It was the great dividing battle among budding young car geeks in the early 1990s: were you a Ferrari or Lamborghini kid? They were easy to tell apart: one bought the poster of the red Miami Vice-era Testarossa on a background that looks like the YouTube lead image of a retrowave music mix, the other bought the poster of the black Countach or Diablo that was standing in a quarter-inch of water, surrounded by fire, as if Lucifer himself had tossed you the keys to his personal E-ticket ride for you to raise Cain with on some lonely backroad. Sure, there was the Porsche 911 kid, but nobody talked to him. It was a very divided camp. And I never really took sides. Both cars are striking in their own right, but neither one seemed useful for anything other than showing off. Big whoop. Even in first grade I knew that if the parking lot was full of Ferraris, Lamborghinis and whatever upper-crust rides joined them, that I wanted to be in a black 1970 Oldsmobile 442 with exhaust dumps, idling around, causing angry glares from the alpha males that wore ascots.

But, all kidding aside, those manufacturers, Ferrari especially, were about driving and performance. Sure, they’re tech-geek, YouTuber fare now. But in the 1960s, if you were wheeling a Ferrari around, it meant two things: one, you were on Enzo’s good side, and two, he believed you were deserving of being behind the wheel of an automobile that he was so invested in that he allowed it to bear his name. Say what you will about his mannerisms, but that’s a hell of a reputation to have. “Yeah, the name on that badge? He wants ME to drive HIS car!” And all the way through to the last car he signed off on, the F40, that’s the way it was.

But what about the Ferrari today, over thirty years removed from his passing? Well…it’s a bit 50/50. For every good, no-joke driver’s car like the 599 GTO and the F50, there’s a 360 Modena, or a 458 Italia…competent cars, no doubt, but there’s just something not quite 100% about them. A little more flash than fire. And it’s not like I’m anyone to claim what is or isn’t a proper Ferrari. I’ve sat my ass in the LS-swapped 550 Maranello…good, but I didn’t even have the car running when I did that. So what makes a Ferrari the ultimate in my eyes? Well, first off, it’s red. And that makes me cringe to say that, since I dream of a nightmare black 288 GTO. It’s got five-spoke wheels if it’s newer than 1969. The interior is a wonderful place for two people to be, no more, and the gears are selected with three pedals and a gated shifter on the floor that looks like properly-placed jewelry. It should have an open top and the moment you see it, your gut instinct should be to find most open motorway near you and to let it scream. Whether you’re rattling office windows as you rip through Seattle, leave a mile-long dust trail in your wake as you fly through the Arizona desert at sunset or are parked up in the middle of Miami nightlife, this is how a Ferrari should feel.

I would still rather have the Oldsmobile, though.

Mecum Auctions’ Glendale 2021: Lot S106, 2001 Ferrari 550 Barchetta Pininfarina