What if you could bottle joy? Not the vague kind found in inspirational quotes—but real, palpable joy. The kind that erupts in your chest when the rear tires scream under throttle, or when an engine sings past 7,000 rpm with nothing artificial in the mix. What if you could store that feeling in your garage—not once, but twice?
There’s no shortage of fast cars these days. But truly memorable ones? That’s a dying breed. And yet, somehow, I’ve ended up with two cars that manage to stir something deep every time I drive them. One is loud, punchy, and a mischief. The other is precise, balanced, and endlessly rewarding. One came from a Bavarian skunkworks project that almost didn’t happen. The other is a swan song for natural aspiration in a world headed for hybrids and silence.
The BMW 1M Coupe and the Porsche 718 Cayman GTS 4.0. Two cars with wildly different personalities. And somehow, they both feel like they were built for people like me.
Let me explain.
The 1M: A Mistake That Turned Out Perfect
BMW never really planned to build the 1M. It was a backdoor project, started by engineers who wanted to do something fun. Codenamed “Pyrat,” it was wild from the start. Originally intended to have a high-output four-cylinder, reality stepped in—BMW didn’t have one. Not one that could come close to the M badge’s expectations, at least. So the engineers pivoted to the N54, BMW’s first twin-turbo inline-six, and asked: What if we turn this into something properly unhinged?
The result was the most powerful version of the E82 1 Series Coupe ever made. BMW claimed 335 horsepower and 332 lb-ft of torque, with a temporary bump to 369 lb-ft thanks to overboost. But that’s just the spec sheet. What matters is how it feels. More on that in a second.
The Best Purchase I Ever Made
I bought the 1M without ever driving it. Actually, I bought it before it even came out. BMW had already sold out of their initial allocation by the time I locked in my order. No test drives. No demos. Just a spec sheet, some early press photos, and a gut feeling that this was going to be something worth chasing. I’ve never done that with another car. And honestly, I don’t know if I ever will again.
What made the whole thing even more special was doing European Delivery. Picking it up at BMW Welt in Munich was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. I remember coming down the stairs, seeing that Valencia Orange 1M spinning slowly on the turntable, and thinking: Yup, this is mine. No turning back now.
That trip turned into something way more than just a pickup. I ended up taking the car to the BMW M Festival at the Nürburgring, which just added another layer of unforgettable memories. Imagine breaking in a brand-new M car on the Autobahn, then taking it to the ‘Ring the same weekend thousands of M fans from all over the world gather to celebrate the brand. That wasn’t just a vacation—it was a milestone. Something I’ll never forget.
Back home in Chicago, the 1M has always felt like a bit of a celebrity. Every time I drive it—whether I’m commuting, running errands, or just heading out for a drive—it gets attention. People take photos of it at stoplights. I’ve had strangers follow me into parking lots just to ask what it is. Kids wave from school buses. Car people nod. Even non-car people notice it. And that hasn’t faded with time.
Boxy, Raw and Analog
Why? Because the 1M isn’t subtle in styling and sound. Get on the throttle in second gear and the rear end gets light—especially if the pavement isn’t perfect. There’s plenty of torque, and when the overboost kicks in, it comes on strong and fast. It doesn’t build gradually—it just hits. You’re busy right away. The steering is old-school hydraulic, which means it actually talks back. You feel the front tires load up, the road surface, the camber changes—it’s all coming through the wheel. It’s not overly heavy, just honest. And if you’re not careful, it will quickly bite you, especially when the pavement is cold.
The clutch is light, the six-speed gearbox is a bit notchy at first but improves with familiarity. You get used to it, especially with the long gearing. The torque builds up nicely and the sound gets better with the revs. The engine pulls hard once in the right band, delivering a very satisfying driving experience, even in stop-and-go traffic.
Compared to other performance cars of its era—hell, even newer ones—it’s refreshingly simple. There’s no adjustable drive modes beyond the “M” button on the wheel, which just sharpens the throttle map. That’s it. No fake exhaust noise. No digital trickery, especially since mine was not equipped with the navigation screen.
I’ve owned this 1M since 2011. I’ve kept the mileage low—about 30,000 miles—but it’s been more of a garage queen in the last few 5 years. Initially, I’ve daily driven it in Chicago. I’ve taken it to work, dropped off kids with a car seat strapped in back, and blasted down back roads whenever I needed a mental reset. Now, it’s definitely treated as a collector’s car, even though I’m aware it should be enjoyed even more.
Raw Emotion, Every Day
Living with the 1M isn’t always easy. The suspension is stiff. The exhaust drones a bit. But it’s never punishing. You feel everything, but in a way that adds to the experience. The car is twitchy, eager, and a little bit angry. It’s like a caged bear that wants to prove it’s stronger than everything else on the road. You don’t tame it. You learn how to move with it.
And despite all of that, it’s surprisingly practical. It fits in tight spaces. You can run errands in it. And yes, you can put a car seat in the back and take your kid to school while explaining what “analog steering” means.
There’s no part of it that feels artificial. It’s raw, sometimes unpredictable, and exactly what most modern cars are missing.
The Porsche 718 Cayman GTS 4.0: Precision Without Pretension
Then there’s the GTS. A completely different flavor—but equally addictive.
This is the car I got knowing it wouldn’t be around forever. Porsche’s naturally aspirated flat-six is on its way out. You can only get it in a few models: the GT4, GT4 RS, Spyder RS, GT3—and this. The GTS 4.0. It’s the quiet hero in the Porsche lineup. No wing, no racing pedigree. Just a glorious engine, a perfect six-speed gearbox, and a chassis that feels like it was built by people who still care.
Yes, some people call it the “Poor man’s Porsche”, but for enthusiasts, it’s the scalpel, the emotional two-door sportscar that won’t be around forever.
Compared to the BMW 1M, it’s not a limited edition. But production numbers are lower than you’d expect. In 2021 and 2022, Porsche sold fewer than 1,300 GTS 4.0 Caymans in the U.S. Total.
And yet, it still feels special. From the moment you twist the key, it’s different. The engine isn’t loud below 5,000 RPM—but when you cross that line, it screams. There’s this rich, metallic howl that grows as you rev toward 7,800. It’s not the fastest thing I’ve driven, but it’s one of the most satisfying. You have to work for the power. Keep the engine in its sweet spot. Get the shifts right. It rewards rhythm and feel.
A Completely Different Dance
Compared to the 1M, the Cayman GTS 4.0 is smoother. More fluid. It feels lighter—because it is. At 3,175 pounds, it undercuts the 1M by about 175 pounds. And it’s mid-engine, so it rotates around you in a way no front-engined car ever can. Point it into a corner and the whole car pivots like it’s reading your thoughts.
The ride is more refined too. With PASM, it handles rough roads surprisingly well. My Chicago daily route has seen better days, but the GTS soaks up potholes and expansion joints like a much more comfortable car. The 18-way seats help. They’re supportive without being punishing. And the cabin is simple. Clean. Analog. No giant screens screaming for attention. Just red needles, tactile buttons, and one of the best steering wheels I’ve ever gripped.
But it’s not perfect. The gearing is tall—frustratingly so. Around town, you don’t get to row the gearbox as much as you want. It makes me miss underpowered cars sometimes, where you can rev the nuts off them in second gear without breaking the speed limit.
That said, get it out of the city and it shines. On the right road, the GTS 4.0 is pure bliss. It grips. It breathes with the pavement. It never overwhelms. It doesn’t try to kill you. It just invites you to keep going, a little faster, a little smoother. Everything communicates. The brakes are progressive and confidence-inspiring. The steering is tight and accurate. It makes you feel like a better driver.
But yes, it’s less practical than the BMW 1M. If you got kids, they can forget about a ride in the Porsche. If you need to haul something or simply pick up someone from the airport, this ain’t the car for you. This is a toy for most of us, a weekend fun car rather than all-round sportscar.
Both Colors are Fun and Somewhat Unique
Both cars are loud—not just in sound, but in color. And for good reason.
The BMW 1M is finished in Valencia Orange, the headline color of the 1M when it launched in 2011. Back then, BMW swore up and down this was going to be a 1M-exclusive paint. That was part of the appeal. It made the car feel even more special—like this wild little coupe had its own identity, right down to the color.
So when BMW later rolled out Valencia Orange on lesser cars—the X1, the 1 Series—I won’t lie, it annoyed me. It took some of the uniqueness away. If I had known it would become a catalog color, I probably would’ve ordered mine in Alpine White or Sapphire Black. Still, it’s the original 1M color. And it pops—especially in the sun. I’ve made peace with it. Mostly.
On the other side of the spectrum sits the Cayman GTS 4.0 in Shark Blue, and this one… this one, no one should have any regrets about. Some people say it looks like VW’s Cornflower Blue, and maybe under certain lights, sure. But in person, Shark Blue is richer, punchier. It’s one of those colors that stops people in parking lots. It’s not trying to be understated—it’s bold, and unapologetically so. Porsche doesn’t use it across the lineup, and that helps. It still feels rare, still feels “mine.”
Do You Need Both?
That’s the question. The 1M and the Cayman GTS are different animals. One is loud, brawny, a little unruly. The other is sculpted, poised, and focused. But they’re both deeply analog. Both mechanical. Both designed for people who want to drive, not be driven.
The 1M is the better car for wrenching, for showing off, for raw driving. It feels like a celebration of chaos, a pirate in other words. The Cayman GTS is calmer, cleaner, more calculated. But no less emotional. It just shows it in a different way.
If money were no object, I’d tell anyone to own both. Not because they cover every driving scenario—but because they each represent something we’re rapidly losing. They’re time capsules. One built in defiance of calculated product planning. The other, a final love letter to naturally aspirated precision.
And if you’re lucky enough to have both, consider yourself a lucky one! These cars will go down as classics and one day, your kids will thank you if they inherit either of them. Or both.
[Photos & PPF by @TintingChicago]