Ferrari lives its brand-through an emphasis on story-telling and an expectation that its legend is known by all its audiences, says Jack Yan

There are only a few sports car brands on the planet that stir emotions. Aston Martin, mainly for its association with James Bond as well as a history of triumphing in the face of deep financial crisis; Porsche, for its German-ness as well as its share of celebrity connections such as James Dean and Steve McQueen; and Ferrari.

But what exactly makes Ferrari tick brand-wise? Examining its celebrities, there aren’t any that really stand out. Tony Curtis drove a Dino 246 GT in The Persuaders. Don Johnson in Miami Vice with his Daytona and, later, a Testarossa. Jeremy Clarkson owned a 355 in the 1990s. Chris Rea made a fantasy called La Passione in 1997 with Shirley Bassey singing. For the longest period, it was Tom Selleck driving the 308 GTS and its successors on Magnum, PI. None of these men are particularly able to conjure up a heroic, romantic man image, at least not to the degree of the fictional James Bond and the legendary Dean and McQueen.

To really get Ferrari, you have to get to two things: its competition histories, in which the company effectively replaced Alfa Romeo as the national champion after the war; and its styling, notably cars such as the 250 GTO. Ferrari has relied on these two ideas constantly through its 60-plus year history, using them to strengthen the brand. Ferrari stands for the best of the Italian national image, rather than the utility of the Fiat brand which, arguably, more Italians have actually had contact with. Go to the Ferrari testing ground at Modena and the staff are pretty content driving Fiats to work-even here Ferrari is not the daily drive. A select few, of course, get to drive them at work, seven-time Formula One world champion Michael Schumacher being the latest addition to the test-driver team.

The idea of legends and stories to tell the brand story is common among the most successful marques. Here, it stems from founder Enzo Ferrari, il Commendatore, who witnessed first-hand some of the earliest developments in motor racing in Italy when his Dad took him to see a race in 1908. He became a driver for Alfa Romeo and even placed second at the 1920 Targa Florio. In 1929, Ferrari formed his own racing team, Scuderia Ferrari.

It was thanks to Ferrari that Alfas got anywhere. Due to a non-competitive clause, Ferrari could not use his own name, but the Alfas that benefited from his tinkering after the factory itself retired from racing at the end of the 1920s, won some of the great European races in what was a golden age of automotive motorsports. Nuvolari, Varzi and Chiron drove, and the Italians dominated till the Nazi-financed teams of Mercedes-Benz and Auto Union began cleaning up. When Alfa took the team under its wing in 1938, Ferrari formed his own automotive workshop, Auto-Avio Costruzioni Ferrari, by 1940. The first car, without the Ferrari name, raced that year and was not successful.

However, as all legends go, few dwell on the also-rans, so the first Ferrari is usually credited as a postwar model, the 125 Sport, the first car to bear the Ferrari brand, with the anti-competitive clause no longer effective.

It could have all ended with World War II when the works were bombed (Ferrari was involved in war production), but they were rebuilt in 1946 in Modena. The 125 Sport, designed by former Alfa man Giacchino Columbo, was released in Piacenza on May 11, 1947, in a race, piloted by Franco Cortese. The legend began and il Commendatore began hiring the best drivers in Italy: Ascari, Farina, Sommer.

It wouldn’t have worked if Ferraris weren’t any good. And Ferrari never really wanted to get into road car production: the 125 Sport was only released to the public to help fund the Scuderia. While Ferraris did not do that well (second and third placings were common), it strove to develop a car that would take the championship, which the company would by 1952. Juan Manuel Fangio joined the scuderia in the mid-1950s.

The Ferrari prancing horse symbol is also the stuff of legend. In 1923, the parents of the heroic Italian pilot Francesco Baracca, Count Enrico and Countess Paolina Baracca, gave Ferrari their son’s squadron badge on the charred remains of his plane, featuring the family coat of arms of a black horse rampant on a yellow shield. Baracca had notched up 35 enemy hits before crashing to his death.

Back in those days, men raced under their national colours, and for the Italians it was red. The connection continues today, a throwback to the heroic prewar era when Ferrari himself was tinkering with Alfas and seeing them win on the tracks. Few companies can claim a colour that conjures its brand’s heritage. Ferrari can, almost exclusively: Maserati may have some share, but Lamborghini, which has virtually no competition history, cannot.

For most of the years of Enzo Ferrari’s life-he died in 1988-the story of the company reads like a soap opera, with family disputes, an illegitimate child and the death of his first son, Alfredo, nicknamed Dino. It was said that Enzo Ferrari wore sunglasses every day after his son’s death in memoriam. The Commendatore himself enjoyed the dramatic, refusing to kiss up to the powers in Roma and preferring to be the outsider who did things himself.

Again, it all contributes to the legend.

Ferrari developed one of its most famous road cars after a challenge from Jaguar, another heroic brand at the time-perhaps less so now after decades away from racing and a period under British Leyland. Then, however, Jaguar had had Le Mans successes and was selling the XKSS, with the E-type on the way. Ferrari, as a question of honour, responded with a model that some regard as the company’s most beautiful car: the 250 GTO, released in 1962.

Others regard the Daytona, or 365 GTB/4, as the most beautiful, in the late 1960s; the Dino 246 GT (it never carried a Ferrari badge) is rated as among the finest now, its lineage continuing with the F430 today-this deserves its own story. Still others point to more modern machinery such as the 456 GT. Ferrari whetted collectors’ appetites with F40, F50 and Enzo specials, cars that brought racing technology to the (highly privileged) masses. Of all these cars, with their Pininfarina bodywork, no one detects any hand of a mass market producer.

What people do not mention too loudly is that Ferrari sold 50 per cent of his share holding to the Fiat group in 1969, after a decade of poor financial management. Fiat’s share increased to 90 per cent in 1988. There were dark days, when people suspected Ferrari would not last through the 1960s after the temperamental founder fired a great deal of his team, and its failure to win any championships for a period until 1975, when Niki Lauda won. There was a dry spell in the 1980s, too, and it took Schumacher to bring it back from the brink.

But since the mid-1990s, the scuderia and the automobile manufacturing arm have ridden a high and no one mentions the dampeners, just as few consumers really care who owns Donna Karan or Chanel. The Ferrari brand is what stirs passions, thanks to the familiarity of the legend inside and outside the firm.

Even the quirky Ferraris, the 365 GT4 2+2, the Testarossa and the Dino 308 GT4 by Bertone seem to be shielded from criticism by the simple fact that they are from such an evocative firm. Even these cars have their admirers thanks to the halo effect of the brand.

Fiat, whether consciously or not, has allowed Ferrari the luxury to develop as an independent unit. While there have been some crossovers-the Fiat Dino had an engine from Maranello-the brand has never been abused. Tied in with the idea of Italian machismo is the notion that anyone who comes into contact with the cars must know of the history. The brand is living just as the company-and its audiences-live its brand, whether it is a member of a royal Arabic house blasting his F50 through the desert or a child cheering on the red cars in the Grand Prix on TV.

Management in Torino has allowed the brand to appear defiant, independent and legendary, synonymous with the success of Italian pride itself. It readily plays on this in external marketing-but never in so many words. The cars sell themselves: when was the last time you saw an advertisement for the 612 or the F430 that was not from a dealer?

In branding terms, the story-telling aspect is strong, and in the leanest times Fer¬rari can still call on the images of il Commendatore, Francesco Baracca and the belief that the cars themselves have nobility through a bloodline made of petrol.