Bugatti Veyron Fbg par Hermes Specifications
|Transmission||7 Speed DSG Sequential Manual|
|Engine Type||Quad-Turbocharged 16 Cylinder|
|Horsepower||1001 hp @ 6000 rpm|
|Torque||922 lb-ft. @ 2200 rpm|
|Curb Weight||4162 lb.|
|0-60 mph||2.46 sec|
|1/4 mile||10.2 sec|
|Braking, 62-0 mph||2.3 sec|
|Fuel Consumption||EPA est. 7 mpg city/ 10 mpg highway|
|Top Speed||253 mph|
Base Price: Bugatti Veyron Fbg par Hermes: Good luck.
Bugatti Veyron Fbg par Hermes: The Gentleman's Italian Death Machine
As if the Bugatti Veyron supercar wasn't enough, Bugatti has gone and released three special edition Veyrons to date, of which the Bugatti Veyron Fbg par Hermes could be called the most luxurious. Not that the standard Veyron, an Italian sports car costing nearly 2 million dollars if you can convince the most exclusive brand in sports cars that you are worthy, could not be called the ultimate luxury in itself.
With hand-cut and stitched leather all around, and a subdued yet beautiful brown and tan color scheme, the Bugatti Veyron Fbg par Hermes, released to select buyers earlier in 2008, again pairs an Italian halo sports car maker with a designer halo clothing line maker, to deliciously excessive automotive results. The Veyron Fbg par Hermes has slightly revised bodywork from other Bugatti Veyron models, but the real fancy treatment comes inside.
Take a look through this whimsical release from Bugati Automobiles, where the Fbr par Hermes is described in narrative form through the perspective of one of the few buyers worldwide cursed with wealth enough to get their hands on one.
"Speed is subsumed. Speed becomes a quiet child. She, too, sits curled on your knees. Her mechanistic posturing, her screeching, her technological power, her whinnying cries are left outside."
..only from the Italians.
NOT SO FAST!
[Courtesy Bugatti Press Release]
One touch is all it takes. A single, light touch on the ignition key. And your world falls away. Suddenly, with intense fury, exquisite delight. There's no going back. You have slipped into the cockpit of the Bugatti Veyron Fbg par Hermès, like slipping on a motorbike helmet, a dinner suit. Impossible to backtrack. And what would be the point? Back there is the last century. The rear wing rises in your farewell salute. The new century is here, nestling in your lap. A thunderbolt. It could seem frightening; in fact it's merely awe-inspiring. It should feel devastating; in reality it's simply sensational. You're projected, in space and time. Even your words ball up... disassembled and reconstructed like a Cubist collage. Not mere onomatopoeia, but impressions, ellipses.
Your box of expressions just ran out of exclamation marks. Rushing, compressing. The land-scape is folded differently. Trees no longer stand straight. Faces are blurred. You're sitting inside
a glass marble. Passers-by turn their heads like a crowd at a tennis match, watching the strange spectacle of speed. And while a thousand-and-one horses lather beneath the hood, your wheels have attained that dreamlike state of grace, turning backwards, slowly, or so it seems.
And so the Bugatti Veyron Fbg par Hermès demands acquiescence to the rhythm of this curious tango, propelling you into a parallel world of carbon fibre and aluminium, while at the same time holding you back. Above all, you are mesmerised by this sense of speed, no longer proud and wild, but tamed by the mere touch of the bodywork. Has speed found a sister, an accom-plice? Suddenly, it seems, speed dives into the cockpit, casts off her warlike countenance, confers her favour upon your mount, arrays herself in its colour, the colour that extends throughout, even to the nape of your neck. The sensation is so extraordinary that even the engine's noise takes on the quality of sound.
Speed is subsumed. Speed becomes a quiet child. She, too, sits curled on your knees. Her mechanistic posturing, her screeching, her technological power, her whinnying cries are left outside. Fine things in themselves, no doubt. But the hood was put there for a reason: the mechanics of speed should stay hidden, gone to ground, the better to concentrate their strength.
In Hermès's Faubourg workshops you'll hear it said that speed is no longer merely a skill, but a natural state: taming, accessorising, softening the pure-blood mettle of horses and racing cars alike. Drawing them to us, our companions and accomplices in exhilaration, harnessed but unbowed.
Put an ear to the heartbeat of the Faubourg house, and you're sure to catch these pleasing strains. This singular pact with the gods. Speed is no longer an end in itself. We want from it that which remains unspoken, the secret of speed: the slow-moving eye at the heart of the storm. Like the tenor's silence, the writer's blank page.
The Bugatti Veyron Fbg par Hermès is a creature of paradox. No sooner has it bolted like a zebra, than it slows to a halt at the first zebra crossing. A strange feeling steals over you in time.
A sense of a different order of things. Speed has set out to prove her worth, her ability to devour distances, to tear through the kilometres and toss them behind. Now, she invites a more intimate knowledge, posing, turning, arching at the touch of your hand. Speed often likes to preach by the opposite example. Like a saddle-stitcher crafting an eagerly-awaited order, she'll keep you waiting expectantly, taking things slowly, the better to fly forth when the moment comes. Like fiery horses that toss their heads and paw the ground, then race to the horizon. Speed is the daughter of impatience.
This is precisely where Hermès felt it had a call to answer. What have signature silks and smooth canvas got to do with engine cylinders and lubricants? With quiet assurance, Hermès brings its own special contribution to the mix - that most troubling, rare and precious ingredient, emotion.
But where does it come from? The accelerator pedal, no doubt - the pedal you have just released. And yet emotion is also born of a remarkable, densely woven fabric of complicity and understanding. Notice the slow, unhurried gestures of your hands - are these not the gestures of the craftworkers of the house of Hermès? How many hours of loving work have gone into the steering wheel alone, wholly sheathed in tow-coloured leather? Unhurried application, taking the time it takes. See these people at work, passing a hand over the surface of the leather, feeling the quality of the air between the fingertips and grain. Then massaging it, working its substance. Humming quietly, sometimes, under their breath.
This car, seemingly sprung from nowhere - part super-hero roadster, part rounded beach pebble - has a long history. Now Hermès and designer Gabriele Pezzini have taken it by surprise, giving it a new line, new gestures: smoothing the shell and cockpit, relaxing the driver's seat, softening the doors and the steering wheel, "branding" the radiator grilles. The virile racer becomes the perfect gentleman, fast-moving yet calm and composed.
But this car's greatest strength is its ability to make you feel like a child again (a somewhat boisterous child, admittedly). Its thrilling growl brings a smile to the lips. Better still, its irruption brings with it your unforced "Ah!" of amazement, a new poetics of surprise.
All photographs credit Nick Dimbleby or Bruno Clergue