For perspective, the estimated value was around $1.1 million. That means the buyer paid roughly 36 times what the car was expected to bring. At that point, you’re no longer bidding against other collectors. You’re arm-wrestling your accountant while your financial adviser hides beneath a banquet table.
The buyer was Dr. Herbert “Herbie” Wertheim, an 87-year-old Florida billionaire, inventor, former optometrist and major Ferrari collector. Wertheim founded Brain Power, a company specializing in optical technology, then built a considerably larger fortune through investments. Apparently, he spent decades helping people see clearly before dropping $40 million on a car that looks like an Apple Store designed a suppository.
To be fair, Wertheim didn’t buy it because he needed something for the morning run to Publix. The entire sale price went to the Ferrari Foundation to support educational programs, and he intends to use the car to help other organizations raise money. That turns an otherwise clinically insane purchase into a very large charitable donation with wheels attached. Reuters and The Wall Street Journal reported the sale and Wertheim’s plans for the car.
Still, let’s examine the merchandise.
The Luce is Ferrari’s first fully electric production car and, because apparently we’ve entered the automotive Book of Revelation, it seats five people. The one sold in Monterey was “Chassis 0,” finished in pearlescent white with a black glass roof and enough minimalist design to make a Scandinavian furniture catalog feel underdressed.
It uses four electric motors producing more than 1,000 horsepower. That means it will be violently fast, because every electric performance car now accelerates like somebody dropped a grand piano from a helicopter. Press the pedal, rearrange your internal organs, and arrive at the next charging station before your dignity catches up.
Ferrari says the Luce will still deliver emotion. I certainly hope so. At $40 million, it should deliver emotion, lunch and a handwritten apology from Enzo Ferrari.
Now, I understand that performance changes. Technology moves forward. Ferrari cannot spend eternity building naturally aspirated V12s while governments circle the factory holding emissions regulations and sharpened pitchforks.
But Ferrari without an engine note is a strange proposition.
The sound is part of the deal. A Ferrari is supposed to announce itself from three blocks away like Luciano Pavarotti being chased through a cathedral by the tax police. You hear it before you see it. The machine shakes, snarls and occasionally threatens to ruin your retirement.
An electric Ferrari arrives with the faint hum of a dentist’s office.
Here comes the rant.
We have reached the stage of civilization where billionaires bid $40 million for a white electric crossover while ordinary people finance a Toyota for seven years and pay extra to unlock the heated seats. Somewhere, a 250 GTO is sitting silently in a climate-controlled garage, wondering how humanity went from Weber carburetors to software updates without anybody calling a family meeting.
Monterey was once about cars. Now it resembles Davos with driving gloves. The champagne is cold, the auction paddles are warm, and every transaction contains enough money to rebuild a small Midwestern town.
Yet I can’t fully criticize Wertheim. The money went to education, he plans to use the car for future fundraising, and he can clearly afford the experiment.
He didn’t buy transportation.
He made a $40 million donation and Ferrari threw in a battery-powered conversation piece.
