The Datsun 240Z was never the problem. It was the solution. The answer to a world where European sports cars carried steep price tags and Japanese cars were still thought of as nothing more than basic transportation. For years, Japanese cars in America were what students drove to class, what families bought when they were new, when money was tight, or what commuters relied on when fuel prices spiked. They were appliances, used for economy, and durability.
It’s easy to look back on them now as more than products of their time. But they weren’t. They filled parking lots at office buildings and grocery stores, racked up hundreds of thousands of miles on city roads, and lived out their lives as forgettable hand-me-downs, passed from one generation to the next until they rusted into the ground. They were not the cars enthusiasts dreamed about, not the machines people pinned on their walls or took out on Sunday after church for a little exercise. Today we love the quirky, endearing nature of the classic Japanese econobox, but back then? It was a tool.
The Z was one of the cars that changed everything. It was Japan’s bold declaration, a machine shaped by the same relentless craftsmanship and discipline that defined the country’s post-war industrial rise. It embodied the Japanese philosophy of kaizen, continuous improvement. The Z was beautiful, with the long nose of a Ferrari, and an inline-six that, despite its modest origins (and with some SU carburetors installed), could sing when you need it to. In 1970, it was fast enough, with a chassis that felt nimble, eager, and alive in a way most Americans had never experienced in something that did not wear a European badge. It was still affordable, but it was no longer just transportation. It was undeniably a sports car.
But time does not stand still. Roads get wider. And for better or worse, cars get faster, stop better, turn sharper, and expectations shift. The Z’s magic is still there, but modern traffic, modern brakes, and modern speed put it in a different context. It still thrives on momentum and chassis respect. But, time marches on. The engineers at Nissan did not create the perfect Z, they created the best one they could for the money, theirs, and yours. So, as is often the case as we make engine noises in our garage over winter, pontificating on what we can modify, and how things could be better. The question is not whether the Z is still great as it was, it is how much better could it be?
For Rahail Tariq, the Z had been lurking in his subconscious, a shape that had stuck with him from flipping through magazine pages. When he finally got his first 240Z, his first classic car, it was white, with black sills and a set of 260Z wheels that he did not even know were incorrect at the time. He bought it online in 2005, not as an expert but as someone drawn to its presence, and it’s silhouette. That car, with all its patina and imperfections, was the seed that eventually grew into MZR Roadsports.
Rahail’s connection to cars ran deeper than just his own discoveries. His father, a technician in the 1970s, was always bringing home interesting machinery, M5s, Mini Coopers, Daimlers, even an E-Type Jaguar. Growing up around those cars, seeing the way his father worked on them, improved them, and understood them, gave him an appreciation for cars as something alive, something that could always be made better. The Z was just the first car where Rahail realized that he was the one who would have to push it forward.
In the UK, where classic Japanese sports cars did not have the same deep-rooted restoration culture as Porsches or E-Types, Rahail found himself frustrated. Nobody was building the Z the way he envisioned it. No one was taking it to its logical next step, not just restoring but refining, improving. That search led him to Martin Ryland, a Datsun expert who eventually became his collaborator and helped shape the vision of MZR.
Restomods are sometimes frowned upon, seen as tampering with an icon, but consider this. Given the opportunity, is it possible Nissan would have never left the Z as it was? If the company had continued refining it with an unlimited budget, what would it have looked like? A lighter chassis, a more rigid structure, and an engine with sharper response and a little more urgency. That is exactly what MZR is doing, finishing what the original engineers, given enough time, could have done, maybe even would have done, but did not.
Their Evolution models, built with bespoke carbon-fiber bodywork, are not just about chasing numbers. Yes, the RB 3.4L DOHC straight-six delivers over 300 horsepower, and yes, the six-speed manual brings precision to every shift, but the real magic is in how it all comes together. It is a 240Z honed and distilled, shaped by the same kaizen philosophy that defined its creation, an ongoing pursuit of refinement, balance, and purpose. The 240Z never needed saving, it was never the problem after all. But it deserved to be honored, not just looked at through the lens of nostalgia. It was built to be driven, and MZR has made sure that it still begs to be.
