Singer and the Porsche 911 – When Nostalgia Grows Carbon Wings

In some corners of the world – California, for example – cars aren’t built merely to get you from point A to point B. They’re built to make your pulse race, your knees weak, and your soul believe in machinery again. And when we speak of Singer – the company that takes the classic Porsche 911 and refines it into something so perfect it’s borderline unjust – we’re not talking about a restomod. We’re talking about a reincarnated legend clad in carbon fibre and singing Cosworth-composed arias straight into your chest cavity.

The latest masterpiece from Singer is based on the wide-bodied Porsche Carrera SSE of the late 1980s. But don’t be fooled – this is no freshly resprayed old coupe. The body is carbon fibre, every panel and line restored with the kind of obsessive precision usually reserved for restoring Renaissance frescoes, and the result radiates something that can only be described as retro from the future. It’s as if a 1989 designer smoked a very expensive cigar, dreamed about 2025, and Singer made that dream reality.

And then there are the design flourishes. Oh, the details. Fog lights? Hidden. Completely invisible until summoned like a magician’s trick. Rear wings? Take your pick: a fixed, towering slab that wouldn’t look out of place on medieval city walls, or a discreet, retractable spoiler that rises like a parasol escaping a stormy breeze.

Inside, forget touchscreens and digital gimmickry. Buttons are actual buttons. Levers are mechanical marvels. And if you go for the track-spec version, you don’t pull your doors shut – you tug straps. The seats? Buckets straight out of Le Mans fever dreams. The gear selector? An exposed linkage masterpiece, reaching up like a mechanical handshake that dares you to try.

And the engine. Dear God, the engine. A naturally aspirated 4.0-litre Cosworth-built flat-six. 426 horsepower. Liquid-cooled. Four-valve heads. Variable valve timing. And a redline that howls all the way to 8000 rpm. It doesn’t just rev – it sings, like a tenor being paid not in cash but in 98-octane nectar. The gearbox? A six-speed manual, of course – because there is no other proper way to communicate with something this pure. Rear-wheel drive? Absolutely. Anything else would be betrayal.

And the price? No one really says. Singer doesn’t sell cars – they offer them. But count on at least €1.85 million. And if you find yourself wondering whether that’s worth three brand-new 911 Turbo S’s, then let me save you the trouble: you are not the customer they’re building these for.

But if you are… if you get it… then every time you bury your right foot into that Cosworth crescendo and watch the world blur in your mirror, you’ll know: you didn’t just buy a car. You bought a dream. One with a number plate.