Produced between 1989 and 1990, the Autech Zagato Stelvio AZ1 is a rare, two-door coupé born from an unlikely East-meets-West collaboration. Built by Autech, a subsidiary of Nissan, the Stelvio pairs solid Japanese engineering with an unapologetically bold body penned by the famed Italian design house, Zagato. It’s based on dependable Nissan underpinnings, but its flamboyant styling—handcrafted in limited numbers at Zagato’s Milan workshop—makes it anything but ordinary. Love it or loathe it, the Stelvio AZ1 doesn’t do subtle.
Genesis – How a Japanese Tuner and an Italian Tailor Cooked Up a Super-Coupé
Autech began life in 1986 as Nissan’s in-house tuner—a sort of Nismo sibling with a more refined wardrobe. Initially tasked with tweaking bodywork and squeezing more out of engines, Autech soon found itself with grander ambitions. To elevate its profile and earn a bit of street cred, the company set out to create a luxury sports car sold under its own name. Think of it as a statement piece—a flagship to show Autech meant business.
To add European flair (and a sprinkle of continental prestige), Nissan partnered with a storied Italian design house. This was very much in vogue at the time: in the U.S., Cadillac had enlisted Pininfarina to build the Allanté, and Chrysler handed the TC project to Maserati. Nissan’s Italian of choice? The legendary Zagato, known for coachbuilt rarities from the likes of Aston Martin and Bristol.
The deal was sealed in May 1987, and after nearly two years of development, the Autech Zagato Stelvio made its debut in early 1989 in Japan, where 800 journalists got a first look. A month later, it crossed continents to appear at the Geneva Motor Show, alongside Zagato’s other new head-turner, the Alfa Romeo RZ. Production followed shortly after.
Exclusivity was the name of the game, and sales were limited almost entirely to Japan—at eye-watering prices. Fortunately (at first), the timing was perfect: Japan’s infamous asset bubble was in full swing, with real estate and rare collectibles changing hands for absurd sums. In this speculative frenzy, a wildly styled, limited-run Italian-Japanese coupé seemed like just the ticket.
But bubbles, as they do, burst. By early 1990, the market crashed, the appetite for high-priced toys vanished, and the Stelvio’s future went up in smoke. Its production ended prematurely, long before it could hit the numbers originally planned.
Still, the story didn’t end there. Autech and Zagato would reconnect in the ’90s. Zagato unveiled two Nissan concept cars—the Bambù and Seta—in 1992, and by the mid-decade, the pair produced a sequel of sorts: the Autech Gavia Zagato. Styled in part by a young Walter de Silva, it was built in small numbers using leftover Stelvio chassis. Depending on who you ask, as few as 16 or as many as 40 Gavias were completed. Either way, it remained a curious and stylish footnote to an already eccentric automotive tale.
What’s in a Name?
The name Stelvio pays homage to the legendary mountain pass that winds its way through the Alps between Switzerland and Italy. It’s said that Shinichiro Sakurai, then-president of Autech, was deeply impressed by the pass during a business trip with his former boss Ryoichi Nakagawa while working for Prince Motors. The sweeping curves and dramatic scenery clearly left a mark.
Years later, when it came time to name Autech’s audacious new coupé, Sakurai reached back to that moment of alpine inspiration. The Stelvio name was born—years before Alfa Romeo would borrow it for their SUV, by the way. Though unlike the Italian crossover, this Stelvio wasn’t built to climb the pass—it was built to conquer valet stands and turn heads at Tokyo nightspots.
Design – Aluminium, Angles, and Audacity
The Autech Zagato Stelvio is not the sort of car you glance at and forget. It’s a rolling piece of avant-garde automotive sculpture, crafted in hand-formed aluminium panels draped over a steel skeleton. Built entirely by hand, the Stelvio wears its bespoke nature on its sleeve—or rather, on every sculpted crease and curious contour.
This two-door notchback coupé was penned by Gianni Zagato, though its silhouette rings a few familiar bells. The cabin design, in particular, echoes the Aston Martin V8 Zagato from 1985—a car also styled at Zagato, this time by chief designer Giuseppe Mittino. That angular Aston itself drew from earlier Bertone cues, creating a kind of Italian design family tree, with the Stelvio as one of its more eccentric branches. Slender, sharply angled A- and C-pillars give the profile a crisp, architectural feel.
But let’s talk about the mirrors—oh, the mirrors. At a time when Japanese regulations mandated that rearview mirrors sit above the front wheels (yes, really), most manufacturers simply plonked them on stalks sprouting from the fenders. Not Zagato. Not Sakurai. Instead, the Stelvio’s mirrors were integrated into a sweeping housing that flowed directly into the bonnet—a move said to improve aerodynamics and styling… although not universally appreciated. In fact, it’s rumored that Zagato’s own staff, unfamiliar with Japan’s quirky mirror laws, were baffled when asked to incorporate them.
The front end carries a subtle nod to the “Knudsen nose” with a raised bonnet centreline, and beneath it sits a stylized A-shaped air intake—a wink to Autech’s name, perhaps. A bold character line sweeps down each flank and wraps around the rear, visually slicing the body into two sections. The upper half appears narrower than the lower, leading one critic to quip that the Stelvio looks like one car stuffed into another. And honestly? That’s not far off.
True to Zagato form, a gentle double bubble graces the roof—an iconic design flourish dating back to the 1950s, originally intended to provide extra helmet space for racing drivers. The wheel arches are fully enclosed, each with a neat little NACA duct for cooling, while the doors feature slim, pop-out handles reminiscent of early ’50s Italian exotics.
Inside, the Stelvio ditches minimalism for outright indulgence. Italian leather swathes the seats, and real wood trims the dashboard. It’s a luxurious cabin, if a slightly eccentric one—much like the rest of the car.
Under the Skin – Leopard DNA with an Italian Suit
The Stelvio wasn’t just a solo act—it was the product of a three-way collaboration. Zagato handled the styling (naturally), Turin-based specialist OPAC took charge of body engineering, and Autech brought the mechanicals to life using tried-and-true Nissan hardware.
Underneath that flamboyant exterior lies the solid foundation of the Nissan Leopard F31, a stately grand tourer that debuted in 1986 with a distinctly conservative notchback design. The Stelvio retains the Leopard’s unaltered floorpan and identical 2,615 mm wheelbase, although it shaves off roughly 30 cm in overall length thanks to a shorter rear overhang—a nip and tuck that gives it a tauter, more athletic profile.
Power comes from a 3.0-litre VG30DET V6, a twin-cam, 24-valve, turbocharged gem equipped with a Garrett blower—something you wouldn’t find in the standard Leopard lineup. Closely related to the unit found in the Nissan 300ZX, the Autech-tuned version pushed the envelope further. Officially, it was rated at 280 PS (206 kW), the upper legal limit under Japan’s gentleman’s agreement on horsepower at the time. Unofficially? Most believe it had well over 300 PS (220 kW) lurking under that long bonnet.
Power was sent to the rear wheels via a four-speed automatic—a bit of a letdown for purists, perhaps, but perfectly in line with the car’s luxury-GT aspirations. The suspension layout mirrored the Leopard’s, with independent setups front and rear, while disc brakes at all four corners provided the necessary stopping power. In essence, the Stelvio had the heart of a tourer, the soul of a sports car, and the wardrobe of a Milanese runway model.
Production – Built in Milan, Powered by Japan, Priced Like a Palace
Like the car itself, the production process of the Autech Zagato Stelvio was a globe-spanning affair. The drivetrain and chassis components were manufactured in Japan, then shipped halfway across the world to Zagato’s Milan workshop, where the cars were painstakingly assembled by hand. Think of it as haute couture on wheels—with a Japanese heart beating beneath an Italian tailored suit.
The original plan was ambitious: 200 production vehicles, plus three prototypes. Reality, however, had other ideas. Most sources agree that target was never even close to being reached. Depending on which historian, collector, or overly confident forum post you consult, production numbers vary between 80 and 104 units. The most commonly cited figures are 88 or 104—though some just shrug and say, “somewhere between 80 and 100.” Not exactly mass production, then.
This underachievement left Autech with a warehouse full of unused engines, gearboxes, and assorted mechanical bits. Waste not, want not: these leftovers would later find homes in other oddball projects, including the coachbuilt Zagato Gavia and even a curious R31 Skyline variant marketed under the “S&S Drift Package.” Yes, really.
At launch in 1989, the Stelvio carried a jaw-dropping price tag of ¥18 million. That made it, apart from the stately Toyota Century limousine, the most expensive Japanese production car of its time. And while it may not have been a volume success, the Stelvio certainly made a statement: Japan was no longer content building only practical hatchbacks and sensible sedans—it could do eccentric, exotic, and extravagant too.
Beauty, Beast, or Both?
If there’s one thing the Autech Zagato Stelvio never lacked, it was the power to provoke. From the moment it broke cover in 1989, its design polarized critics and bystanders alike—eliciting everything from puzzled silence to outright ridicule.
Andrea Zagato himself recalled the car’s debut before Japanese journalists with a wince. The room, he claimed, responded with “icy silence”. And in a candid 2019 interview, he didn’t mince words: “It’s so ugly that even today I try to hide it,” he admitted. Not exactly a glowing endorsement from the man whose company built it.
Critics were equally brutal. One quipped that the Stelvio looked like the designers had gone to lunch halfway through the job and left the janitor to finish it. Others settled on adjectives like “bizarre,” “crazy,” or more diplomatically, “uncompromising.” One writer went so far as to call it “one of the strangest cars in the world.” Hard to argue.
Yet in that strangeness lies its charm. The Autech Stelvio wasn’t trying to be pretty. It wasn’t trying to be safe. It was a bold, strange, wonderfully excessive experiment born from a brief moment when the Japanese auto industry had money to burn and the confidence to try just about anything. And for that alone, the Stelvio deserves its place in the annals of automotive curiosity—a misunderstood misfit, and all the more fascinating for it.
Photo courtesy of Bonhams.
