The Birth of a New Car Brand: Russian Engineers Attempt to Build a Ferrari in a Garage Fueled by Sheer Heroic Optimism

Somewhere deep in Russia, against all odds and perhaps better judgment, a new domestic sports car brand has emerged from the post-industrial ether. Its name is Rydin (pronounced “Raïdin” – much like the final sound a medieval heretic made upon meeting the Spanish Inquisition), and no, it’s not another SUV or a glorified electric scooter. This is a legitimate race-bred coupé, designed with the singular ambition of smoking Porsches in the GT3 class. It’s said to cost like a GT4… but drive like a GT3. Which is rather like saying you’ve bought a Lada and it turned out to be a McLaren in disguise.

Rydin was seemingly born from a fiery cocktail of patriotic pride, righteous indignation, and an unrelenting craving for high-speed glory. After 2022, when foreign manufacturers stopped sending their shiny race cars and spare parts into Russia, the answer wasn’t to give up—it was to go rogue. “Let’s build our own,” they declared. “And let’s make it better!”

But not just better in the sense of “slightly improved.” No, they want to build a world-beater, a machine capable of dragging the best from Stuttgart and Woking face-first through the gravel trap.

This embryonic beast, the future Rydin, is essentially a Ferrari… if it were built by angry, underfunded engineers in a repurposed warehouse just outside Tula. So far, there’s no actual car. Just plans, drawings, and a wildly enthusiastic video explaining how this miracle will unfold. The powertrain and gearbox? Still imported, because it turns out 600-horsepower V8s don’t grow on birch trees. But everything else—chassis, body panels, suspension—is proudly homegrown, crafted with more nerve than budget.

The business plan? Astonishing. They claim building three cars a year gets them to break-even. Five, and they’re profitable. This is about as optimistic as selling hot sand in Riyadh. And yet, somehow, looking at the renders... it doesn’t look half bad.

Should the Rydin ever make it off paper and into the paddock—and should it genuinely go wheel-to-wheel with the Astons and Porsches of the world—then hats off. That would be like rebuilding the Titanic… only this time, without the iceberg.

And if they really manage to homologate a street-legal version, as teased, then one day we might just see a Rydin supercar parked beside a cabbage field, its owner lovingly polishing the mirrors with a wool sock.

In short: bold, naive, gloriously ambitious, and borderline insane. Odds are, we’ll never hear of this car again.