine, usable space. In the end, Ferrari didn’t keep making only two-door fantasies. It made a four-door that still feels like a fantasy worth having. And that, for many, will be enough.

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