Coup de Coeur Jean-Philippe Duval never finished school. In France, it was required until sixteen, but he got out early, walked into a trade school, and made a life out of something that felt natural. He had no desire to turn wrenches for unhappy customers. Bodywork was a slow-motion hell of sanding, priming, waiting, and repeating. The results were too far into the future. But upholstery, that was something else. It was immediate. It was hands-on. It was the kind of work where a set of dedicated hours could turn a mess into something finished, something precise, something beautiful. He started small, working on whatever came his way. Then a friend showed up with a 356. And another, becoming specialized before he even realized it. His wife asked him if he really thought there’d be enough of them left to keep going for twenty years. That was twenty-five years ago. What draws Jean to these cars isn’t just the shape or the nostalgia or even the materials he gets to work with. It is the simplicity. A Porsche 356 can be taken apart in a day. If you have the tools and the patience, you can strip it to a shell without specialized equipment or some super secret factory-only technique, or an expensive factory set of tools. The seats come out with a few bolts. The door panels pop off after a handful of screws. The headliner is a known process. It is stretched over bows and tensioned into place. It was a car made to be serviced, something that can’t be said for most sports cars built in the last few decades. Back when these interiors were first assembled, they were built to be used. Every stitch, every panel, every material choice was made with purpose. They were elegant but not indulgent, refined but never overdone. The first 356s were built in Gmünd, Austria, in a repurposed sawmill, and by the time production ramped up in Germany, the interiors were still an exercise in function over flair. Porsche outsourced much of the assembly, with coachbuilders like Reutter and Karmann handling the upholstery and bodywork. There was no hand-stitched leather, no excessive padding, no exotic materials. Seats were often covered in vinyl, with cloth or corduroy inserts. Everything was cut, sewn, and installed as quickly as possible, with patterns optimized for production, not perfection. Panels were backed with simple pressboard. Seams were glued and stapled in places unseen. A skilled German trimmer could knock out a full interior in a day. That’s what Jean is undoing, and then redoing every time he starts a new project. He pulls everything apart, studies the seams, notes where things held up and where they failed, then builds it all back again, piece by piece. He sources materials from Germany, cuts everything by hand, and stitches it together with the same attention to detail as the original craftsmen, except now there is more time to refine every piece.The patterns are the same, but the precision is more cared after. The materials are closer to what Porsche would have used if they had the time. Perhaps. The kind of people who bring their 356 to Jean-Philippe Duval understand this. They are not looking for restoration in the showroom sense. They want something that feels like it has always been there. No hard lines where new meets old. No traces of the work. Just an interior that fits the car’s story. When it is done, it looks like it never left.Â
The ‘Loophole’ Dauer 962 That Wrote F.A.T. International Into Porsche’s Le Mans Legend This is one of those happy accident stories, where a Le Mans legend added to its rich legacy in the most unusual of circumstances. Over its 100-plus-year history, the 24 Hours of Le Mans has delivered plenty of shocking results, but few rival this one. Not only did it propel a sponsor into the limelight, but it also unexpectedly sparked a motorsport cultural movement that continues to resonate 30 years later. However, as is often the case with motorsport stories from this era, a central figure behind it all eventually ended up in jail. A New Era, A Crucial Loophole The early '90s marked a transitional period in endurance racing. With the World Sportscar Championship folding in 1992, the Automobile Club de l’Ouest (ACO), custodians of Le Mans, sought to redefine the competition landscape. The curtain had fallen on the Group C prototype era, ushering in a focus on GT-style racers. Icons like the Ferrari F40, McLaren F1, and domestic marvels such as the Bugatti EB110 and Venturi 600 LM became the new torchbearers.​To populate the GT1 class, the ACO mandated the production of at least 25 road-going versions of each race car. Yet, nestled within the fine print was a provision allowing manufacturers to apply for homologation prior to actual production—a statement ripe for exploitation. Porsche, ever the opportunist, recognized the potential of this clause, or, more importantly, this loophole. Concurrently, the P1 prototype class persisted, with contenders like Toyota in the fray. However, the ACO's adjustments, dampening power and downforce, leveled the playing field, granting GT1 entrants a genuine shot at overall victory. Amidst this evolving landscape emerged an unexpected protagonist, backed by a brand yearning for its 13th Le Mans triumph.​ Jochen Dauer’s Unlikely Masterstroke Austrian entrepreneur and racer Jochen Dauer had acquired five Porsche 962C race cars in 1991 with the ambitious goal of converting them into road legal supercars. At the time, it seemed far fetched. But a few years later, Porsche saw an opportunity and stepped in to assist, modifying the car’s suspension to meet strict German road regulations.By 1993, Porsche discerned the potential in Dauer's endeavor and lent their expertise, tweaking the 962's suspension to align with stringent German road regulations. The metamorphosed Dauer 962 LM made its debut at the 1993 Frankfurt Motor Show. Shortly thereafter, a pact was forged to field the car in the GT1 class at Le Mans, with the seasoned Joest Racing team at the helm.​Under the GT1 regulations, this iteration of the 962 enjoyed a power resurgence, a stark contrast to the constraints its prototype predecessors had endured. The compromise? Narrower tires. Yet, the ace up its sleeve was a substantially larger fuel tank compared to its P1 adversaries—a tactical advantage that would prove pivotal.​As if to underscore Porsche’s full backing, the driver lineup was stacked with talent: two time Le Mans winner Hans Joachim Stuck, ex Formula One drivers Danny Sullivan and Thierry Boutsen, endurance racing aces Yannick Dalmas and Mauro Baldi, and American sportscar legend Hurley Haywood. The 1994 Le Mans Victory Competing under the banner of FATurbo Express, a transport brand of the logistics firm Français Allemande Transite, and erstwhile sponsor of Group C Porsche 962s, the #36 Dauer-Porsche, piloted by Dalmas, Baldi, and Haywood, seized a resounding victory.​While rivals grappled to eke out 12 laps per fuel stint, the Dauer 962s extended their runs to 14 or 15 laps, securing a strategic upper hand. However, the triumph was not devoid of trials. The #36 car necessitated a driveshaft repair during the night and lagged behind the leading Toyota as the race neared its climax. Fate intervened when the Japanese prototype encountered a gear linkage malfunction on Sunday, catapulting the Dauer machine into the lead.​The sister #35 car, with Sullivan, Boutsen, and Stuck at the wheel, clinched third place despite early setbacks, a puncture-induced spin and a tense episode where Boutsen navigated half a lap shrouded in darkness after shedding the front bodywork. The aspiration for a 1-2 finish slipped away in the waning moments, as future Ferrari F1 driver Eddie Irvine commandeered second place for Toyota amidst traffic, barely maintaining his position in a frenetic finale.A One and Done Success Story A total of thirteen Dauer 962 LM road cars were built, fewer than required under the revised 1995 ACO rulebook, which effectively closed the loophole that had enabled Porsche’s triumph. Some of these road cars were even fitted with DVD players, a futuristic touch for the era. Among the buyers? The Sultan of Brunei, who reportedly acquired six.On the racing side, only three Dauer 962 LMs were built, with a spare tub brought to Le Mans in 1994 that never saw competition. This meant that Porsche’s GT1 class victory was truly a one time deal.Dauer’s Rise and Fall Post-Le Mans, Jochen Dauer embarked on an even more ambitious venture, acquiring the remnants of the bankrupt Bugatti in 1995 and reengineering the EB110 with carbon fiber bodywork. However, the project stumbled, and Dauer's fortunes waned. In 2010, he faced imprisonment for tax evasion.​Meanwhile, the F.A.T. International moniker faded into obscurity, until Ferdi Porsche resurrected it for contemporary endeavors, encompassing ice racing, karting, upscale dining establishments, and collaborations with Porsche Design.What started as a creative rule interpretation resulted in one of the most fascinating Le Mans victories in history, securing Dauer's place in motorsport folklore.
First Five  At sixteen, freedom came wrapped in a small rectangular bit of plastic. Alex Yust got a fresh driver’s license from the Hollywood DMV. It wasn’t just about transportation, it was about going places on his own terms. Still, cycling was his first real escape. He could ride to the beach, to Hollywood, anywhere his legs would take him. It was his first connection to the road, and that feeling never left. The M5 isn’t so different. It’s pure, mechanical, and direct. Feet move rods that open butterflies and push incompressible hydraulic fluid. Hands steer and levers move gear selectors. Like a bike, there are consequences when you push and pull on things. Unlike new cars, with the m5, there's no interference in-between doing, and happening. If his bike is Alex's simplest way to connect with the road, the M5 is the best way to amplify it. Then there’s the question: why does this car exist? Why did BMW take a race-bred engine and stuff it into a 5 Series? When it launched, it was the fastest sedan in the world, a car for those who wanted a family-hauler that could also outrun most sports cars. It was hand-built, absurdly over-engineered, and, in the U.S., available in exactly one color combination: black over beige. Why? Maybe it's that what the Germans thought we deserved, or maybe it was just German pragmatism. While European buyers got a wider range of options, BMW locked American customers into a single spec. No other colors. No manual seat adjustments. Just a black suit over a beige interior, no frills, no distractions. Before the M5, sedans were practical. After the M5, they had to be something more. The super-saloon market was born, and every automaker spent the next decade trying to keep up. Alex’s car isn’t stock anymore. It’s been tweaked, refined, made better. It sits lower, grips harder. It’s carried 212,000 miles of history, across the country, through years of memories, through the hands of his cousin before him. And it’s still here, still moving. Plenty of people have tried to buy it, but he’s not selling. Some things, once they become a part of you, aren’t meant to be let go.
The Magic Light of St. Moritz Photos: Rosario Liberti Tuberculosis is a heck of a way to start an article about some ice racing history, and an even wilder way for a town to find its purpose, but here we are. Back in 1866, an Englishman named Arthur Edward Vansittart Strettell, while coughing his bloody lungs out, decided St. Moritz might just save his life. The pure alpine air (or luck) worked its magic, and he stuck around long enough for people to notice. Soon, more of Europe’s well-heeled started showing up,not just to breathe better, but to winter in style. That might have been part of the beginning, but Johannes Badrutt, a Swiss hotelier, turned it into a destination. In 1864, he made a bold wager with his English summer guests: return in winter, and if you don’t love it, I’ll pay for your entire trip. They took the bet, expecting bitter cold and suffering. Instead, they found sunshine bouncing off snow-capped peaks, a winter unlike anything they had known. St. Moritz was no longer just a retreat, it is possibly the birthplace of luxury winter tourism. By the time it hosted the 1928 and 1948 Winter Olympics, St. Moritz was more than just ski chalets and cocktails. It was home to the Cresta Run, a skeleton track where men in tweed willingly hurled themselves face-first down a mile of ice. Horse racing? On ice. Polo? On ice. It was only a matter of time before we ended up with cars, on ice. If it could be done with risk and elegance, it happened at St. Moritz. Fast forward to 2019, and The ICE St. Moritz started carrying that same spirit forward. But this time, instead of jockeys or sledders, it’s Ferrari 250 SWBs, Bugatti Type 35s, and Maserati 450Ss sliding across the frozen lake, their reflections blurry and fractal on the ice. Part concours, part fever dream, spiked tires chew through ice while vintage race cars dance across a surface that was never meant for them. And then there’s the light, snow refracting golden-hour sunlight, exhaust vapor swirling in the cold. It’s a photographer’s paradise, a filmmaker’s storyboard, a dreamscape of speed and style. With a little history behind us, and that light in mind, we’re sharing a gallery of the finest photos from St. Moritz 2025. Enjoy the view.Â
