There are essentially two breeds of Ferrari—the new super utility Purosangue and four-wheel-drive FF notwithstanding. First, the most salient: the blood-hued mid-engined supercars crouching inches from the asphalt. Slip inside, and you feel something akin to what Scott Carpenter probably felt crawling into his Aurora 7 Mercury spaceship. Or perhaps the sensation is more similar to Lewis Hamilton’s experience squeezing into his F1 racer, waiting for the Grand Prix Christmas tree lights to go off.
The other, slightly less celebrated—but equally worthy—breed is Maranello’s vaunted grand-touring bloodline. Rear-wheel-drive, radiating V8 or V12 engines purring under the long hood, a scrumptious cabin eager to pamper the driver for a long run up the Pacific Coast Highway or through the Corniches of the Côte d’Azur. In my youth, the former breed would make me giggle like a schoolgirl at the mere potential of driving one. As an adult who’s now less impressed by pure speed than refinement, it is the latter that paddleshifts my gears—and no Ferrari has run me through my eight speeds as exquisitely as the 12Cilindri Spider, a revery of a GT. My Lord, what a vehicle.
The 12Cilindri Spider is not a car conceived for crushing apexes and launching blistering sprints. However, being a Ferrari, trust us, it can handle those chores without breaking a sweat. But what it really celebrates is the art of driving for joy. With a naturally aspirated 6.5-liter V12 and 800-plus horses galloping under a beautifully stretched hood, the GT provides seemingly endless levels of speed, torque, and thrust—the limits of which you will rarely touch.
Meanwhile, the cabin is lined with supple leather and Alcantara, detailed in polished carbon fiber. The design has less to do with the trio of digital displays (including a massive 15.6-inch cluster) than with pampering its driver and his favorite companion with opulence. With the roof down, the 12Cilindri Spider delivers a Michelin-starred meal of performance and measured theatrics. The mellifluous roar of the namesake engine bounces off the cliffs of Malibu or Mulholland—a soundtrack sweeter than anything you’ll hear through its 15-speaker Burmester sound system.
The entire experience embodies true luxury, pure and simple—but a particular strain of luxury that marries grandeur with performance, pampering with speed and agility. And Ferrari would have it no other way.
This article originally appeared in Maxim’s Summer 2026 issue.