In the early 1960s, Ferruccio Lamborghini was known not for supercars but for tractors and air conditioners. A wealthy Italian industrialist and avid car enthusiast, Ferruccio owned and tinkered with the best grand tourers of the day – Ferrari, Maserati, Jaguar, you name it. Legend has it that after Ferruccio complained about a clunky clutch in his Ferrari, Enzo Ferrari himself snapped that Lamborghini should stick to driving tractors. Whether apocryphal or not, this spicy exchange lit a fire under Ferruccio. As he later put it, “Now I want to make a GT car without faults … a perfect car.” By 1963 he founded Automobili Lamborghini in Sant’Agata Bolognese, assembling a dream team of young engineers – Giotto Bizzarrini (on a consulting basis), Gian Paolo Dallara, Paolo Stanzani, and New Zealander Bob Wallace – poached from Ferrari and Maserati. Ferruccio’s goal was clear: build a better road car than Ferrari, one that offered style, performance, and civility.
Lamborghini’s first efforts were indeed refined grand tourers. The 350 GT debuted in 1964 (evolved from the 350 GTV prototype that had infamously been displayed without an engine due to last-minute fitment issues), followed by the improved 400 GT 2+2. These front-engined V12 coupes were fast and luxurious – Ferruccio’s answer to Ferrari’s road cars – and they met with modest success. Still, by 1965 Lamborghini had yet to produce anything truly revolutionary. Ferruccio had sworn off racing (after a single disastrous Mille Miglia entry years prior) and focused on road manners and reliability. But a few of his bright young engineers had more radical ideas brewing, setting the stage for a car that would soon shock the automotive world.
Conceiving a Revolution: The P400 Project
By the mid-1960s, the motorsport world had embraced the mid-engine layout – Formula 1 cars and Le Mans prototypes like the Ford GT40 and Ferrari 250 LM all carried their engines behind the driver. Yet street-legal sports cars lagged behind. Enzo Ferrari himself doubted that his customers could handle a mid-engined machine on the road. Lamborghini’s upstart engineering team saw things differently. Gian Paolo Dallara, a 26-year-old engineer fresh from stints at Ferrari and Maserati, believed a mid-engine road car was the future. Backed by his equally young colleagues Paolo Stanzani (27) and test driver Bob Wallace (27), Dallara began work – often after-hours – on a secret prototype codenamed P400 (for Posteriore 4 litri). Thei
Ferruccio Lamborghini hadn’t explicitly asked for a race-inspired car – in fact, initially this pet project went against his conservative grand tourer instincts. But when the young engineers presented him with a low-slung rolling chassis of the P400 late in 1965, Ferruccio’s skepticism melted. He immediately grasped the marketing potential of a halo car and gave his blessing to proceed. As Lamborghini’s official history recounts, Ferruccio was instantly taken with the idea, even if it was the polar opposite of the “Rolls-Royce-like” GTs he originally envisioned.
The bare P400 chassis – basically a steel spine with suspension, a transversely mounted V12 engine, and seats – debuted without a body at the 1965 Turin Auto Show. Even as an unskinned frame, it caused a sensation. Visitors and the press were intrigued by the thought of a road car built like a racing prototype. Ferruccio and the team realized they had to deliver a finished car by the next major show. The race was on to clothe the P400 in a body as groundbreaking as its mechanicals.
Designing the Miura: Bertone and Gandini’s Masterpiece
Ferruccio Lamborghini turned to Carrozzeria Bertone to style the new supercar, in part because Bertone wasn’t tied to Ferrari or Maserati (politically, a wise choice). At Bertone, a 27-year-old designer named Marcello Gandini was given the project. Gandini was a fresh face – he’d only just been hired after Bertone’s previous star designer, Giorgetto Giugiaro, left in 1965. Incredibly, Gandini penned the Miura’s body in just a few months. The resulting design was so stunning that some observers couldn’t believe it wasn’t Giugiaro’s work; a French journalist even miscredited the Miura to Giugiaro, forcing a rare retraction from the magazine L’Equipe. But Gandini had truly done it himself – “I did the Miura – and I did it alone – in just three months,” he later asserted.
The Miura’s design was low, wide, and provocative. Gandini’s creation had a shockingly low roofline (just 1055 mm tall) and a wide, ground-hugging stance. The long nose was paired with a compact tail – a classic cab-forward proportion dictated by placing the big V12 engine behind the two seats. The windshield swept back at an extreme rake, flowing into a gentle roofline that tapered down over the mid-mounted engine and into voluptuous rear haunches. For engine cooling and style, Gandini originally tried a glass engine cover, but that proved impractical; instead, he fitted elegant black louvered slats over the engine bay, giving the rear window a Venetian-blind look. Aggressive air intakes were artfully integrated: yawning scoops in the lower body sides to feed the rear brakes, and handsome vents just behind the doors to funnel air into the hungry V12’s carburetors.
Up front, the Miura’s eyes were a defining feature. Its pop-up headlights were adorned with delicate “eyelash” trim – a row of tiny metal fins outlining each lamp, purely for style. Those eyelashes gave the car a seductive, feminine touch (as if batting its lashes), though when the lights were flipped up they looked a tad quirky. The Miura’s doors, front hood, and rear engine cover all opened clam-shell style, evoking true racing machines and allowing easy access to mechanicals. And the name? Ferruccio chose “Miura” after the famous line of Spanish fighting bulls – a nod to his Taurus zodiac sign and the new bull emblem of his brand. It was an apt name: Don Eduardo Miura’s bulls were renowned for their ferocity and strength, just as Lamborghini hoped his car would be
Inside, the Miura was no less dramatic. The driver was treated to a pair of large round gauges set in twin cowled pods, and a battery of secondary dials in a central cluster – all the better to make one feel like a fighter pilot. A polished gated shifter for the 5-speed gearbox rose from the center console, begging for vigorous gear changes. The steering wheel was a large three-spoke affair positioned between the driver’s knees (this was a tight Italian sports car cockpit, after all). Perhaps knowing the Miura’s performance might frighten passengers, Gandini even included a huge grab-handle on the console for the right-seat occupant. Despite the Miura’s race-bred layout, Ferruccio insisted it not skimp on comfort: the cabin was trimmed in fine leather and, in later versions, amenities like power windows and air conditioning were offered. This was a luxury missile, not a spartan race car.
When the finished prototype Miura P400 (for Posteriore 4.0-litri) was finally revealed at the Geneva Motor Show in March 1966, it stole the show. Painted a vibrant orange and flaunting Gandini’s jaw-dropping bodywork, the Miura looked like nothing else on the planet. Lamborghini’s stand instantly drew crowds of gawkers murmuring “bella, bellissima!” – beautiful, most beautiful – and plenty of more colorful exclamations in various languages. Seasoned auto journalists were stunned; “breathtaking, beautiful, shocking, revolutionary,” gushed one report of the Geneva debut. Here was a road car with a mid-mounted racing engine, wrapped in a sensuous Italian design – a combination utterly unprecedented in 1966. It is no exaggeration to say the Miura’s debut sent rivals into a panic. Witnessing this paradigm shift, one British journalist famously coined the term “supercar” specifically to describe the Miura. The age of the supercar had arrived, and little Automobili Lamborghini – barely three years old – was suddenly leading the charge.
Technical Marvels and Quirks of the Miura
Underneath the Miura’s gorgeous skin lay equally audacious engineering. The heart of the beast was a 3929 cc V12 engine designed by Bizzarrini, the same basic quad-cam, 60° V12 that powered the earlier 400 GT. In the Miura P400 tune it produced around 350 horsepower, an impressive figure for the era that promised 0–60 mph sprints in the mid-6 second range and a top speed north of 270 km/h (170 mph) – making the Miura the fastest production car in the world in its day. Even more innovative was the engine’s placement: Lamborghini rotated the V12 90°, mounting it sideways (transversely) just behind the cockpit. This helped keep the wheelbase compact and centralized the mass for better balance. But it also posed a challenge: where to put the transmission and differential? Lamborghini’s engineers solved it by integrating the 5-speed gearbox and differential into the same casting as the engine – effectively creating a single combined power unit. In fact, this exotic Italian supercar had a surprising inspiration for its drivetrain: the humble BMC Mini. The original Mini’s transverse front-wheel-drive layout in 1959 had engine and gearbox sharing one oil sump to save space, and the Miura adopted a similar idea with its transverse V12! It was a brilliant packaging solution – the Miura’s entire V12 and transaxle fit neatly between the seats and rear axle – but it came with quirks. All that hardware shared the same oil, so using the right lubricant was critical, and hard driving could foam the oil or cause lubrication hiccups. (Eventually Lamborghini would abandon the shared-sump; more on that later.)
The Miura’s chassis was also unusual. Unlike the tubular spaceframe used by most contemporaries, Lamborghini built the Miura around a steel monocoque center section with a welded sheet-metal frame acting as a backbone. The engine and rear suspension were attached to this structure behind the cockpit, while the front suspension hung off it at the nose. Holes were drilled in the chassis wherever possible to save weight. In theory it was low and light; in practice early Miuras flexed a bit, earning a reputation for a somewhat flimsy structure until later reinforcements were added. Suspension-wise, the Miura borrowed components from Lamborghini’s existing front-engine cars, which wasn’t ideal for a mid-engine layout. As a result, the first Miura’s handling at the limit could be interesting – the polite term for tail-happy and a bit unpredictable, especially as the fuel load changed the weight distribution.
And then there were the aerodynamics – or lack thereof. Gandini’s wind-cheating shape was gorgeous, but the Miura’s front end had a tendency to generate lift at high speeds. Drivers reported that at speeds over ~150 mph, the nose lightened to the point of feeling floaty, as if the car wanted to become an airplane. (Ferruccio, who valued a stable GT, probably raised an eyebrow at that!) The solution would eventually involve front spoilers and tweaks in later models, but early Miura pilots simply hung on tight during flat-out blasts.
The Miura also developed an explosive personality – literally. Its V12 was fed by four triple-barrel Weber carburetors mounted on top of the engine, right above the ignition distributors. If a carb’s floats stuck or dirt clogged a needle valve, fuel could overflow onto the hot engine below…with fiery results. More than a few Miuras met their end in flames due to engine fires. Mechanics learned to fit catch trays under the carbs and owners wisely kept fire extinguishers on hand. Ferruccio Lamborghini, ever concerned about his customers, would try to keep early Miura owners happy through these teething troubles – he even concentrated initial sales close to the factory so that cars could be serviced quickly, and allegedly would distract disgruntled owners with long wine-soaked lunches while his team quietly fixed their cars. Classic Italian customer service, indeed.
In short, the Miura was a marvel of innovation – and a rolling prototype in many ways. It combined cutting-edge ideas with some on-the-fly development compromises. But for all its quirks, the Miura delivered an experience (and aesthetic) unlike anything else. The world’s wealthiest drivers didn’t mind a few flames or a little opposite-lock; they were knocking down the factory doors to get a Miura of their own.
A Show-Stopping Debut on the World Stage
Lamborghini’s gamble on the Miura paid off the moment it hit the show circuit. When the completed orange Miura P400 debuted at the 1966 Geneva Motor Show, it created a media frenzy. Contemporary reports noted that it made all other sports cars look instantly dated. Showgoers crowded around the Lamborghini stand, stunned by the low, gold-colored prototype (the car shown at Geneva had a metallic gold finish in some accounts) and its provocative details like the transparent engine cover (an early show feature) and those famous eyelashes. Numerous orders were placed on the spot, with enthusiastic customers slapping down deposits even though no one had driven the car yet. This overwhelming demand caught Ferruccio Lamborghini and even Nuccio Bertone by surprise – they hadn’t expected the public to essentially say “shut up and take my money” for a 20,000 USD plaything (a staggering sum in 1966, about $190k in today’s money).
Ferruccio, ever the savvy businessman, gladly accepted the early orders – never mind that the Miura still needed considerable sorting before deliveries. “Everything was happening too fast; the Miura jumped from the drawing board to production in less than a year,” one historian noted. In fact, the first Miura displayed at Geneva was reportedly not fully operational. (As with the earlier 350 GTV prototype, rumor has it Lamborghini may have kept the engine bay mostly empty at the show, a little secret under the tightly closed hood – a trick not uncommon in those days.) If true, that didn’t stop Ferruccio from revving an engine loudly for the crowd – perhaps in another car – to create the illusion of a ready-to-go supercar. Such showmanship only added to the Miura’s mystique.
After Geneva, Lamborghini continued to drum up publicity. Bob Wallace drove the Miura prototype to the Monaco Grand Prix in May 1966, where it turned heads just parked around Monte Carlo’s streets. Ferruccio himself took the Miura for a spin (or at least a loud rev) in front of Monte Carlo’s famed Casino, drawing an adoring crowd of playboys and socialites. Later that year at the Paris Motor Show, Lamborghini even offered thrill rides in the Miura around Paris – test driver Wallace happily powersliding with prospective buyers riding shotgun. This was guerrilla marketing at its finest, and it worked. By the time production started in 1967, the Miura was already the car everyone from Enzo Ferrari to teenage car fanatics was talking about.
The frenzy even extended to celebrities. Frank Sinatra became one of the Miura’s early customers, purchasing a bright orange Miura P400S in 1968. Ol’ Blue Eyes was so smitten that he allegedly quipped, “You buy a Ferrari when you want to be somebody. You buy a Lamborghini when you are somebody.” 😎 Whether he truly said it or not, the quote stuck – and it captured the swagger of Lamborghini’s new clientele. Rock star Miles Davis also bought a Miura (and famously wrecked it in a high-speed crash, but that’s another story). The Miura was the cool car to have, a four-wheeled symbol that you had arrived in style.
Evolution of the Miura: P400, P400S, P400SV
Lamborghini didn’t rest on the Miura’s early laurels – the car saw continuous development through three main production versions. Each evolution addressed some shortcomings and added its own dose of speed and style. Here’s how the Miura transformed over its seven-year lifespan:
Miura P400 (1966–1969) – The Original Supercar
The first Miuras delivered to customers in 1967 were essentially the same spec as the Geneva show car. The Miura P400 (“P400” meaning Posteriore 4.0-liter) came with the 3929 cc V12 producing about 350 PS (345 hp) at 7000 rpm. It was fitted with tall Webers, a single sump for engine and gearbox, and rode on Pirelli Cinturato tires about 205 mm wide at the rear – relatively narrow by later supercar standards. With a curb weight under 1,300 kg, the P400 could sprint 0–60 mph in ~6.5 seconds and – if you were brave enough – touch 170+ mph flat out. In 1967 this performance was virtually unheard of in a road car. Little wonder Autocar magazine proclaimed it the fastest production car they’d ever tested and the Miura’s legend as the world’s first supercar was cemented.
Visually, the P400 is distinguished by its delicate front “eyelashes” around the pop-up headlights, knock-off Campagnolo alloy wheels, and small twin exhaust tips. The interior was minimalist but leather-clad, lacking amenities like air conditioning or power windows. Build quality was hit-or-miss; these early cars were almost hand-built and each had its own personality (and occasional rattle). Ferruccio kept production volumes modest to maintain quality control – and perhaps to manage the flood of fixes these early cars needed. In total, 275 Miura P400s were produced from 1966 to 1969, despite an eye-watering price tag of around $20,000 USD at the time. Owning one was and is an exclusive club – one that included royalty, rock stars, and wealthy enthusiasts who didn’t mind being beta-testers for Lamborghini’s bold experiment.
Miura P400S (1968–1971) – Refining the Bull
As customer feedback (and warranty claims) poured in, Lamborghini set about improving the Miura. In late 1968, the upgraded Miura P400S (commonly just Miura S) debuted at the Turin Motor Show – the same show where the bare Miura chassis had been revealed three years prior. At first glance the Miura S looked the same, eyelashes and all, but it packed a host of refinements. Lamborghini gave the 4.0 L V12 a little more oomph by revising the cam profiles and enlarging the carburetor intakes, netting an extra 20 PS (now ~370 PS, or 365 hp). Top speed edged up slightly (around 173 mph measured) and mid-range torque improved.
More importantly for road manners, the chassis was stiffened in key areas and the suspension was retuned. Lamborghini fitted wider Pirelli Cinturato CN12 tires (215 mm front, 225 mm rear) to give the Miura S a better footprint. These changes went a long way to tame the Miura’s handling – it was still a wild bull, but a bit less prone to biting its driver. The notorious front-end lightness at speed was reduced (though not eliminated), and overall high-speed stability improved.
Ferruccio also insisted on adding more creature comforts to the S. The Miura S gained power windows – a welcome convenience in an Italian car on a hot day – and optional air conditioning (for about $800 extra). The cabin got a locking glovebox, new rocker switches in an overhead console, and minor trim upgrades. Externally, chrome trim adorned the window frames and headlights, giving the S a bit more flash. These touches made the Miura S a slightly more civilized place to spend time – relatively speaking, of course.
The Miura S was produced from 1968 through early 1971, with 338 units built. These included some of the most famous Miuras delivered. Frank Sinatra’s aforementioned orange Miura S was one; another S found its way into the garage of Eddie Van Halen (the rocker even recorded the sound of his Miura’s revving V12 for a track on the song “Panama”). The Miura S managed to broaden the car’s appeal globally; by improving reliability and comfort, Lamborghini attracted more buyers without diluting the Miura’s core appeal as an extreme machine. The S proved that even a supercar could evolve and get better with age – something Ferrari’s competing models at the time (still front-engined GTs like the 365 GTB/4 Daytona) couldn’t claim.
Miura P400SV (1971–1973) – The Ultimate Evolution
By 1971, the Miura was facing new challengers and Lamborghini was preparing its next act (a certain wedge-shaped Countach was looming). But before the Miura bowed out, it evolved one last time into its most potent form: the Miura P400SV, where “SV” stood for Spinto Veloce (Italian for “tuned fast” or simply “Super Veloce” – super fast). Unveiled at the Geneva Motor Show in March 1971, the Miura SV was the definitive version, incorporating all the knowledge Lamborghini had gained from the earlier cars.
The Miura SV was visibly more muscular. To improve traction, Lamborghini widened the rear wheels to 9 inches and fitted fat new Pirelli tires (up to 255 mm wide in back). To accommodate the steamroller rubber, the SV’s rear fenders were flared out, giving the car a more aggressive, hunkered-down stance. Up front, Gandini’s pretty eyelashes were deleted – the SV’s headlights lost the decorative trim, resulting in a cleaner (if slightly less whimsical) look. The nose was subtly refreshed with a one-piece black grille and integrated bumper, and new tail lights tidied up the rear. These changes, while small, made the Miura SV look a bit more grown-up and serious, as if the Miura had been hitting the gym.
Under the engine lid, the 4.0 L V12 received hotter cam timing and revised carburetors, bumping output to about 385 PS (380 hp) at a screaming 7,850 rpm. Torque also jumped to roughly 400 Nm (295 lb·ft) – useful for launching on those wider tires. The extra power brought 0–60 mph down to the low 5-second range and top speed closer to 180 mph. But perhaps the most important upgrade was invisible: starting with chassis number 5100 (about the 52nd SV built), Lamborghini introduced a split-sump lubrication system. This meant the engine and gearbox no longer shared the same oil – the gearbox got its own lubricant separate from the engine’s oil supply. By isolating the two, the SV avoided the risk of metal shavings from the transmission getting into the engine, allowed use of proper gear oil for the gearbox, and solved oil starvation issues during hard cornering. In short, the SV finally cured the Miura’s biggest mechanical weak spot. (Earlier SVs were retrofitted, and today collectors prize “split-sump” SVs for their added durability.)
Mechanically, the SV also benefited from strengthened chassis braces, a revised suspension geometry, and standard limited-slip differential (thanks to that separate gear oil). The result was a Miura that handled better than it ever had. Testers in period found the SV more predictable at the limit, with much reduced nose lift and less tail-happiness. It was still a wild car with no aerodynamic aids – a 70s supercar – but the SV was the most sorted Miura of all.
Lamborghini built 150 Miura SVs between 1971 and 1973. Despite demand, production ended as the company had to move on to the Countach and also faced financial strains in the early 1970s. The Miura’s swan song was fittingly dramatic: at the 1971 Geneva show where the SV premiered, Lamborghini also shocked the world with the Countach LP500 prototype – a radically wedge-shaped successor that made the curvy Miura suddenly look classical. By 1973, the last Miura rolled out of Sant’Agata, and the torch was passed to the Countach’s new era. In total, 764 Miuras (all variants combined) were produced from 1966–73 – an extraordinarily low number by modern standards, but each one an icon.
Miura Model Comparison at a Glance
Model & Years | Approx. Units Built | Power (SAE) | Top Speed (est.) | Notable Features |
P400 (1966–69) | 275 | 350 PS (345 hp) @ 7000 rpm | ~275 km/h (171 mph) | First design with “eyelash” headlight trim, single sump, no power windows. Fastest prod. car of its time. |
P400S (1968–71) | 338 | 370 PS (365 hp) @ 7700 rpm | ~278 km/h (173 mph) | Added power windows & optional AC, bright chrome trim, better tires & suspension, +20 hp. Improved handling and comfort. |
P400SV (1971–73) | 150 | 385 PS (380 hp) @ 7850 rpm | ~290 km/h (180 mph) (est.) | No headlight eyelashes, wider rear fenders and tires, revised cams & carbs, separate gearbox oil (late SVs), LSD. Most refined and powerful Miura. |
Table: Major Miura variants and their key differences.
Jota and SVJ: The Miura’s Racing Fantasy
No Miura history would be complete without mentioning the mythical Miura Jota. In 1970, development driver Bob Wallace convinced Lamborghini to let him build a no-holds-barred Miura test mule to explore the car’s competition potential. Named after the FIA’s Appendix J racing rules, the Miura P400 Jota was a one-off special: Wallace stripped a Miura chassis down and replaced many steel parts with Avional aluminum alloy, shedding about 360 kg of weight. He bumped the V12’s compression to 11.5:1, added racing cams, an open exhaust, and even a dry-sump oil system – boosting output to a wild 418–440 hp at 8800 rpm in testing. The Jota had fixed covered headlights (no eyelashes), bigger brakes, wider wheels (9-inch front, 12-inch rear!), and aggressive front and rear spoilers. It was essentially a racing Miura in all but name. Unfortunately, after extensive testing, the sole Jota (#5084) was sold to a private buyer and soon crashed at high speed, reportedly burning to a crisp in the accident. The Jota was no more – but its legend lived on.
So enamored were certain customers with Wallace’s ultimate Miura that Lamborghini agreed to build a handful of Miura SVJ models by special request. These SVJs were factory-modified SVs mimicking some of the Jota’s upgrades (such as the lighter body panels, open exhaust, and cosmetic cues). Only a few were made (sources say 5 original SVJs, plus one or two later conversions), making them among the most coveted Lamborghinis ever. One SVJ famously ended up with Formula 1 champion Shah of Iran, another with entertainer Nicolas Cage decades later. The SVJ was the closest thing to a street-legal racer in the Miura lineage – the final evolution of an already extreme machine.
The Miura’s Legacy: “When You Are Somebody…”
The Lamborghini Miura did more than just put its maker on the map – it redrew the map of high-performance automobiles. Here was a car born from a tractor tycoon’s grudge, engineered by under-30-year-olds, and styled by a rookie designer, yet it toppled the establishment. After the Miura, every serious sports car maker had to consider the mid-engine, two-seat layout for their top models. Ferrari, which had hesitated to create a mid-engine road car, quickly changed course – by the early 1970s, Ferrari unveiled the 365 GT4 BB (Berlinetta Boxer) with a mid-mounted flat-12 to chase Lamborghini’s concept. The Miura also established Lamborghini as a permanent fixture in the exotic car firmament, setting the template for the company’s blend of outrageous design and ferocious performance. From the Countach in the ’70s to the Aventador of the 2010s, every flagship Lambo is a spiritual descendant of the Miura’s ethos.
Culturally, the Miura’s impact was just as significant. It was arguably the first car to attain “supercar” status in the public imagination. Magazine writers had to invent new superlatives – hence the term supercar – to describe its combination of speed and style. It became a symbol of 1960s jet-set glamour: imagine Peter Sellers or the Shah of Iran tearing along the French Riviera in a lime-green Miura, engine wailing and onlookers gawking. The car even had a star turn in the opening scene of the 1969 film The Italian Job (though alas, that orange Miura met an explosive end in the movie). To this day, the Miura is celebrated as a rolling work of art – a museum-worthy sculpture that just happens to also do 180 mph. In 2016, for the Miura’s 50th anniversary, Lamborghini restored their original Geneva show car and toured it around the world as a showcase of the company’s heritage. The design’s timelessness is such that even after six decades, people still swoon over the Miura’s looks; it “is still regarded as modern, stylish and beautiful,” Lamborghini notes – and few would disagree.
Ferruccio Lamborghini originally set out to build “a perfect car” and in a twist of fate, the Miura – the car he green-lit somewhat reluctantly – became his most famous achievement. It wasn’t perfect in the literal sense (as many a singed Miura engine bay can attest), but the Miura’s flaws are inseparable from its charm. It was the ultimate Delegation Special, born because Ferruccio trusted his talented team to push boundaries. As designer Marcello Gandini later remarked, “To make exceptional things, you must have complete freedom.” The Miura was the product of that freedom, and it proved that sometimes the most amazing results come from taking risks and defying conventions.
In the end, the Lamborghini Miura’s story has all the elements of a great automotive drama: ambition, rivalry, innovation, glamour, and a dash of chaos. It took the bull by the horns – quite literally with its raging bull emblem – and charged into history. From the moment it batted those famous eyelashes at the world in 1966, the Miura set Lamborghini on a course to become a byword for exotic supercars. And for that, we can all be grateful that Ferruccio Lamborghini didn’t stick to tractors. After all, “You buy a Ferrari when you want to be somebody… You buy a Lamborghini when you are somebody.” – the Miura is a car that made Lamborghini somebody in the automotive world, and its legend lives on brightly to this day.
Sources
- Lamborghini – Official History: Miura
- MotorTrend/Automobile – History of the Lamborghini Miura (R. Jurnecka, 2019)
- MotorTrend – Marcello Gandini Obituary (J. Lieberman, 2024)
- Hagerty – Miura Delegation Special (J. Cammisa, 2022)
- The Classic Machines – Lamborghini Miura: The Mighty Lemon (R. Junior, 2024)
- Wikipedia – Lamborghini Miura and cited references therein.
Photo courtesy of RM Sotheby’s
