Gyatt damn my entry now looks modest luxury in comparison lmao.
Élise stood in the center of the workshop, her gaze fixed upon the Grombulous Stiletto. On the surface, the engineering promised a revolution, featuring a two-speed automatic transmission that the builder claimed would provide a seamless flow of power without the constant chore of the gear lever. However, as she leaned over the engine bay, a sharp, unfamiliar chemical scent prickled at her nose—the odeur piquante of high-octane 98 RON aviation fuel. While such a volatile mixture might be accessible at a military airfield or a specialized racing circuit, it was tout à fait impractical for a woman whose life moved between the salons of Paris and the villas of the Mediterranean. She imagined herself stranded in a small village in the Massif Central, watching a confused local mechanic explain that his standard pumps could not possibly feed such a cœur exigeant. Furthermore, the novelty of the automatic gearbox felt less like a luxury and more like a loss of control, and the mechanical reliability of such a complex, self-shifting apparatus was a frequent subject of messes basses among her peers. She preferred the tactile, proven weight of a synchronized manual, fearing that this “modern” convenience might leave her helpless on a steep Italian pass, trapped in a mechanism that neither she nor any roadside mécanicien truly understood.
Regarding the silhouette, Élise found the Stiletto to be a truly striking presence, possessing a certain élégance musclée that commanded the floor. She admired the long, sweeping hood and the raw, mechanical honesty of the exposed V12 exhausts which emerged from the sides like the gills of a great predator. The rear haunches were particularly masterful, rising with a powerful curve that mirrored the front arches and gave the car an athletic, “ready-to-spring” stance. She noted the clever external storage mount at the rear—ideal for a quick-access nécessaire de toilette—and the delicate chrome accents tracing the lower edges of the fenders. Yet, as she moved to the front of the machine, the esthétique felt somewhat unfinished; the radiator shell lacked the triumphant ornamentation or intricate chrome jewelry she expected from a bespoke commission of this price. The headlights appeared timid, being slightly too small for such a wide face, and the door itself looked remarkably narrow, suggesting a struggle to enter or exit with any degree of panache while wearing a full silk coat. Most distracting of all were the bumpers, which curved upwards at the ends in a manner that seemed to disagree with the long, horizontal speed-lines of the body, creating a visual tension that broke the otherwise harmonie of the design.
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Mainly disqualified due to using leaded 98 RON fuel. The automatic wouldn’t be too bad, but it was also a mismatch of how atuomation handled it in-game and what it really is in real life. I know that in the 1930s, pre-selector automatics existed, but this did not mean torque converter automatics as are how they are implemented in-game. As such, they carry such a massive drive and comfort boost that I cannot in good conscience judge the stats here in comparison to the others. A very high-quality (+12 or above) manual along with high-quality on the driving aid/steering section could suffice for this more advanced, pre-selector manuals. The fuel thing was also just a rule-set based one, I looked into it again but everyone else used leaded 92 so yeah.
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@sambatt - Caëlion Aéromarque Voiturier Noir
As Élise walked around the Caëlion Aéromarque Type 37 Voiturier Noir, her brow furrowed with a scepticisme that no amount of polished salesmanship could smooth away. The builder spoke in grand, revolutionary terms of a “monocoque” construction—a singular, stressed shell where the body and the frame were one and the same. To a woman raised in the world of haute couture, where the structure of a garment depends on a firm foundation, this sounded like an impossible fantasy for a low-volume atelier. She knew that such a feat required the kind of gargantuan, multi-story hydraulic presses that only a titan like Citroën could afford for their mass-produced models; for a boutique coachbuilder to claim they could hand-hammer such a complex, rigid structure seemed like a dangerous overreach. There was also a distinct lack of the traditional romance she craved in the commissioning process. Usually, one could visit the workshop to inspect the bare châssis en échelle chassis—the sturdy, rolling spine of the machine—before the artisans draped the steel and leather over it. With the Aéromarque, there was no squelette to admire, only a hollow promise of strength that felt technologically out of place for a bespoke motorcar in 1937.
When it came to the visual allure of the vehicle, Élise found herself searching for a spark of excitement that never quite arrived. While the Aéromarque was undeniably sleek, it possessed the somewhat anonymous, air utilitaire of a car intended for the many rather than the few. The proportions lacked that dramatic, sweeping longueur that defined a true grand routier; the body sat a fraction too high on its suspension, giving it a slightly leggy, unsettled appearance rather than the grounded, commanding stance she preferred. The rear haunches were particularly modestes, lacking the muscular swell that usually signaled power and prestige. She did appreciate the delicate central spine that traced its way from the roof to the tail, as well as the style industriel of the exposed rivets that hinted at aerodynamic ambitions, yet the motif felt incomplete. Had that central line continued forward to bisect a more ornamental, proud calandre, the car might have achieved a more singular identity. As it stood, the small, somewhat hesitant exhausts peeking from the side of the hood and the overall restraint of the carrosserie left her feeling that, while it was a handsome enough machine for a banker’s daily commute, it lacked the âme théâtrale required to turn heads on the Promenade des Anglais.
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Mainly disqualified due to using a full monocoque chassis. Yes, Citroen did use one, but through millions invested in giant hydraulic steel presses that ‘stamped’ hard steel into the desired body panels into shape, allowing them to bear the forces and stresses of the car. This is not feasible for more boutique coachbuilders as literally you would need (extremely) expensive ‘molds’ for every single body panel. Customers would also not be able to commission custom coach-built bodywork, as every body panel would need its own stamping mold. Furthermore, you cannot ‘hand-form’ or hand-build a monocoque chassis, you cannot hammer structural chassis steel panels into shape. Financially for your coachbuilder company, this would make sense if you wanted to sell millions of cars in order to reap some profit off your multi-million investment in gigantic hydraulic steel presses (and even then this is a massive financial risk in this era), but for a custom coachbuilder that would need to customize their bodywork for every customer, this is impossible to do. In-game, monocoque chassis are VERY good compared to ladder frames and I could not in good conscience allow the stats to be compared with the other entries.
C’est tout pour le moment!
16 Likes
Holy flashbang
3 Likes
Regarding the bit about the expense of monocoque construction, an illustrative footnote: the Cord 810, in several ways similar to the Citroen Traction Avant but rather more luxurious, was designed with its upper doors mirror images of each other, because the tooling for that sheetmetal was so expensive they could only afford two - a front left/rear right and front right/rear left.
6 Likes
Zut! I guess I needed to read the rules more carefully!
3 Likes
Just a heads up for the future, on a small mobile screen, gold text on white background is hardly even readable.
8 Likes
Hello, just an update - last week I was entirely on vacation away from laptop (Ich habe Zuckerfest gefeiert) and currently I’m sick so next part of results will be up later this week, thanks! The actual numerical judging is done but I just need to type and do more design stuff 
10 Likes
In a way it reassures me to see challenge makers taking ages to do their stuff, it gives me the feeling that maybe I could host one and just be part of the slow gang, honestly it would suit me well.
21 days without an update though ? 
I mean I really don’t mind waiting (remember Mille Monti madness) but I hope we are actually waiting for something, please don’t 24-hours-of-Elllsbury-1984 us 
Sorry for checking, I try doing it gently 
2 Likes
Hello! For that last update I thought I could split the reviews into several parts but actually it’s all just combined into one so… yeah
Most of the reviews are done (Aesthetics+Design, Judging, Stats, Engineering Notes), I still need to write some more stuff on the engineering side and final thoughts. I am (really) hoping I can do it by tomorrow.
9 Likes
Best reason, you are excused 
2 Likes
epic can’t wait for my entry to get roasted bc the roof looks ass.
2 Likes
vro
3 Likes
Élise stood before the Aureal 88s Montclair Etoile Teardrop, her expression one of quiet contemplation as she attempted to digest its unusual volume. Her first impression was that the machine appeared un peu lourd—a heavy, almost rotund presence that felt surprisingly wide upon the gravel. The cockpit bubble was undeniably prominent, a vast sleek metal dome that seemed to swell upward and dominate the entire profile from middle to rear, leaving the engine bonnet looking curiously diminutive in comparison. This imbalance created a silhouette that felt somewhat awkward, as if the car were holding its breath, resulting in a physical mass that suggested a cavernous interior which, upon closer inspection, did not truly exist. While the enclosed cabin promised a certain tranquillité and excellent sound isolation from the roar of the road, the sheer scale of the exterior felt disproportionate. It possessed a roomy, substantial quality that lacked the lithe grace she had come to expect from a modern grand routier, presenting instead a heavy architecture that felt more like a looming sculpture than a nimble carriage for the Côte d’Azur.
As she moved around the flank, the extreme minimalism of the Aureal began to feel less like a deliberate aesthetic choice and more like a curious absence of caractère. The sprawling fender flares were entirely empty, devoid of any chrome flourishes or decorative accents that might have lent the car a sense of movement or purpose. At the front, two solitary, average-sized headlights stared out with a plainness that felt almost austere, while the rear was punctuated by tail lights so small they seemed nearly lost in the vast expanse of painted steel. There was no shimmering trim to catch the afternoon sun, nothing to “tie” the disparate rounded shapes together into a cohesive, luxurious unit. Even the promise of immense space suggested by its “fat” proportions proved to be an illusion; the interior and cargo areas were merely average, offering no functional advantage over much sleeker competitors. It was a machine of undeniable aerodynamic intent, yet in its pursuit of a sleek, unadorned surface, it had sacrificed the éclat required of a masterpiece. To Élise, the Aureal felt like a vessel that had not yet found its soul, failing to live up to the grand potential of its own ambitious design intent.
2.65m, 3-spd, 1522kg
$140,000
7.0L NA V12, 271hp
The Aureal 88s Montclaire Etoile Teardrop presented a striking silhouette, yet its price of one hundred and forty thousand dollars—the most substantial somme requested thus far—brought with it an expectation of structural perfection that the car struggled to meet. As Élise moved around the vehicle, her initial admiration for the “Teardrop” styling was dampened by a close inspection of the underpinnings. The steel ladder chassis appeared surprisingly flimsy, lacking the robust reinforcement and clean welds she had observed in more modestly priced commissions. It possessed a fragilité that felt entirely out of place for a vehicle of this standing, appearing as though it had been assembled with a certain haste that bordered on the negligent. Interestingly, when the bonnet was opened, the 7.0-litre V12 revealed a much higher standard of artisanat; the manufacturer had clearly funneled their attention into the engine’s construction, which felt solid and well-finished. However, this mechanical excellence seemed isolated within a frame that did not share its quality. The interior, while handmade, lacked the effortless prestige of its rivals, feeling like a collection of parts that were adequate but certainly not exceptional for the cost. The contrast was jarring; the engine promised a reliable heart, but the hastily-put-together nature of the body and chassis suggested a lack of cohesive qualité that left Élise questioning the longevity of the entire machine. For a woman who intended to traverse the continent, the thought of a structural failure on a remote Alpine pass was a souci she could not easily dismiss, regardless of the engine’s polish.
Taking the Aureal out for a trial conduite, the mechanical shortcomings of the three-gear manual transmission became immediately apparent. While the seven-litre engine provided a predictable delivery of power and a remarkably flat torque curve, it felt uncharacteristically eager and lacked the refined douceur she expected from a V12. The three speeds were spaced with such wide intervals that shifting resulted in severe gaps in power at the wheel, interrupting the flow of movement and making the car feel momentarily breathless during transitions. As she reached higher speeds, a persistent vibration crept through the manual recirculating ball steering, and the handling felt unrefined, as if the wheels and suspension had never been properly tuned to work in harmony. The suspension tune was noticeably stiff; while this resulted in the least amount of roulis she had encountered—the car remained remarkably flat through corners—it came at a severe cost to her personal comfort. The ride was harsh, transmitting every imperfection of the chaussée directly into the cabin, a sensation that quickly transformed the drive from an elegant excursion into a physical ordeal. This lack of dampening made the Aureal a poor candidate for daily use in Paris. Despite a respectable acceleration to one hundred kilometers per hour in 8.06 seconds and a top speed of 199km/h, the machine felt fundamentally unpolished and thirsty. It was a stiff and structurally suspect vehicle that failed to provide the sense of security and bien-être required of a true luxury routier.
Design Score
75 (Aesthetics)
75 (Build Quality)
75 (Combined)
Engineering Score
25.16
Combined Score
11th Overall
11th Engineering
6th Design
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Augelmir Type-8 Dual
Élise approached the 1937 Augelmir Type-8 Dual with a sense of curiosity that quickly turned to mild bewilderment as she circled the machine. From the front, the présence of the car was undeniable, dominated by a tall, elevated grille that rose with a sculptural authority, exuding a raw, mechanical power that felt perfectly suited for the grand boulevards of Paris. She found herself genuinely impressed by the side air intakes and the bold decision to mount the spare wheels externally, which gave the Type-8 a look of avant-garde sculptural power. However, as she transitioned to the rear, the aesthetic cohesion seemed to vanish in favor of a sharp, angular triangular design that struck her as assez bizarre. This prominent, pointed tail felt entirely out of place when contrasted with the soft, rounded lines of the wheel fenders, and it seemed to flatten out toward the ground with a lack of integration that left the silhouette feeling unresolved. It was certainly an eye-catching choice, but to her discerning eye, the rear architecture felt like a bold experimental geometric sketch that had been haphazardly placed, rather than a deliberate part of the car’s sculptural physionomie.
Settling into the habitacle, Élise was immediately struck by the unusual arrangement of the controls, most notably the steering wheel positioned resolutely in the center of the cabin. While the interior was undoubtedly well-appointed and decorated with the sort of luxe materials she expected, the central volant presented a significant practical dilemma. As a woman who sometimes traveled with friends or business associates, the notion of a two-seater with a central pilot’s seat felt remarkably awkward; it would require her to sit off-center and operate the wheel from a tilted, uncomfortable angle whenever she had a passenger. It seemed a design better suited for a solitary pilote than a fixture of the social season, effectively defeating the purpose of a shared journey. While the cabin space was sufficient and the craftsmanship was undeniably soigné, the fundamental layout felt like a curious miscalculation. She appreciated the quality of the fittings, but the sheer physical awkwardness of the seating arrangement left her wondering if the Augelmir was intended more as a technical exercise than a functional chef-d’œuvre for her continent-spanning travels.
3.02m, 3-spd, 1561kg
$138,000
9.5L SC Inline-8, 482.5hp
The Augelmir Type-8 Dual is a titan draped in steel that demanded a staggering one hundred and thirty-eight thousand dollars for the privilege of its company. At such a price, Élise expected nothing less than a mechanical apothéose, a car where every rivet and weld whispered of an artisan’s obsession. Upon opening the heavy doors, she found an interior that was undeniably respectable; the leather was taut and the luxury AM radio sat within a dash of decent menuiserie, yet it lacked that final, ethereal touch of maestria one might find in the most elite Parisian workshops. It felt solid, certainly, a testament to a heavy-duty ladder chassis that seemed forged for eternity rather than mere decades. Her attention was drawn inevitably to the long, imposing bonnet, which housed an inline-eight engine of truly colossal proportions, nearly ten litres of displacement. The centrifugal supercharger was a jewel of mécanique, and the craftsmanship here was evident—there was a reassuring fiabilité in the way the components were seated, suggesting a machine built for the rigors of high-speed transit. Yet, even as she admired the sheer scale of this behemoth, there was a lingering sense that the Augelmir was perhaps more a product of relentless industry than a delicate balance of art. It was an engine built for la force brute, a massive workhorse that promised reliability at the cost of the silky, effortless refinement she had come to expect from the prestigious V12s of her social circle.
Stepping into the cabin, the heavy noise isolation immediately cocooned Élise in a silence that felt almost medicinal, yet the moment she engaged the three-gear manual and surged forward, the illusion of serenity vanished. The acceleration was nothing short of effrayante; the Augelmir tore through the air with a savage urgency, reaching one hundred kilometers per hour in less than seven seconds, a feat of vitesse that left her momentarily breathless. This was a machine capable of a terrifying two hundred and seventy kilometers per hour, yet as she navigated the sweeping curves leading out of the city, the car’s composure began to unravel. The inline-eight lacked the inherent douceur of a multi-bank arrangement, vibrating with a raw, torquey energy that felt a bit too eager and a bit too unrefined for a woman of her standing. The suspension was a particular source of mécontentement; despite the heavy-duty construction, the tuning was woefully misguided. The Augelmir felt floaty and imprecise, swaying with a severe body roll that tossed her side-to-side as if she were caught in a swell at sea. This maladresse was compounded by a steering that felt heavy and unresponsive, making every maneuver a chore rather than a delight. To make matters worse, the brakes felt dangerously underpowered against the momentum of such a massive monstre, providing a sense of insecurity that dampened the thrill of its top speed. By the time she returned, the fuel gauge had plummeted with a soif that surpassed even the most extravagant V16s she had known. The initial charm of its brutal power had faded, leaving behind a thirsty, ungainly machine that simply lacked the cohesive élégance of a true grand tourer.
Design Score
70 (Aesthetics)
90 (Build Quality)
80 (Combined)
Engineering Score
31.52
Combined Score
10th Overall
10th Engineering
4th Design
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Carrozzeria Montiago Abruzzi V12
Élise stood before the Carrozzeria Montiago Abruzzi V12, stunned by its sheer, almost monstrueux scale. With a wheelbase stretching to nearly four meters, it was easily the longest machine in the courtyard, yet it possessed none of the graceful command one expected from such dimensions. To her eye, the proportions were a profound déséquilibre; the main body of the car was an immensely long, flat rectangular block that appeared to have been placed unceremoniously atop a separate set of wide, prominent fenders. There was a jarring lack of cohesion in its geometry, with the front and rear overhangs being so extremely short that the car felt unnaturally heavy and unfinished, as if the ends had been sawn off before the carrossier could complete the thought. The sides were remarkably bare and flat, lacking any significant surfacing or detail to break up the vast expanse of metal. While the front grille was undeniably well-executed—sculpted with a precision that hinted at what the car might have been—the rest of the exterior failed to evoke any sense of luxe. It was a reminder to Élise that a long bonnet alone does not make a masterpiece; without the emotional resonance of a well-balanced silhouette, it remained merely a large, square object of steel.
Stepping toward the cabin, the sense of bewilderment only deepened as Élise attempted to find a place within the habitacle. For a motorcar of such gargantuan external length, the amount of interior space was risible—frankly, it was an absurdity. Upon opening the door, she found a space so ridiculously cramped that there was barely enough shoulder room to sit with any semblance of poise. It became immediately apparent that the designer had prioritized a sizable cargo area within the cabin over the basic comfort of the passengers, treating the occupants as an afterthought in favor of internal storage. She felt confined, the walls of the narrow cabin pressing in on her in a way that was entirely at odds with the car’s sprawling footprint. There was no sense of the airy, expansive sanctuary she required for her journeys across the continent; instead, she found herself in an étroit and uncomfortable box. The quality of the interior fittings could not mask the fundamental failure of the layout, leaving Élise to wonder how such a massive machine could offer so little room for the very person it was intended to carry. For her, the Montiago was a study in contradictions that simply did not result in a cohesive or desirable grand routier.
3.94m, 4-spd, 1681kg
$94,800
7.7L NA V12, 246hp
The Carrozzeria Montiago Abruzzi V12 presented a perplexing study in mechanical contradiction as it sat before Élise, its staggering 3.94-meter wheelbase stretching across the pavement like a ship at dock. At a price of ninety-four thousand, eight hundred dollars, she expected a symphony of engineering excellence, yet a close inspection revealed a jarring déséquilibre in its construction. While the interior cabin and the massive 7.7-litre V12 engine displayed a respectable level of ouvrage, the structural foundations of the vehicle were shockingly neglected. As she trailed her hand along the steel body, her fingers caught on uneven panel gaps that suggested a hurried assembly, a lack of precision that felt entirely beneath a car of this supposed stature. Stooping to examine the steel ladder chassis, the faiblesse of the underpinnings became even more apparent; the welding was unrefined, and the frame lacked the robust, architectural reinforcement she had seen in much cheaper commissions. It appeared as though the manufacturer had funneled the entirety of their budget into the drivetrain and the visible luxury of the cabin, leaving the skeletal cadre of the machine to suffer from a regrettable lack of qualité. This lopsided priority in the budget allocation was impossible to ignore, as the flimsy nature of the chassis and the unpolished carrosserie instilled a sense of structural insecurity that cast a long shadow over the impressive mechanical heart within.
Upon taking the controls for a test conduite, the Abruzzi V12 further asserted its difficult personality. The 7.7-litre engine was undeniably potent, delivering its 246 horsepower with an eager, almost aggressive temperament that made low-speed navigation through the narrow streets of Paris a tiresome exercise in restraint. Despite its immense weight of 1681 kilograms and its gargantuan length, the car displayed a surprising agilité in the corners, gripping the chaussée with a tenacity that defied its physical dimensions. The acceleration was notably brisk, reaching one hundred kilometers per hour in 7.24 seconds, yet the four-gear manual transmission was tuned with such long ratios that the car felt uncharacteristically sluggish in its transitions, ultimately reaching a modest top speed of only 201km/h. As Élise attempted to maneuver the massive vehicle, the lack of maniabilité became a persistent source of frustration; the sheer volume of the car made it feel encombrant and entirely impractical for daily life. Furthermore, the interior space was disappointingly sparse given the car’s external footprint, offering very little room for the bagages required for her frequent social retreats. The comfort levels were merely adequate, providing an average ride that failed to stand out or justify the car’s considerable mass. The engine possessed a flat, predictable power curve that spoke of careful tuning, but this mechanical success was overshadowed by the vehicle’s overwhelming lack of practicality and the physical burden of its size. For a woman seeking a seamless routier, the Montiago Abruzzi felt like a collection of impressive parts that failed to coalesce into a refined or usable whole.
Design Score
50 (Aesthetics)
50 (Build Quality)
50 (Combined)
Engineering Score
77.52
Combined Score
9th Overall
8th Engineering
10th Design
À suivre…
5 Likes
Élise approached the Washington Model D Absolute, tilting her head as she assessed its silhouette. It was undoubtedly a sportif little thing, possessing a compact energy that spoke of weekend jaunts rather than the grand, sweeping processions her father favored. The proportions were tight and nimble, but as she walked along its flank, a sense of vide—an emptiness—began to settle. In a world of Figoni curves and the shimmering chrome of her contemporaries, the Washington’s sides felt remarkably bare, almost as if the carrossier had forgotten to finish the embroidery on a fine silk gown. While there was an undeniable beauty in its simplicity, it lacked the éclat required to truly arrest the eye in a crowded courtyard at the Ritz; it was beautiful, certainly, but it did not necessarily hold her attention with the same magnetic force as a more detailed commission. The front, however, showed more promise; the central-line aesthetic of the sleek grille was a touch of modern géométrie that she found quite fetching, and the lighting was appointed with a certain deliberate care. Yet, her sharp eye for construction immediately caught the awkward lacune between the lower body edge and the bumper. It gave the impression of a garment that had been hemmed too short, leaving the chassis looking abruptly cut off where a more substantial, elevated bumper might have provided a more solid sense of architectural completion.
She noted the wheels were of a generous size, a choice that emphasized the car’s athletic ambitions and suggested it might handle the less-than-perfect gravel paths of a country estate with a certain aplomb and ground clearance. However, the perfectionist in her was troubled by the differing levels of inset between the front and rear wheels; it lacked that mathematical symétrie that separates a good automobile from a masterpiece. Even the door handles seemed curiously miniscule, appearing almost timid and smaller than the proud stature of the hood ornament—a mismatch of scale that felt like a misplaced button on an otherwise fine coat. Moving to the rear, she found the same quietude that defined the sides, with the tail lights being remarkably small and the lone central strip on the boot panel doing little to break up the expanse of painted steel. It was a car that whispered when perhaps it should have made a more spirited déclaration. Upon opening the door, the interior revealed a space that was, thankfully, much more resolved. The cabin was well-appointed and offered a comfortable sanctuary for two, providing a feeling of intimacy that matched the car’s compact exterior. It was a well-made machine, but in her quest for a pièce de résistance, she wondered if its understated nature might simply allow it to fade into the background of a Parisian night.
2.65m, 4-spd, 1592kg
$59,800
12.5L NA V16, 294hp
The Washington Model D Absolute arrived with a price tag that seemed almost scandalous in its modesty, a mere fifty-nine thousand eight hundred dollars that immediately piqued Élise’s suspicion rather than her interest. In the world of the nouveaux riches, a bargain was often a thinly veiled admission of a shortcut taken in the atelier, and as she stood before the machine, her skepticism was swiftly vindicated. The sheer scale of the twelve-and-a-half-litre V16 engine promised a symphonic mechanical experience, yet upon lifting the hood, she found a lack of finesse that was deeply unsettling. The massive block felt unrefined, its construction lacking the surgical precision one would expect from a bespoke commission of this magnitude. While the aluminum body spoke of a modern desire for lightness, it was bolted to a heavy-duty steel ladder chassis that felt unnecessarily cumbersome and entirely unoptimized for the elegant boulevards of Paris. This chassis gave the car a certain sense of solidité, yet it was a brute force solution that lacked the sophisticated engineering of its contemporaries. The entire assembly possessed an air of being unfinished, as if the craftsmen had grown weary of their task halfway through and simply closed the panels. There was no evidence of the obsessive perfectionnisme she required; the various components—the chassis, the suspension, the transmission—all felt disconnected, a collection of parts rather than a singular, breathing entity of haute couture automotive design. It was a sturdy enough carcasse, perhaps, but it lacked the soul and the refined spirit of a true masterpiece.
When she finally took her place behind the volant, the initial sensation was one of baffling indifference. The V16 engine was undeniably smooth, settling into a whisper-quiet cruise at a mere one thousand forty revolutions per minute, a mechanical calm that should have been relaxing but instead felt strangely hollow. As she navigated the vehicle through the city, the acceleration and top speed proved to be entirely adequate—there were no specific faults to find in the way it moved forward—yet the Washington possessed a souplesse that bordered on the maritime. The springs were so softly tuned that the car exhibited a disconcerting amount of body roll, leaning into every turn with a floaty, unrefined motion that lacked any sense of athletic composure. It felt as though the engineers had neglected the crucial process of mise au point, leaving the machine to wallow across the pavement rather than master it, a sensation that offered very little comfort despite the softness. Furthermore, the engine’s thirst for fuel was nothing short of effrayante; even a brief excursion around the block saw the gauge retreat with a visible, greedy urgency that would make any trans-continental journey a tedious exercise in frequent refueling. This was not the effortless grand routier she envisioned; it was a machine that provided exactly what its price suggested and nothing more. It offered no spark of passion, no sense of fierté to be found in its ownership, and certainly no reason to be seen among the glittering crowds of the casino at Monte-Carlo. It was, in the most disappointing sense of the word, merely functional, failing entirely to inspire the bel esprit she sought for her personal commission.
Design Score
70 (Aesthetics)
75 (Build Quality)
72.5 (Combined)
Engineering Score
80.96
Combined Score
8th Overall
7th Engineering
7th Design
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Aprile Soprano
Élise stood before the Aprile Soprano, her eyes narrowing as she studied its allure. The car possessed a distinct forward rake, leaning into the road as if it were a predator poised to strike, a stance that felt profoundly déconcertant for a machine with such traditional cab-back proportions. Instead of the effortless, stately grace she expected from a luxury grand cruiser—a sense of speed achieved through quiet dignity—the Soprano looked restless, almost aggressive. This visual confusion was compounded by a jarring mélange of shapes that seemed to fight one another across the carrosserie. While the fenders and rear followed a pleasant, sweeping curve, they were suddenly interrupted by an incredibly blocky tail light housing and a rigid, “squared” approach to the chrome accents that felt entirely at odds with the rest of the silhouette. The inner front wheel fenders shared this same blocky geometry, creating an architectural profile that lacked a singular, clear voice. At the base of the windshield, the metal curved upward only to be cut off with a startling abruptness, and when paired with the heavy stamping of the doors and the somber dark green paint, the car took on a military character that felt more suited to a field marshal than a fixture of the Paris social scene.
As she moved to inspect the details, Élise couldn’t help but feel that the various decorative flourishes had been applied without a unifying raison d’être. The accents appeared scattered across the body, placed there for the sake of ornamentation rather than to emphasize the natural flow of the design or to complement the underlying structure. It was a machine of many parts that didn’t quite form a whole, a collection of aesthetic choices that left her feeling more puzzled than inspired. However, upon opening the door, the habitacle offered a much more pleasant surprise; the interior was notably more spacious than average and had been crafted with a genuine eye for quality. She was particularly taken by the practicality of the arrangement, noting the addition of a sturdy exterior baggage carrier at the rear. This, combined with the standard interior boot, promised a level of utility that was undeniably appealing for her frequent voyages across the continent. Yet, even as she admired the comfort of the cabin, her gaze kept returning to the blocky chrome and the strange, pouncing rake of the chassis, leaving her to wonder if the Aprile Soprano’s internal virtues could ever truly reconcile with its conflicted exterior identity.
2.65m, 4-spd, 1082kg
$75,700
4.0L NA Inline-6, 215hp
The Aprile Soprano presented a curious proposition at seventy-five thousand, seven hundred dollars, sitting at a price point that suggested a more modest pedigree than the grand creations Élise had recently entertained. However, as she conducted her initial walk-around, the finition of the machine was undeniably impressive, defying its relatively lower cost. Upon a closer inspection of the steel ladder chassis and the carrosserie, Élise noted a level of artisanat that rivaled, and in some cases surpassed, the more ostentatious commissions she had seen in the capital. The welds were clean, the assembly of the steel body felt remarkably robust, and there was a tangible sense of solidité that spoke of a manufacturer who cared deeply about the fundamental integrity of their product. Moving to the interior, the cabin was a masterclass in manual craftsmanship, featuring a luxury AM radio and materials that felt expensive to the touch, creating an atmosphere of deceptive tranquility. Beneath the bonnet, the 4.0-litre inline-six engine was presented with a neatness that commanded respect, even if it lacked the inherent prestige and theatricality of the V12s her contemporaries favored. This six-cylindres powerplant, producing 215 horsepower, appeared well-integrated into the lightweight frame of 1082 kilograms. Yet, as she peered at the double wishbone front and coil rear suspension, she couldn’t help but notice a certain lack of souplesse in the mechanical arrangement, a rigidness that stood in stark contrast to the inviting leather of the seats. It was a well-constructed object, possessing a reliability that felt earned through meticulous engineering, yet there was a lingering incertitude about whether this mechanical excellence would translate into the effortless luxury she required for her seasonal migrations to the coast.
Taking the Aprile Soprano onto the chaussée, the initial illusion of luxury was shattered with a violence that left Élise visibly shaken. Within the first few hundred meters of Parisian pavement, the suspension revealed a harshness that bordered on the punitive; every imperfection in the road, from the smallest cobblestone to the deepest pothole, was transmitted directly through the chassis and into her seat with an uncompromising choc. It was a profound failure of confort that no amount of interior leather could mask. As she accelerated, the inline-six engine revealed a disappointing lack of raffinement, its 4.0-litre displacement producing a coarse mechanical drone that permeated the cabin. At a cruising speed of two thousand revolutions per minute, the bruit and vibration became a persistent nuisance, making the prospect of a cross-continental journey feel like an endurance test rather than an elegant escape. The four-gear manual transmission felt somewhat unpolished, and while the 215 horsepower was managed with a certain facilité, the overall experience lacked the smooth delivery of power she had come to expect from the finest automobiles. Paradoxically, the machine displayed an incredible agilité in the corners; the stiff suspension tuning resulted in almost no roulis, and the low mass made the car feel exceptionally responsive to her inputs. It was an easy car to navigate through the crowded city streets, behaving with a sportiness that was almost intoxicating if one could ignore the physical malaise of the ride. Ultimately, despite its impressive fuel economy and the qualité of its construction, the Soprano felt like a machine that had sacrificed its passenger’s bien-être in pursuit of a rigid, unyielding performance that felt entirely out of place for her needs.
Design Score
70 (Aesthetics)
80 (Build Quality)
75 (Combined)
Engineering Score
86.49
Combined Score
7th Overall
5th Engineering
6th Design
◆
Sinclair Grand Pacific Custom Drophead
Élise circled the Sinclair Grand Pacific Custom Drophead, her eyes tracing the ligne de force that ran from the towering, upright radiator back through the endless stretch of the bonnet. It possessed a certain majesté that reminded her of the great ocean liners docking at Le Havre, a nautical strength translated into steel and chrome that felt profoundly modern yet rooted in tradition. The proportions were nothing short of impeccable; the wheels sat deeply and firmly within their housings, lending the machine a planted, purposeful stance that suggested it could swallow the miles between Paris and Cannes without a single tremor. She particularly admired the way the horizontal silhouette remained so resolute and straight through the midsection before tapering with a sudden, graceful élégance at the rear. The chrome stripes catching the afternoon sun acted like the fine piping on a bespoke silk suit, emphasizing the length and the power hidden beneath the deep lacquer. While the prominent wheel housings gave it a look of robust capability, she found herself wondering if the rear arch might have benefited from the same chrome flourish as the front, or if the lower accents could have been integrated with a more raffiné touch to smooth the transition. Still, the rear assembly was anchored beautifully by the large circular wheel cover, a visual weight that balanced the long, powerful snout of this grand routier and gave it a sense of completion.
Stepping closer to peer into the habitacle, Élise felt a genuine swell of appreciation for the Sinclair’s interior logic, which seemed to speak directly to her own sensibilities as a designer. It was a space designed by someone who understood the reality of a woman’s life on the move, featuring a marvelously clever internal malle located directly behind the seats. This internal boot space was a revelation—an accessible sanctuary for her vanity cases and smaller textile samples that saved her the indignity of constantly summoning a valet to the rear of the vehicle during a journey. This was intelligently supplemented by an additional rear boot, ensuring her entire seasonal wardrobe could travel with her across the Alps toward the Italian lakes. The passenger area felt vast and welcoming, though her practiced eye for detail noted that the doorcards were perhaps a bit too sobre, lacking the intricate ornamentation or sidestep flourishes she might expect at this level of commission. She squinted at a curious, small square element within the tail lights and the vertical chrome extensions on the bumper—features that felt somewhat improvisé and out of place compared to the deliberate mastery of the rest of the car’s architecture. Yet, these were minor quibbles in the face of such a formidable design; it was a machine that commanded presence, promising a journey that was as practical as it was spectaculaire.
3.16m, 4-spd, 1505kg
$68,800
6.0L SC V12, 215hp
While inspecting the Sinclair Grand Pacific Custom Drophead, Élise felt an immediate, puzzling disconnect between its grand title and the tactile reality of the machine. The price of sixty-eight thousand dollars was whispered by the agent as if it were a triumph of economy, a bon marché offering in a world of exorbitant indulgence, but to Élise, such a figure felt like a confession of compromise. She approached the long, steel carrosserie with a practiced eye, her gloved fingers hovering over the seams of the bodywork where she expected the seamless transitions of a master’s atelier. Instead, the craftsmanship appeared strangely hurried, a collection of components that lacked the singular, cohesive soul of a true chef-d’œuvre. When the heavy bonnet was raised to reveal the six-litre V12, the expected spectacle of polished alloy and organized mécanique was replaced by an engine that felt industrial, even crude. The Roots-type supercharger sat atop the block with a utilitarian bluntness, and the rough casting of the triple carburetors suggested a lack of hand-finishing that chilled her enthusiasm. Even the interior, which initially presented a handsome facade of leather and wood, revealed its secrets upon closer scrutiny; the stitching lacked the obsessive regularity of the Belcour textile mills, and the fitment of the dash lacked that essential solidité she required. It was a machine that seemed to mimic the aesthetic of luxury without possessing the underlying qualité that justified its existence in a high-society salon.
The transition from observer to driver only served to deepen her sense of déception. Settling behind the wheel, Élise found the four-gear manual transmission lacked the buttery, intuitive engagement of her father’s fleet, requiring a deliberate, almost forceful hand that felt entirely at odds with her desire for a stress-free conduite. As she eased the Sinclair onto the open road, the V12’s acceleration was surprisingly languid, a sluggish departure that saw the needle climb toward the redline with a noticeable lack of urgency. At a steady cruise, the machine found a certain rhythm, its power becoming more apparent as the wind began to whistle past the A-pillars, yet the steering remained lourde and ungainly, demanding a physical exertion that would surely fatigue her on a long journey to the Côte d’Azur. More distressing was the subtle but persistent vibration that permeated the ladder chassis; a distinct rattling in the suspension components suggested a lack of refinement in the dampening, a mechanical disharmony that no amount of luxury AM radio could mask. While the car possessed a remarkable, almost cavernous praticité in its boot space—capable of swallowing her entire seasonal wardrobe with ease—and felt reassuringly secure in its braking, these functional merits could not outweigh the absence of a refined spirit. For Élise, a car that felt merely “okay” in its daily drivability was a car that had failed its primary mission; she sought a masterpiece that felt as solid as a fortress yet as light as a silk scarf, and the Sinclair, for all its sensible safety and fuel economy, felt like a compromise she was simply not prepared to make.
Design Score
95 (Aesthetics)
95 (Build Quality)
95 (Combined)
Engineering Score
57.73
Combined Score
6th Overall
9th Engineering
2nd Design (Tied)
À suivre…
6 Likes
Élise stood before the Alcaeus Meteor 12, feeling an immediate sense of the colossal weight it projected onto the gravel. It was a machine of undeniable mass, looking remarkably heavy and large, yet this scale was undermined by a curious choice in proportions. The wheels appeared almost timid, appearing far too small for such a sprawling expanse of steel, which gave the unfortunate impression that the car’s body was encumbering its own ability to move. The bonnet was a resolute, square monolith that dominated the forward view, leading to a front grille so cavernous that one could almost imagine fitting an entire wheel within its frame. Beside this, the headlights were equally startling in their dimensions, nearly matching the size of the wheel rims themselves. It was a design that seemed to trade finesse for sheer volume, presenting a silhouette that felt stiff and aggressively rectangular. For Élise, who sought a certain airy grace in her motorcars, the Meteor 12 felt less like a sculpture and more like a masculine statement of brute power—a pièce de résistance of iron that lacked the delicate balance required for true elegance.
Upon closer inspection of the greenhouse, Élise noted a rather étrange architecture that reminded her of a stiff top hat tilted perpetually forward. This forward-sloped roofline created an abundance of headroom and a sense of vast emptiness in the rear of the cabin, yet the actual seating area remained surprisingly average for a car of such outward magnitude. The interior felt oddly shaped, as if the volume had been placed in the wrong areas, though she could not deny the impressive utility of the rear. The trunk space was truly immense, supplemented further by a substantial external stowage rack that suggested the car was intended for a very specific kind of heavy-duty transit. However, even with the promise of carrying half her garde-robe across the continent, the aesthetic remained stubbornly “macho” and unyielding. The combination of the forward-leaning roof, the oversized lighting, and the undersized wheels resulted in a presence that was more imposing than it was luxurious, leaving her with the impression of a vehicle that commanded attention through sheer size rather than through the refined beauté she craved for her own personal commission.
3.38m, 3-spd, 1623kg
$99,000
7.5L NA V12, 189hp
The Alcaeus Meteor 12 presented itself with a formidable physical presence that seemed to justify its ninety-nine thousand dollar prix, yet a closer examination of its engine revealed a series of perplexing engineering choices. Upon lifting the heavy steel bonnet, Élise was confronted by a massive 7.5-litre V12 that, despite its gargantuan displacement, produced a remarkably modest 189 horsepower. The engine appeared more akin to a utilitarian workhorse than a refined instrument of high society; it possessed an industrial esthétique that lacked the polished artisanat she had observed in more prestigious commissions. As she inspected the heavy-duty ladder chassis, she noticed a troubling trend toward cost optimization that felt entirely out of place for a vehicle nearing the hundred-thousand-dollar mark. While the manufacturer had invested heavily in noise insulation and advanced safety features, the fundamental underpinnings displayed a distinct lack of raffinement. The construction surrounding the interior cabin was adequate, but it lacked the seamless integration of a true masterpiece, feeling instead like a collection of components assembled with an eye toward efficiency rather than perfection. Furthermore, the warnings from her social circle regarding the dismal fiabilité of the Alcaeus line seemed validated by the visible shortcuts in the chassis welding and the general lack of mechanical refinement in the drivetrain layout. It was a machine that boasted loudly of its safety and its luxury AM interior, yet its skeletal frame whispered of a souci regarding its long-term structural integrity.
The true character of the Meteor 12 was revealed the moment Élise attempted a trial conduite, beginning with the operation of the unrefined three-speed manual transmission. The gearbox felt uncharacteristically flimsy, lacking the precise, mechanical “click” that should accompany a luxury motorcar, and its long ratios seemed to struggle with the engine’s unusual power delivery. The 7.5-litre V12 provided a sudden, aggressive rush of low-end torque that felt more suited to a heavy lorry than a grand routier, only to lose its momentum and become breathless as the revolutions climbed. This lack of top-end performance was reflected in a sluggish acceleration to one hundred kilometers per hour of 9.32 seconds, a figure that felt embarrassingly slow compared to the more spirited machines of her contemporaries. At cruising speeds, the engine seemed to labor under its own weight, maintaining eighteen hundred revolutions per minute with a noticeable effort that suggested a lack of mechanical aisance. Despite the long gearing, the consommation of fuel remained high, making the car a thirsty companion for cross-continental travel. However, the Alcaeus did offer a singular, redeeming quality: its ride was exceptionally confortable. The suspension was tuned with a remarkable softness that absorbed the imperfections of the chaussée with ease, yet it managed to control body roll with a surprising level of authority. This sense of bien-être was further enhanced by the heavy insulation, which created a sanctuary of silence within the cabin, even as the engine struggled. Ultimately, while the Meteor 12 offered a tranquil and safe environment for her journeys, the disjointed nature of its engineering—from the truck-like engine to the suspect transmission—left Élise with the impression of a vehicle that had been compromised by inconsistent priorities and a lack of cohesive qualité.
Design Score
70 (Aesthetics)
70 (Build Quality)
70 (Combined)
Engineering Score
105.05
Combined Score
5th Overall
4th Engineering
8th Design
◆
Propeller Kondor V16 Coupe
Élise stood before the Propeller Kondor V16 Coupe, immediately struck by how the spirit of l’aviation had been distilled into its metallic skin. It was a machine that seemed to vibrate with a sense of anticipation, its cabin pushed forward and its front overhang reduced to almost nothing, creating a silhouette that looked as if it were leaning into the wind. The upright, formidable grille was crowned by a delicate propeller ornament that spoke clearly of its mechanical lineage—a bold déclaration of power that Élise found quite striking. The proportions were remarkably well-executed, with a small greenhouse that lent the car a powerful, capable presence, even if the front tires appeared a touch oversized, perhaps a bit too eager in their scale for the rest of the car’s architectural balance. She spent a long moment admiring the decorative chrome accents along the fenders, which were applied with a finesse that perfectly highlighted the muscular sweep of the bodywork. It possessed a forward-leaning élan that made the surrounding automobiles look stagnant by comparison, a testament to a design concept followed with admirable consistency and a clear understanding of aerodynamic drama.
However, as she moved closer to the engine bay, her eyes lingered on the exposed exhausts with a slight note of déception. For a V16 of such prestigious stature, the pipes felt somewhat utilitarian, lacking the shimmering chrome or upscale finishing that would have truly announced the engine’s majesté to the world. There was a similar sense of hesitation as her gaze followed the car’s length toward the rear; while the body tapered off into a flat tail that successfully mirrored the independent fender flares of the front, the long, elongated oval chrome accents felt like a confusing departure from the car’s central design line. It was as if the designer had wavered in the final act, leaving the rear looking a bit étrange and unresolved compared to the masterful confidence of the nose. Stepping into the habitacle, she found the interior to be on the more cramped side, a direct consequence of the low, sleek greenhouse that defined the Kondor’s aggressive profile. Yet, once settled into the fine materials of the cabin, she found there was just enough room for two people to recline and sit with a reasonable degree of confort. It was a machine of undeniable character and speed, though she wondered if a few more refined touches to the external finishing could have elevated it from a daring flight of fancy to a truly peerless chef-d’œuvre.
3.17m, 4-spd, 1225kg
$128,000
8.0L NA V16, 260hp
The Propeller Kondor V16 Coupe presented itself with an audacity that few other marques dared to emulate, immediately drawing Élise’s eye toward the long, sweeping bonnet that housed its mechanical cœur. At a demanding price of one hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars, the vehicle promised a level of exclusivity that was almost peerless, primarily due to the 8.0-litre V16 engine nested within its frame. Upon opening the engine bay, she was met with a display of artisanat that felt truly exceptional; the sheer scale of the sixteen-cylinder arrangement was intimidating, yet its construction appeared meticulous, with internal components that suggested a high standard of mechanical integrity. This was a moteur designed for the elite, delivering 260 horsepower with a grace that only such a complex configuration could provide. The interior cabin mirrored this excellence, filled with a luxury AM radio and handmade appointments that felt incredibly solid and carefully considered. However, as Élise moved her gaze to the exterior and the lower sections of the car, a certain manque de soin began to emerge. The aluminum body panels, while innovative for their weight-saving properties, were plagued by slight but noticeable unevenness in the panel gaps. When stooping to inspect the steel ladder chassis, the quality seemed to dip further, revealing visible shortcuts in the finishing of the underpinnings that felt discordant with the car’s premium positioning. It was a machine of brilliant highlights but inconsistent exécution, leaving her to weigh the magnificence of the V16 against the whispers of questionable fiabilité that had reached her ears in the salons of Paris.
The moment Élise engaged the ignition, the V16 settled into a hum so smooth and unperturbed that it felt like a living entity. During her conduite through the winding routes outside the city, the most striking quality of the Kondor was its absolute douceur. The power delivery was effortless; while the acceleration to one hundred kilometers per hour was a measured 8.74 seconds, the torque was immense, allowing the car to pull away with a relentless, surging momentum. At cruising speeds on the open road, the machine was a revelation, the engine rotating at a mere 1,400 revolutions per minute, creating a sensation of gliding rather than driving. It felt as though the car possessed an infinite reserve of power, capable of reaching a vitesse de pointe of 244km/h without ever straining its mechanical heart. Despite the massive engine, the car felt uncharacteristically light and agile, a direct result of its 1,225-kilogram mass and the clever use of aluminum in its construction. The suspension was a masterclass in balance, providing a ride that was both souple and firmly planted. It absorbed the rigors of uneven chaussées with a gentle dampening that protected her from fatigue, yet it managed body roll with enough authority to encourage a spirited pace through the tight corners of the countryside. The manual recirculating ball steering offered a communicative response, making the large coupe surprisingly easy to handle in a variety of conditions. While other commissions might have offered a more cushioned experience, the Kondor provided a unique équilibre of responsiveness and serenity. It was a machine of great character, even if the shadow of its mechanical complexity remained a lingering souci for the long-term journey.
Design Score
90 (Aesthetics)
85 (Build Quality)
87.5 (Combined)
Engineering Score
85.05
Combined Score
4th Overall
6th Engineering
3rd Design
◆
Valliere V12 Type II CL
The Valliere V12 Type II CL stood before Élise with an undeniable présence, its proportions managing a rare feat of architectural balance that immediately caught her discerning eye. Despite its significant scale relative to the diameter of its wheels, the silhouette remained impeccably resolved, presenting a central-cab arrangement that felt modern and deliberate. She observed the sleek, flowing lines of the wheel fenders with a quiet appreciation for the carrosserie, noting how the minimalist approach lent the machine a certain légèreté, ensuring the large frame never appeared cumbersome or overly heavy. It was a masterclass in spatial harmony, successfully marrying a long, commanding bonnet with an expansive cabin and a generously sized rear trunk without sacrificing a single note of its cohesive elegance. The surfaces of the bodywork were remarkably clean, avoiding unnecessary clutter to allow the natural play of light and shadow across its expertly shaped flanks, creating a visual depth that suggested a garment with a perfect, uninterrupted drape.Her gaze lingered upon the front of the vehicle, where the grandeur of the radiator grille was punctuated by a prominent gold ornament that sat like a jewel atop the chrome, flanked by the subtle but prestigious V12 badging upon the bumper. While the overall effect was one of supreme sophistication, Élise noted the slight forward rake of the chassis; it possessed a certain élan that felt perhaps too aggressive for a stately grand routier, suggesting the pouncing stance of a sportscar rather than the graceful, rearward-leaning tilt that evokes a carriage being luxuriously propelled forward.
Nevertheless, the rear of the Valliere maintained the theme of sleek refinement, with decorative accents placed with strategic precision against the polished, unblemished metal. Stepping inside, she found the habitacle to be a revelation of practical luxury, offering the sort of ample cabin space that had been missing in so many of its contemporaries. She was struck by the sheer commodité of the interior, which offered not only a spacious sanctuary for its occupants but a clever cargo area capable of holding two leather cases right within the cabin. When combined with the unusually large rear trunk, it was clear that this machine was designed for the rigors of her social calendar, possessing a practical soul hidden beneath a facade of pure, sur-mesure beauty. The design felt cohesive and soigné, with decorative accents placed in key strategic areas that emphasized the car’s sleekness rather than cluttering it. In the Valliere, she saw a machine that didn’t need to shout to be heard; its elegance was quiet, confident, and almost perfectly aligned with her own vision of a modern chef-d’œuvre.
3.38m, 3-spd, 1702kg
$137,000
7.5L SC V12, 280hp
The Valliere V12 Type II CL had a reputation that preceded its physical form, a chef-d’œuvre of mechanical reliability that commanded a significant sum of one hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars. As Élise walked the length of the 3.38-meter wheelbase, the sheer perfection of the assembly was startling, revealing a standard of construction that was miles ahead of the other commissions she had entertained. There was a profound qualité in every visible and hidden component, from the mirror-like finish of the paint on the steel body panels to the meticulous, industrial-grade welding on the heavy-duty ladder chassis. Unlike other motorcars that hid their shortcuts beneath the floorboards, the Valliere was an open book of engineering excellence; every bolt, bracket, and linkage felt as though it had been forged with a singular, uncompromising souci du détail. The 7.0-litre V12 engine, equipped with a prominent Roots supercharger, was a marvel of artisanat, presented with a clinical cleanliness that suggested it could run for an eternity without a single mechanical failure. Yet, this unwavering commitment to solidité came at a significant physical cost. The machine was undeniably heavy, its mass of 1702 kilograms suggesting a density that would surely influence its behavior on the open road. Every door shut with a heavy, vault-like thud, and the entire structure felt completely impervious to the passage of time. It was a vehicle that exuded a sense of permanence, a rock-solid foundation that promised to endure the harshest conditions of a cross-continental trek, yet Élise found herself wondering if such an exhaustive pursuit of immortality had resulted in a machine that was ultimately too burdensome for its own sake.
Igniting the supercharged V12, the Valliere filled the air with a deep, resonant thrum, yet the subsequent conduite proved to be a more laborious affair than its exquisite construction suggested. The 280 horsepower was certainly present, manifesting as a great surge of torque, but the engine exhibited a frustrating paresse—a laziness in response that made the accelerator pedal feel strangely disconnected from the mechanical process. When pushed toward the limit, the V12 seemed to lose its breath at higher revolutions, failing to sustain the momentum one would expect from a forced-induction engine of this displacement. This mechanical lethargy was exacerbated by the three-gear manual transmission; despite the long gearing, the car struggled to find a graceful rhythm, resulting in a sluggish acceleration of 8.7 seconds to one hundred kilometers per hour. At a vitesse de croisière, the engine labored at eighteen hundred and fifty revolutions per minute, a figure that felt uncharacteristically high for a machine of this pedigree and contributed to an undeniable thirst for fuel. On the winding roads, the 1702-kilogram mass became a tangible burden, creating a sense of lourdeur that made cornering an exercise in caution rather than joy. The car lacked the lateral grip to inspire confidence, feeling unwieldy and difficult to place during low-speed maneuvers within the city. However, within the cabin, the sense of bien-être was undeniable. The sheer weight of the chassis acted as a natural dampener, absorbing the irregularities of the chaussée with a silent, stoic grace that made the interior feel like a sanctuary. It was a fortress on wheels, quiet and incredibly secure, but it lacked the fine-tuning and mechanical agilité required to be a truly effortless companion. The Valliere was a triumph of manufacturing, yet it remained a machine in search of a more spirited temperament to match its impeccable frame.
Design Score
100 (Aesthetics)
95 (Build Quality)
97.5 (Combined)
Engineering Score
115.42
Combined Score
3rd Overall
3rd Engineering
1st Design (Tied)
À suivre…
7 Likes
Élise approached the 1937 Aether 17/2 Plein Air, immediately struck by its beauté and the sheer grace of its proportions. The machine possessed a minimalist sobriété that felt incredibly modern, yet it retained an undeniable air of luxury through its tasteful and graceful aesthetic. The front grille was a veritable chef-d’œuvre, a masterpiece of intricate detailing that commanded her attention and set an impeccable standard for the rest of the car’s facade. This exquisite centerpiece was framed perfectly by a split bumper design, a motif mirrored at the rear, which gave the Aether a symmetrical sense of completion and raffinement. She noted the length of the bonnet—a perfect, sweeping expanse of metal that promised power without appearing vulgar. Its low-slung stance lent the vehicle a sleek, aerodynamic silhouette that made it look as though it were skimming the very surface of the pavement, achieving a super sleek, elegant look. However, as she considered her frequent travels across the uneven paths of the countryside, she couldn’t help but feel a slight inquiétude regarding its height; the car sat so close to the gravel that the garde au sol might prove troublesome on anything less than the pristine boulevards of the 16th Arrondissement or the well-maintained routes of the coast.
Turning her attention to the flanks, Élise admired how the slow, curved slope of the side doors integrated seamlessly with the sweeping fenders, creating a visual flow as smooth as a piece of bias-cut silk. The chrome accents were used with an impeccable restraint, appearing only in strategic locations to catch the afternoon sun and emphasize the car’s natural élégance. She found the enclosed rear fenders particularly enchanting, their full coverage of the wheels lending the Aether a futuristic, streamlined quality, further enhanced by a delicate body molding that allowed for a sophisticated play of light and shadow upon the metal surface. In contrast, the front fenders appeared somewhat plat by comparison; she felt they lacked a similar deliberate molding to break up the surface and provide that same depth of character and light-play found at the rear. Upon opening the door, she was greeted by an interior that, while average in its dimensions and otherwise unremarkable in terms of extra practicality, showcased a lovely attention to detail through its beautifully textured doorcards and fine finishing. For a car of these more intimate proportions, the sizable rear trunk offered enough espace for her essentials, ensuring that the Aether 17/2 Plein Air remained a machine of profound grace and fluid esthétique.
3.0m, 4-spd, 1353kg
$125,000
8.5L SC V16, 260hp
The 1937 Aether 17/2 “Plein Air” stood as an imposing testament to the upper echelons of automotive ambition, commanding a princely sum of one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars that Élise felt was largely justified by its immediate physical présence. Upon her initial inspection, the chassis and suspension components revealed a level of artisanat that was nothing short of impeccable; the steel ladder frame and double wishbone assembly appeared to be the result of exhaustive hand-finishing, showing a complete lack of the cost-cutting measures that had marred lesser commissions. However, as she leaned in to examine the carrosserie, a subtle inconsistency in the execution became apparent. While the use of aluminum body panels was a forward-thinking choice for weight reduction, the metal itself felt uncharacteristically thin in certain sections, and the molding lacked the perfectly even, fluid transitions she expected from a manufacturer with more extensive experience in such exotic materials. This minor manque d’expérience in aluminum shaping was a curious contrast to the absolute solidité of the vehicle’s structural underpinnings. Beneath the vast expanse of the bonnet, the 8.5-litre V16 engine, equipped with a centrifugal supercharger, was a magnificent sight, though Élise noted that the internal components—the pistons and the crankshaft—seemed to lack the final degree of meticulous polishing and qualité required for such a high-performance heart. The engine was clearly tuned for a forceful delivery of low-end torque, a mechanical “grunt” that promised immediate action, though it was evident that this power would likely dissipate as the revolutions climbed toward the 5400rpm redline.
Settling into the driver’s seat, the true brilliance of the Aether 17/2 was revealed through a conduite that Élise could only describe as the finest she had encountered in the 1937 season. The suspension was a masterclass in souplesse, providing a ride that effortlessly neutralized the harsh imperfections of the Parisian chaussée while remaining remarkably planted through the most demanding corners. Despite its 1353-kilogram weight, the “Plein Air” moved with a startling agilité, its grip on the road providing a sense of security that encouraged a spirited pace through the winding coastal passes. The acceleration was respectable, reaching one hundred kilometers per hour in 7.2 seconds, aided by the immediate surge of the supercharger, though the machine reached its vitesse de pointe of 230km/h with a sense of dignity rather than raw violence. A significant point of souci, however, was the tuning of the four-gear manual transmission. Even with its long gearing, the engine felt uncharacteristically strained during highway travel, maintaining a cruising speed at nearly 2000 revolutions per minute—a figure that seemed entirely too high for such a massive, capable V16 and suggested a failure in the final mechanical synchronization. This resulted in an average fuel economy that, while not disastrous, lacked the efficiency one might hope for in a modern routier. Yet, these mechanical quirks were largely forgiven the moment the car reached a steady pace; the heavy noise insulation worked in perfect harmony with the aluminum panels to create a best-in-class isolation from bruit and vibration. It was a sanctuary of silence and mechanical grace, offering a level of bien-être that made low-speed maneuvers and high-speed touring equally delightful. For Élise, the Aether 17/2 represented a nearly perfect marriage of lightweight innovation and uncompromising comfort.
Design Score
95 (Aesthetics)
95 (Build Quality)
95 (Combined)
Engineering Score
153.07
Combined Score
2nd Overall
2nd Engineering
2nd Design (Tied)
◆
DCMW Asil Al Hawa
Élise found herself circling the DCMW Asil Al Hawa with an increasing sense of admiration, struck by a silhouette that seemed to possess one of the most harmonious proportions she had encountered in the entire field. It was a machine that understood the delicate virtue of la mesure—neither so large as to be cumbersome nor so small as to lack gravity—occupying its space with a confident, cab-back stance that felt both powerful and profoundly comfortable. The remarkably short front overhangs, contrasted against a generous rear sweep and a very long bonnet, created a profile that suggested effortless speed even while the car sat perfectly still. Without a roof to interrupt the flow, the simple, sleek lines of the carrosserie were allowed to breathe, emphasizing a purity of form that Élise found deeply compelling. As she moved closer, she delighted in the discovery of subtle, thoughtful touches that only revealed themselves to a lingering eye: the clever removable hatch for the rear wheel cover and the bottom chrome accents that traced the swell of the fenders with a restrained finesse. Even the chrome trim surrounding the engine exhausts and the delicate line leading toward the door handle spoke of a design executed with absolute clarity.
The consistency of the aesthetic continued as she peered into the habitacle, noting how the motifs of the exterior grille and the side accents were mirrored in the interior decoration with a remarquable attention to detail. There was no confusion here, no clashing of ideas; the car knew exactly what it was meant to be, presenting a unified vision that felt both modern and timeless. While the interior space was perhaps not the most expansive she had seen, it was perfectly judged for a roadster of this character, providing a snug and well-appointed sanctuary for two without compromising the dramatic, long-bonnet proportions that gave the car its spirit. The chrome bordering that traced the interior and ran across the top of the fender flares acted as a brilliant highlights, catching the sun and reinforcing the car’s sculptural presence. For Élise, the Asil Al Hawa was more than just a motorcar; it was a cohesive chef-d’œuvre that balanced the technical requirements of a grand tourer with an artistic sensibility that felt entirely distingué.
2.65m, 4-spd, 1371kg
$105,000
4.97L SC V12, 200hp
At a price of one hundred and five thousand dollars, this positions the Asil Al Hawa as a serious contender among the season’s bespoke commissions. Upon a close inspection of the exterior, Élise was immediately struck by the exceptional qualité of its construction; the steel body panels were fitted with a precision that suggested a very disciplined and orderly atelier. Every door handle and trim piece felt remarkably solid, lacking the slight tremors or loose tolerances she had found in the cheaper entries. As she stepped inside, the handmade interior revealed itself to be a triumph of functional luxury, where every surface felt intentionally crafted and impeccably finished. This sense of robust craftsmanship extended to the hidden components of the vehicle; the heavy-duty ladder steel chassis and the double wishbone front suspension appeared to be engineered for maximum durability. She examined the 4.97-litre V12 engine, noting that while the internal finish of the block was simply acceptable rather than ornate, the overall integration of the Roots supercharger and the carburation system was handled with great care. There was a pervasive sense of solidité throughout the machine, from the heavy dampening of the cabin to the rigid feel of the frame, suggesting a vehicle built to maintain its composure over years of rigorous continental travel.
It was, however, the conduite of the Asil Al Hawa that truly captured her imagination. As she guided the V12 onto the boulevard, Élise was struck by the “lazy,” effortless nature of the power delivery; the engine did not shout or strain, but instead offered a relaxed, dignified surge that made low-speed navigation through the morning traffic of the Place de la Concorde a matter of pure insouciance. Despite the modest two hundred horsepower—a figure that seemed almost quaint compared to the thirsty monsters she had recently tested—the impeccable gearing allowed the DCMW to sprint to one hundred kilometers per hour with a startling, quiet urgency. It out-accelerated machines twice its displacement, proving to her that true vitesse was a matter of clever engineering rather than brute displacement. On the open road, the double wishbone front suspension transformed the cobblestones into a smooth, silk ribbon; the car glided over imperfections with a souplesse that was nothing short of miraculous. While there was a slight, polite inclination of the body in the sharper corners—a minor roulis that reminded her she was in a grand carriage rather than a racing machine—the car remained perfectly composed. Most delightful of all was the discovery that this V12 “sipped” its fuel with a restraint that was almost unheard of in such a prestigious vehicle, ensuring that her trans-continental journeys would be marked by scenery rather than frequent stops at the pompe à essence. In the Asil Al Hawa, Élise felt she had found a machine that understood her—a perfectly balanced chef-d’œuvre that prioritized the lived experience of the driver over the vulgar pursuit of paper statistics.
Design Score
95 (Aesthetics)
100 (Build Quality)
97.5 (Combined)
Engineering Score
172.03
Combined Score
1st Overall
1st Engineering
1st Design (Tied)
Le Verdict Final
As the intensive evaluations of the 1937 season drew to an exhaustive close, Élise found herself standing before the three finalized chefs-d’œuvre, her gaze lingering on the distinct visual character of each commission. Aesthetically, the Valliere V12 Type II CL commanded her deepest admiration, presenting a perfect harmony between a sleek, architectural presence and a beautifully integrated practicality. Its central-cab silhouette and commanding proportions felt incredibly deliberate, offering a visual weight that was both magnificent and flawlessly resolved. The DCMW Asil Al Hawa occupied the second tier of her visual affections, capturing her attention through a highly ornate and meticulously detailed execution. It utilized a relatively compact physical footprint while maintaining a deeply elegant and striking cab-back stance, proving that true présence did not require overwhelming sheer size. The Aether 170-2 “Plein Air” stood as the third in her aesthetic ranking, offering a beautiful, sleek minimalism that relied on a tasteful, graceful fluidity rather than ornate decoration. While each machine possessed a distinct and breathtaking beauté in its own right, the Valliere’s ability to marry absolute grandiosity with a sleek exterior remained the pinnacle of the season’s visual offerings. Overall however, each machine was undeniably breathtaking in the sunlight, presenting three distinct, masterful interpretations of the modern grand routier that left her deeply and delightfully conflicted.
Moving beyond their sculptural beauty, the rigorous reality of continental travel demanded a strict assessment of their daily livability and practical function. In this regard, the massive Valliere offered an absolute triumph of utility, boasting an astonishingly cavernous interior that easily accommodated two large leather cases directly within the cabin, alongside a generously sized rear trunk that promised total freedom for her social calendar. However, both the Valliere and the Aether Plein Air shared a distinct and undeniable thirst for fuel, demanding frequent, inconvenient stops at the pompe à essence that would undoubtedly interrupt the elegant flow of a long journey. Furthermore, the Plein Air presented a significant souci regarding its extremely low garde au sol; while its lowered stance contributed directly to its sleek profile, it threatened to turn every uneven countryside path or gravel driveway into an exercise in anxiety. Conversely, the Asil Al Hawa navigated these practical concerns with brilliant efficiency. Its remarkably short 2.65-meter wheelbase—a stark contrast to the sprawling 3.38 meters of the Valliere and the 3.0 meters of the Aether—granted it an effortless, stress-free maneuverability through tight Parisian streets, while its highly optimized engine sipped fuel with an extraordinary restraint, promising uninterrupted trans-continental voyages with genuine ease.
When transitioning from static inspection to the conduite, the dynamics of comfort and performance revealed starkly different engineering philosophies among the three contenders. The Aether Plein Air surprisingly dominated the realm of sheer passenger comfort; its suspension was an absolute revelation, absorbing the harsh Parisian cobblestones and rural imperfections with a souplesse that easily outclassed its magnificent rivals. Although its supercharged engine spun at an unusually high rotational speed during highway cruising, the manufacturer’s rigorous application of heavy noise insulation effectively masked this mechanical strain, preserving the cabin’s absolute tranquility and isolating her entirely from the bruit. The Valliere, by contrast, relied on its immense, solid mass to crush road imperfections, providing an incredibly secure, fortress-like feel, but its suspension lacked the nuanced, gentle dampening of the Aether, and its power delivery felt somewhat lethargic and merely adequate for its monumental weight. The Asil Al Hawa managed to masterfully capture the virtues of both. Despite possessing the smallest physical footprint of the trio, its suspension tuning provided a level of bien-être that nearly matched the magnificent Aether. Moreover, it felt decidedly the most performant on the open road, utilizing its lighter frame and highly optimized powertrain to deliver a quiet, urgent acceleration that made the vehicle feel incredibly spirited, perfectly engineered, and completely effortless to pilot.
Arriving at a final verdict proved to be an agonizingly delicate affair, an intensely close competition between three equally magnificent choices that all deserved a place of honor. Élise desperately wanted to commission the Valliere; its breathtaking aesthetics and unparalleled interior capacity represented the exact physical embodiment of the grand touring carriage she had envisioned, yet she was ultimately, and painfully, let down by the uninspired execution of its drivetrain and its ponderous, heavy handling. The Aether Plein Air presented an incredibly tempting alternative with its supreme ride quality, high-speed serenity, and futuristic elegance, yet when placed directly beside the DCMW, there was an unmistakable disparity in the ultimate qualité of their craftsmanship. The Asil Al Hawa simply exhibited a more rigorous, meticulous attention to detail in its construction. While both the Aether and the DCMW offered exceptional comfort and engaging performance, the Asil Al Hawa secured the ultimate victory through its brilliantly cohesive engineering, its superior daily practicality in the city, and its vastly superior fuel efficiency. It was a vehicle that demanded absolutely zero compromises from its pilot, emerging from this trio of extraordinary machines as the singular, definitive chef-d’œuvre perfectly tailored to carry Élise Belcour into the glamorous horizon of the 1937 season. Although all three motorcars stood as unequivocally great choices and the final selection was an incredibly close matter of degrees, the Asil Al Hawa represented the perfectly engineered, highly polished chef-d’œuvre that Élise required for her grand European migrations.
Un grand merci à tous.
Sorry again for releasing this out so late, ended up extremely busy and yeah the judging process was difficult lol amongst mods not loading, and that my judging process basically I had to judge every car comprehensively at the same time, since I coudn’t judge it in discrete “parts”, so it all had to be done all at once. Sorry again, and thanks.
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17 Likes
also i was gonna use dark mode sorry again but all my pics had a white background so it looked super weird like dark then white then dark then white so yeah
anyways pls read all the reviews and not just your car only 
i spent a lot of time on it
7 Likes
10/10 review despite blinding my eyes. Also when reading the reviews I was waiting for my car to show up thinking I wouldn’t make it in top 5 cuz of the roofline being awful (I hate 3D roofs) and the engine being choked to death (muh Packard v12 realism).
So shock horror when my entry was 5th place I just found it funny that my suspension tuning and comfort saved me lol I thought cuz of design i’d be like 10th or something since there were better looking cars before me.
But nah it was a very fun challenge and the cars that came out of it looked like walking pieces of art damn (also I read the reviews with the enthusia ost since it fit the asthetic).
3 Likes
Welp, clearly I lost my engineering edge in this game, probably because I hadn’t done a CSR in a long time. I might do a collab next time lol
At least I got a very decent design score, which is a lot coming from @Oreology . It was a great CSR round!
5 Likes
@oreology I knew you were a great designer, coming from whom, the visual score is a meaningful compliment. I didn’t know you could write, too. It’s formulaic, templated, but the template followed is a good one - thorough, balanced, thought out, and well-suited for comparison. I love all the Frenchisms. Especially impressive since I gather you’re not a native speaker of either. Yeah, it took a while and we were all getting antsy, but the time taken was commensurate with and justified by the quality delivered. Bravo!
“…[prioritize] the lived experience of the driver over the vulgar pursuit of paper statistics.”
DCMW’s marketing department thanks you for the new marketing line.
Though the related fuel economy got the praise it deserved, I’m trivially disappointed that the “superior olfactory experience” got no mention. Passing WES5, I took that to mean that the car wouldn’t reek of partially burned hydrocarbons like many of the era did - a bonus for anyone, but doubly so for our client, n’est pas?
Holy crap, I won CSR. Sacre bleu!
No way that I could do justice to a CSR round in the near future, so passing it on down the podium. C’est la vie…
For anyone interested, the car.
I also invite anyone to request custom paint, wood, and upholstery. A couple of examples:
6 Likes