What makes the Pagani Zonda so special?

For no, his was not the first upstart marque to have a crack at barging into the über exotic space and it would not be the last. Some 25 years on, however, we can with relative confidence conclude it was one of the most successful,  perhaps the most successful, although a certain Mr C.v. Koenigsegg might argue the toss. No doubt, both Pagani and Koenigsegg helped give rise to the multi-billion-pound monster that the boutique hypercar, latter-day coach-build and personal commission car industry now is. 

Pagani is now onto its third car, the Utopia, though examples of the Huayra that preceded it still continue to trickle out of the factory. As do, on occasion, recommissions and re-specs of the Zonda. Andy Bruce’s box-fresh ‘Attack’ on the Cartier Lawn is a case in point. Any and all Zondas, of which there are many types, are as keenly sought-after by collectors as they are tracked by enthusiasts and hobbyists. 

When they do change hands, £3million or more is now the price of entry and the people that do sell them, often find themselves seeking another – the ‘Attack’ is Bruce’s second; sitting opposite on the Cartier Lawn, his first, which still wears the registration ‘C12 PAG’. All this for a car that when new was accused of being overpriced at £300,000.

To really understand why and how this car commands the reverence and value among enthusiasts and collectors on par with that of the most collectable Ferrari supercars, with precisely none of the racing heritage, it’s worth going back to the beginning.

Because from day dot, the Zonda was different. On its debut at Geneva in March 1999, though some were sceptical, many were utterly blown away. Here was a totally new car from a no-name brand, that was built to a very high standard, with high-quality materials using ultra-high-tech construction and assembly techniques. 

Remember, it appeared on the scene not seven years after the McLaren F1, sporting a highly-advanced, lightweight and stiff carbon fibre tub, wrapped in similarly technically impressive carbon clothing. There was no glue spewing out of the seams and there were no stray threads or wonky stitches. It was, for many, an entirely surprisingly well-put-together object.

The proof of course had to be in the driving and, again, many were convinced this is where the Zonda would falter: all style and no substance. Not a bit of it. The whole, on the contrary, purportedly exceeded the sum of its parts, with the Zonda surprising most as an exploitable, confidence-inspiring and unintimidating machine, with a charismatic, versatile and alacritous engine. This was a show-stopping exotic that bit its thumb at the accepted wisdom that supercars, like the Lamborghini Diablo, Ferrari F50 and McLaren F1 with which it was initially compared, had to be compromised.

Ah yes, that engine. Under its sprawling, intricate rear-hinged carbon clamshell, beat the M120 V12 heart proudly provided by Mercedes-AMG; a partnership forged by Horacio Pagani with more than a little help from friend and then-winningest F1 world champion, Juan Manuel Fangio.

Indeed, the original plan was for the car to be called ‘Fangio F1’, with the switch to Zonda – after a hot Argentinian air current – made following the great man’s death in 1995. The mill he helped Pagani broker began life in the Zonda in a comparatively tame state of tune as a 6.0-litre, compared to the 7.3-litre monster that it would become.

The surprising competence of the Zonda is an important aspect of its enduring legacy that we’ll get back to. The media praise it received at the time helped spread the word – as a fully paid-up Zonda fanboy, I’ve watched all the videos and read all the tests. But there’s more to it than that.

I think another part of the answer is simpler; rooted in the most basic ways that the most impactful cars get under anyone’s skin. It’s more personal, more contentious. I argue to no end with friends and colleagues about why I love it so much (they’re not worth £3mil a pop these days for nothing, boys). So to answer why this car is so special here, I realise I have to commit my personal case to prose.

Put very simply, the Zonda is the car that blew my 10-year-old mind. It is to me and many of my generation what the Countach was to young enthusiasts a decade or two my senior. 

It’s impossible to speak with impartiality but, as with the Countach, the instant visceral impact on your senses is difficult to quantify: those looks that marry Da Vinci-inspired artistry and engineering with the proportions of a 1970s sports prototype; that engine, that in relatively early C12 S trim, sounds more alive than any machine. 

I have in my thirty years and time in this industry become a little jaded of late, but when I rounded the corner of the Cartier Lawn earlier this week and first clapped eyes on those six cars, I was gone. I’ve so far this weekend been unable to walk across the Lawn after ‘work’ without being drawn to them like Yogi Bear to a freshly-baked pie.

And herein lies the true answer. All the juvenile stuff that makes it my hero, is what makes the Countach the hero of so many others. But unlike the Countach, those vanishing few for whom it is a dream car, who are lucky enough to drive or even own one, report back in near-unanimous agreement with what Richard Hammond reported in a Top Gear road test 20 years ago: “If you’re ten and watching this right now, it’s exactly as good as you think it is. It is that good.” 

It is the rarest of heroes most, if not all, have found delight rather than disappointment in meeting. It’s that rarefied upstart that delivered on its promises, that surprised the critics, that beat expectations and that didn’t disappear without a trace. But that’s just one fanboy’s theory.

I’d sell more of my vital organs than I care to admit just for the chance to drive one, let alone own one. One day...

Photography by Peter Summers and Jordan Butters