Now I’m not a big petrol head, but as some of you might know, I love Formula 1, and I think it's fair to say that Formula 1 wouldn’t be where it is today without Ferrari—so I was really keen to dig into this.
And what a story.
Enzo Ferrari wasn’t your typical business guy. Most people think of Ferrari as a company that builds expensive road cars and also happens to race. But for Enzo Ferrari, the road car business was really secondary—those beautiful, expensive cars were made for one reason only—it was to fund his obsession with racing.
And it was an obsession.
He valued his engines more than his drivers. He had little time for his family, but still made time for numerous affairs.
He could be a charming, funny and brilliant salesman, but he could also be cold, ruthless and very difficult.
And he makes for a cracking story.
A Spark in His Heart
Enzo Ferrari was born on February 18th, 1898, on the outskirts of Modena in Northern Italy.
And while Ferrari might sound like an exotic name to us, it’s actually the third most common surname in Italy and means smith or metal worker—which is exactly what Ferrari’s father was.
He ran a foundry with around 30 employees, his mother was a housewife, and Ferrari had one older brother.
When Ferrari was ten, his father took him to watch a motor race, and the loud engines, huge clouds of dust, cars flying past at 80 kilometres per hour and the hero worship the drivers received made a huge impression on him.
Ferrari said that day produced “a spark in my heart.”
But then in 1916, when he was 18, both his father and his brother died within weeks of one another during an influenza outbreak.
The family business closed, Ferrari was forced to abandon his technical education, and then in 1917 he was conscripted into the Italian Army during WW1, where his main job was shoeing mules in the mountains.
But he contracted pleurisy and almost died.
He survived, and after recovering, he went to Turin to try to get a job with FIAT.
Now for a bit of context on FIAT—and I’ll definitely be doing a few episodes on it because it’s a fascinating business. It was founded in 1899 by a group of investors that included Giovanni Agnelli, and WW1 transformed it into this enormous industrial machine.
By the end of the war, it employed more than 30,000 people and was producing around 15,000 cars a year.
Now that was still tiny compared with Ford, which was producing 820,000 Model Ts, but FIAT was by far the biggest and most important car company in Italy, and Turin was becoming the Detroit of Europe.
But FIAT didn’t give Ferrari a job, and by his own account, this was a real low point. He walked out into the freezing Turin winter, went into a park, sat down and, to quote him directly: “I was alone, my father and brother were gone.
Despair overcame me and I cried.”
He eventually found work with a small company in Milan as a test driver and mechanic.
Now for a bit of context on the car business and motor racing at the time.
Outside of FIAT, which was making standardised cars for the middle class, northern Italy was filled with dozens of small car companies. They operated almost like high-end fashion houses: the cars were largely handmade and extremely expensive.
And motor racing was central to their success because it gave them a way to prove themselves.
Racing meant driving along public roads and up mountains with unreliable brakes, frequent tyre failures and almost no safety equipment.
But if one of their cars survived and won, wealthy customers took notice.
So racing became their testing department, showroom and advertising campaign all rolled into one.
And over the next year, Ferrari established himself as a good driver and secured a job as a test driver with Alfa Romeo—the undisputed crown jewel of Italian motorsport back then.
Ferrari’s First Business
Then in 1920, when he was just 22, Ferrari started his first company—a small coachbuilding business. Back then, wealthy customers often bought the engine and chassis separately before hiring a coachbuilder to design and construct the body around them.
But the timing was terrible.
Italy had fallen into a severe postwar depression, and after struggling for a few years, Ferrari’s first business eventually folded.
But Ferrari maintained a good relationship with Alfa Romeo, and by this stage he was well connected through racing and was a natural salesman. So he secured the rights to sell Alfa Romeos across a large part of northern and central Italy.
And this was crucial.
Not only did Ferrari start making a very good living, but wealthy customers liked buying from someone who actually raced the cars, so the business also gave him a growing network of rich car enthusiasts—what were called gentleman drivers.
In 1923, Ferrari married Laura, and they would go on to have one son, Dino. Laura was described as fiery and sharp, and while their relationship wasn’t loveless, it was rocky—mainly because Ferrari’s obsession with racing left very little room for family life.
As he said himself: “I should not have married because a man dominated by a passion such as mine can hardly divide himself in half and be a good husband.”
And then, just two months after his wedding, came a meeting that would eventually give Ferrari its famous visual identity—the black prancing horse that became one of the most famous logos in the world.
Ferrari met Count Enrico Baracca and his wife, whose son Francesco—Italy’s leading fighter pilot during WW1—had been killed in 1918—his plane had carried the image of a black prancing horse.
And the countess told Ferrari: “Put my son’s prancing horse on your cars.
It will bring you luck.”
Ferrari placed the black horse against a yellow background, the colour of Modena.
That logo—the prancing horse on a yellow background—has repeatedly been ranked as part of one of the world’s strongest brands. It belongs to that tiny group of logos, alongside the Nike swoosh, Apple’s apple and Mercedes’ three-pointed star, that can be recognised around the world without the company’s name appearing beside it.
And while Enzo came across the prancing horse by chance, placing it on that yellow background and deciding to use it as the car’s logo was very deliberate.
It underlines what a fantastic marketer Ferrari was.
Anyway, back to the early 1920s.
Alfa’s racing cars were underperforming, so the company asked Ferrari to recruit new talent. He travelled to Turin and returned with one of FIAT’s leading designers—and this was another of Ferrari’s great strengths: recognising and hiring key talent.
In 1924, that designer created the P2, one of the great racing cars of the era, and with a top speed of 140 miles per hour, it dominated races.
Now Enzo was still racing, and after several victories, Alfa Romeo selected him as one of its drivers for the 1924 French Grand Prix in Lyon, and this would be his first time to race the P2.
This was a huge opportunity.
Ferrari arrived in Lyon and completed his practice laps—but then he suddenly packed his bags and returned to Italy without any real explanation.
As for why, one leading Italian racing journalist believed Ferrari had simply become frightened and realised the P2 was beyond him. Because the P2 demanded a level of bravery—and recklessness—that Ferrari had never experienced up to that point.
This isn’t uncommon when racing drivers get to the very top of the sport.
For example—and I did mention this in my episode on Bernie Ecclestone—Christian Horner, the former Red Bull team principal, had been a very good driver, but he quit during testing in 1998. And here’s how he described the moment he realised he didn’t have what it takes:
“I followed Juan Pablo Montoya through the high-speed first corner and realized I wasn’t capable of replicating his commitment. There was a self-preservation that kicked in and said, ‘This is stupid.’”
So I think that, just like Horner, Ferrari recognised his own limitations.
Now he did continue to race, but never at the highest level.
The Birth of Scuderia Ferrari
And so for now, Ferrari put his energy into expanding his Alfa Romeo dealership and building relationships with wealthy amateur drivers across northern Italy—the gentleman drivers.
And these gentleman drivers, they wanted to compete in races, but Alfa couldn’t afford to provide each of them with mechanics, race preparation and support at the track.
So Ferrari saw an opportunity.
In 1929, he set up Scuderia Ferrari as an independent racing team that would effectively sit between Alfa Romeo and these wealthy drivers. So just to be clear—he wasn’t making his own cars yet—he was using Alfa cars.
And with the money Ferrari was making from the gentleman drivers, he could also hire professionals.
These drivers could win major races and generate huge publicity for the team.
And to generate even more money, Ferrari did something that was really groundbreaking for the time—he brought commercial sponsorship into motor racing.
He approached Bosch, Pirelli and Shell and persuaded them to provide cash, equipment and technical support in return for the publicity generated by his cars. In doing so, Ferrari effectively created the first commercially sponsored motor-racing team and laid the foundations for the business model that has funded the sport ever since.
But while Ferrari’s business model was excellent, the timing was terrible.
The Great Depression pushed Alfa Romeo towards bankruptcy, and in 1933 Mussolini’s government took control of the company. Alfa closed its racing department to save money, but Ferrari negotiated a deal that allowed him to continue running the team independently.
But his budget was now much smaller, while Nazi Germany poured money into Mercedes and Auto Union—another big car company back then—using their racing victories to showcase technological power.
Then at the end of 1937, the state-controlled Alfa Romeo bought Ferrari out. He received around $60,000—roughly $1.3 million today—and a salary and benefits worth more than $300,000 today because he stayed on as racing director of the team, but he had lost his independence.
Ferrari was now answerable to Alfa’s management, and that just didn’t suit his nature. They constantly clashed, and in 1939 he was fired and forbidden from using his name in racing for four years.
So Ferrari opened a new workshop and began building racing cars under a different name. But on June 10th, 1940, Italy entered the Second World War and motor racing stopped.
His business was absorbed into the Fascist war economy, producing machine tools and parts for the military.
Ferrari himself wasn’t a fascist, but he did join the party for practical reasons because membership was essential if you wanted to do business.
But when it mattered, and I think this is really important, his actions showed where his loyalties really lay.
He helped save a Jewish lawyer friend from a beating by fascists, and when the Nazis occupied northern Italy, he allowed partisans to hide in one of his barns and permitted his workers to repair rifles and make spikes for the resistance.
Two Families
Now outside of business, and while Ferrari was consumed with his business, he still managed to find time for a very active personal life. He was very much a ladies’ man and had several affairs throughout his marriage.
He had a pretty twisted or cynical view of women and relationships. Here’s a quote from him: “When a man tells a woman he loves her, he only means that he desires her. The only total love in this world is that of a father for his son.”
From the 1930s onwards, he effectively maintained two families after beginning a long-term relationship with a lady called Lina Lardi, and in 1945 they had a son, Piero. Ferrari set Lina up in a house outside Modena, and visiting her became part of his normal daily routine.
Only a small number of trusted people knew about Piero, and he remained publicly outside the Ferrari family for decades.
Anyway, back to business.
When the war ended, Ferrari’s non-compete clause had expired, and now, at 48, he was finally free to build a car carrying his own name.
He recruited the best engineers, and the plan was simple: build a racing car that would win races. Because the best marketing was winning, Ferrari would then produce and sell extremely expensive road cars, and those cars would provide the money to keep racing.
Because this is the thing about Ferrari—it was all about racing.
He described it as “a great mania to which one must sacrifice everything, without reticence, without hesitation.”
So Ferrari’s first racing car was the 125, and just two weeks after making its debut, it won its first race.
In 1949, it won the three big endurance races: Le Mans, the Mille Miglia and the Spa 24 Hours.
Then in 1950, the modern Formula One World Championship was launched, and Ferrari won consecutive Championships in 1952 and 1953.
Now it should be noted that at this stage, Ferrari didn’t go to the races, first off because he hated flying but mainly because he couldn’t bear watching his engines being pushed to their limits. As he said: “To see them born and to see them die—because in a race they are always dying, even if they win—it is unbearable.”
But, as we know, in sport winning is the best marketing, and these victories gave Ferrari an enormous international profile, and its road cars began developing an extraordinary reputation.
But the output was still tiny.
In 1950, Ferrari produced only 26 road cars, and by 1954, that had increased to just 86. The average cost of one was around $15,000—and for context, the average suburban home in the US cost $9,000 back then.
Now the scarcity of the cars was of course part of the Ferrari allure. But also, because he was rarely seen at races, gave very little away about himself and met relatively few people, this aura of mystery grew around him.
Aristocrats, industrialists and Hollywood stars such as Steve McQueen became desperate to own one and meet the man himself.
And Ferrari used that mystique brilliantly.
Prospective buyers were expected to travel to the factory in Maranello and meet him personally and more or less be questioned or interviewed by him, so simply having the money didn’t mean he would agree to sell you a car.
So Ferrari had completely reversed the normal balance of power.
The customer wasn’t deciding whether to buy the car—Ferrari was deciding whether they deserved one.
Tragedy and the Price of Winning
Now while Ferrari’s business was thriving, his personal life fell apart.
In 1956, his son Dino died from muscular dystrophy at just 24.
His death devastated Ferrari—he became even more withdrawn and started wearing heavy, dark-tinted sunglasses.
He continued wearing them for the rest of his life.
And more tragedy followed just a year later.
One of the most popular races back then was the Mille Miglia, which Ferrari had won several times. It was this notoriously dangerous 1,000-mile road race through Italian towns, countryside and mountain passes.
Anyway, during the 1957 race, a tyre blew on a Ferrari and the car flew into the crowd, killing the driver, his navigator and nine spectators, including five children.
The Italian government immediately banned open-road motor racing, the Vatican accused him of behaving like “the god Saturn, devouring his own sons,” sacrificing drivers and spectators for speed and glory.
Prosecutors then charged Ferrari with manslaughter and criminal negligence.
The legal case lasted four years, and Ferrari was eventually cleared.
But this accusation—that Ferrari prioritised winning over the lives of his drivers—followed him throughout his life, and it has to be said, there’s a good bit of truth to it.
There was the infamous example of Italian driver Eugenio Castellotti, who was killed during a test session in 1957. Staff reported that Ferrari’s immediate reaction was to ask about the condition of the car rather than the driver.
Niki Lauda, who went on to win Formula One World Championships driving for Ferrari in the 1970s, said the following: “Ferrari’s only interest was winning.
He really didn’t care about the drivers.”
Now in fairness to Ferrari, when he first got involved in motor racing, the dangers were obvious and drivers were killed so frequently that death was almost accepted as part of the sport.
So I can understand how he became desensitised to it.
But there’s being desensitised, and then there’s caring more about the engine than the man driving the car.
And he was, without doubt, a difficult taskmaster.
Ferrari described himself as “an agitator of men and machines,” and that’s exactly how he operated. He deliberately played drivers, mechanics and engineers against one another because he believed the rivalry would push them harder and produce better results.
And in the same way that Ferrari had very little compunction about replacing drivers, when it came to laying down his authority in the factory, it was his way or the highway. The clearest example came in 1961, in what became known as the Palace Revolt.
So after Dino’s death, Ferrari’s wife Laura took to walking through production areas, interfering in decisions and berating employees. Eventually, eight senior executives sent Ferrari a letter demanding that she be removed from the business.
In other words, it was her or them.
Ferrari chose Laura and fired all eight.
And these weren’t just a few office managers.
They included Ferrari’s technical director, chief engineer and team manager—some of the most important people in the company.
But of course, like most people, there was another side to Ferrari.
Those close to him said he was great company, and he spent hours in the bar of a local hotel, chatting, joking and telling stories.
And this shouldn’t really be surprising because, as mentioned, Ferrari had always been an excellent salesman. There was clearly a warm and sociable side to him—he just didn’t show it to everyone.
The Mona Lisa of the Car World
Anyway, after firing those eight executives, we can see how well Ferrari recruited, because not only did the company survive the upheaval, it thrived. In 1962, Ferrari unveiled what would become its most celebrated car: the 250 GTO.
It is the Mona Lisa of the car world.
Only 36 were built with a price tag of $18,000—roughly $196,000 today.
The GTO was a racing car—it won three consecutive World GT Championships—but it could also legally be driven on the road.
So it has everything collectors look for: rarity, genuine racing success and a design regularly described as one of the most beautiful ever produced—and now I’m obviously not a petrol head because it just doesn’t do it for me. One sold at auction for $48.4 million in 2018, while another reportedly changed hands privately that same year for $70 million.
Owners include Ralph Lauren, Walmart heir Rob Walton and Pink Floyd drummer Nick Mason.
So we’re in 1963 now.
Ferrari was building just under 600 cars a year and generating around $7 million in revenue—about $76 million today. But the racing side of the business was becoming more expensive, Ferrari was under huge financial pressure, and so he started looking for outside investment.
Ford Comes to Maranello
Ford came to the table—$18 million for 90% of Ferrari—around $200 million today—and Ferrari was open to the deal.
For 22 days, a team from Ford went through Ferrari’s finances, and eventually the final contract was placed in front of Ferrari himself, ready to be signed.
But then he came across a clause stating that if the racing team wanted to spend beyond an agreed budget, it would need permission from Ford.
Now, you’d think fair enough—Ford was about to own 90% of the company.
But Ferrari believed he had been promised complete control of the racing team, and for him, that was the only part that really mattered.
So right at the last moment, Ferrari declared the clause unacceptable and walked away.
Henry Ford II was furious.
He saw Ferrari’s rejection as a personal humiliation.
And his response was basically: fine, if we can’t buy Ferrari, we’ll beat them.
Ford then poured millions into building a car specifically to defeat Ferrari at Le Mans. Three years later, the Ford GT40 finished first, second and third—ending Ferrari’s dominance of the race.
And of course, this story is told in the great movie Le Mans, also called Ford v Ferrari, with Christian Bale and Matt Damon.
It’s well worth watching.
So Ferrari's financial problems continued.
He still needed a partner, so in 1969 he reached an agreement with Gianni Agnelli and FIAT.
FIAT paid $17.6 million for 50% of Ferrari—roughly $160 million in today’s money—valuing the entire company at approximately $320 million today.
FIAT took responsibility for financing and expanding the road-car business, while Ferrari retained complete control of the racing operation for the rest of his life.
Ferrari, FIAT and Formula One
Now with FIAT’s money behind it, the road-car business was growing, but the Formula One team was struggling.
It hadn’t won a Drivers’ Championship since 1964.
So in 1973, a very interesting and influential guy entered the story: Luca di Montezemolo. He was this charismatic Italian aristocrat who would go on to become the most successful executive in Ferrari’s history across two separate eras.
He was sent to Maranello at just 26 and acted as a bridge between FIAT’s corporate suits and the very stubborn Ferrari. And they worked brilliantly together, winning the F1 title in 1975, 1976 and 1977 with Niki Lauda as their main driver.
Here’s another quote from Lauda about his relationship with Ferrari: “he was a very egocentric man, absolutely focused on his cars, on his ideas, being successful in a brutal way.
But in the end, he was Italian and he had a heart.
I had the opportunity to experience this on the odd occasion, but the rest of the time it was not funny”.
Then in 1978, Ferrari’s wife Laura died, and it was only then that he publicly acknowledged his son Piero and gave him the Ferrari name.
Throughout the 1980s, the road-car business managed by FIAT was growing rapidly.
But Enzo remained Ferrari’s founder, co-owner and ultimate guardian of the brand.
So when it came time to develop a car for Ferrari’s 40th anniversary, Enzo—then in his late eighties—personally commissioned and approved a brutally fast supercar stripped of almost everything that made a road car comfortable: no ABS, no power steering and almost no luxury trim.
The result was the F40.
They initially planned to build just 400, but demand was so strong that production eventually reached 1,311, with a price of around $400,000. Ferrari made a rare public appearance at its launch in 1987, physically frail and leaning on his assistants, but still wearing those dark glasses.
He died the following year at his home in Maranello.
The Legacy of Enzo Ferrari
The original 1969 agreement with FIAT stated that when Ferrari died, FIAT’s ownership would increase from 50% to 90%, while his son Piero would inherit the remaining 10%. Piero is still involved today as Ferrari’s vice-chairman. As for the company itself, Ferrari delivered 13,640 cars in 2025, generating €7.1 billion in revenue and a net profit of €1.6 billion.
And on the racing side—which, remember, was always Ferrari’s real focus and obsession—the team has won eight Constructors’ Championships and six Drivers’ Championships since his death.
Now Ferrari hasn’t won either title since 2008, but it’s still competing at the top end of the championship and remains by far the biggest name in the paddock.
It is the only team to have competed in every Formula One season, its fans—the tifosi—follow it all over the world, and for many drivers, getting the chance to drive that red car remains the ultimate ambition.
Because Ferrari has something most brands simply can’t buy: legacy, authenticity, tragedy, victory and history. And almost all of it can be traced back to the personality and the obsession of Enzo Ferrari.
And as a person, Ferrari comes across as cold, ruthless, philandering and so yeah, not an easy man to like.
But I think achieving the kind of success reached by people like Ferrari, Jobs, Musk and Ford—where you don’t just build a company but leave a lasting legacy—requires a level of not just focus or commitment but a level of obsession that very few people have, or maybe we choose not to have it.
It’s hard to know—is that type of obsession a choice or a compulsion? I don’t know.
And look, I would love to leave a legacy like Ferrari, who wouldn't. We all love business and we all want to build something great.
But at what cost? Not being able to spend as much time as I can with my one wife, no mistresses and fantastic children? Being so obsessed that I'd care more for a stupid car than I would for the life of the person driving it?
For me, that’s way too heavy a price to pay, but Ferrari was willing to pay that price in return for achieving greatness in the one thing that truly mattered to him.
And whatever your thoughts on Enzo Ferrari, I think he makes for a fascinating story.