There are few silhouettes in automotive history as instantly recognizable as the Jaguar E-Type. It’s the kind of design that makes people stop mid-sentence, mid-walk, even mid-thought. Enzo Ferrari once called it the most beautiful car ever made, and he wasn’t exactly in the business of giving compliments to the competition.
So how do you touch something like that without breaking its soul?
If you’re Ian Callum, former design chief at Jaguar and the man responsible for icons like the Aston Martin DB7 and the Jaguar F-Type, you do it with surgical precision, reverence, and a quiet sense of rebellion. The result is a breathtaking re-interpretation of the E-Type that doesn’t just pay homage, it whispers, “what if?” elegance evolved.
Callum’s design doesn’t scream for attention, it glides into your vision. The familiar long bonnet and tight rear haunches are still there, but everything’s been distilled. Chrome trim? Gone. In its place: a clean matte gray body that absorbs light rather than reflecting it. The look is sculptural, modern, and almost ghost-like, as if the car were a memory made real again.
The updated lights, both front and rear, are a subtle nod to the future without disrupting the past. Sleek, intentional, and beautifully integrated, they fix the E-Type’s only real sin: the original Lucas electrics, lovingly nicknamed “Prince of Darkness” by enthusiasts. Even the wheels, massive by classic standards, still echo the wire-spoke originals in spirit. Their three-blade knock-on center hubs feel like they were lifted from a Le Mans pit lane, not a retro parts bin. Inside: Modern Soul, Analog Heart.
The interior is where things get even more interesting. Callum has resisted the urge to digitize everything. Instead, it’s an intentional fusion of analog delight and modern polish. Toggle switches live beside discreet digital displays. A large brushed metal shift knob anchors the cabin with the kind of tactile confidence that only a manual transmission can offer. In a world addicted to touchscreens, this feels like a love letter to real drivers. It’s a cabin that asks for engagement, not swipes.
Twin exhaust pipes at the rear hint at something special under the hood. This isn’t meant to be a hushed electric sculpture. It wants to snarl. To breathe. To move. Whether it’s hiding a straight-six or a V-12, or something completely new, is beside the point. This car isn’t a blueprint. It’s a provocation.