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In what might admittedly be an unfair comparison between production
cars (no matter how exotic or expensive) and the Pagani, the Zonda clearly
gives the impression that it resulted from the technical and aesthetic ideals
of one man, and not from an imaginary median as defined by focus groups and
marketing suits.
Horacio probably did not have a bunch of designers and marketers in black
turtle-neck sweaters telling him what is and what isn't. He made it the way
he wanted. Be it the gloriously over-the-top design of the pedal box, the
lay of the carbon fiber weave, the aforementioned strange font on the speedo,
to the specifics of the engine's performance, Horacio was clear about how
it was all to come together.
If an ecclesiastical analogy is to be indulged, Horacio Pagani spent six
years fettling the Zonda and on the seventh he stepped back, took a deep breath,
and saw that it was good. So good, in fact, that he finally christened the
Zonda C12 the Zonda F in its ultimate spec and state of tune, F for the man
who inspired the car, Juan Manuel Fangio.
And, I would argue, that is precisely what makes the Zonda F Clubsport so
culturally important in automotive history. From the original C12 to the Zonda
F, Horacio Pagani kept tweaking the car until he was satisfied.
Every single Pagani Zonda, notwithstanding its advanced engineering, is
created in the spirit of traditional craftsmanship, a love-child of the sheer
passion of its maker. There are very, very few cars today which so fully embody
their creator's intensely personal pursuit of perfection.
I realize it is totally unfair and unrealistic to expect all modern cars
to have such luxury of specificity as the Zonda F. Yet in a time where once-prestigious
marques are, in the cold light of day, parts-sharing zombies with Identikit
interiors and shared drivetrains, the consistent evolution of the Zonda keeps
alive the irretrievably romantic idea of the hand-crafted motor car.
For this reason alone, we should be glad that Horacio Pagani and his Zonda
exist. 
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