There is a particularly curious and somewhat paradoxical situation unfolding in Maranello. John Elkann, the president of Ferrari, after yet another disappointing performance on track, has chosen to point the finger at the drivers, claiming that they often think more about their own personal interests than about the collective good of the team. It is a heavy accusation, loaded with significant implications, and it comes at a very delicate and sensitive moment for the Scuderia, which currently finds itself in a complicated situation, struggling with a combination of technical errors, a lack of consistent results, and a streak of misfortune that seems to make the overall scenario even more bitter and difficult to digest.
However, if one takes a closer look at the situation, the real contradiction is not on the racetrack or in the performance of the drivers themselves—it is at the top of the organizational hierarchy. Because if there is truly anyone who has intentionally shifted the focus of Ferrari away from its traditional engineering strengths and toward image, marketing, and branding, it is John Elkann himself. He is the one who has prioritized narrative, image, and commercial appeal, sometimes at the expense of pure sporting performance.
The American-born Italian industrialist was the one who insisted on bringing Lewis Hamilton to Ferrari—a fact that is far from secret. He actively pushed for the arrival of the seven-time Formula 1 world champion, promising not only a technical renaissance for the team but also, perhaps even more importantly, a significant enhancement of Ferrari’s global brand image. Lewis Hamilton, who is arguably the most recognizable and commercially valuable face in contemporary Formula 1, represented a nearly perfect combination of sporting excellence, glamour, and commercial appeal. Bringing Lewis Hamilton to Ferrari was seen as an opportunity to merge the Prancing Horse with a global icon, someone capable of attracting high-profile sponsors, significantly increasing international visibility, and reaching new audiences and fans who may not have previously followed Formula 1 closely. This was a move that can be seen as a masterstroke from the perspective of brand management—a strategic decision aimed at maximizing Ferrari’s visibility and prestige around the world—rather than a purely sporting or technical decision based on the car’s development and on-track competitiveness.
Ferrari falling victim to its own strategic choices
This raises an important and unavoidable question: what exactly is John Elkann complaining about today? Is he dissatisfied with having obtained precisely what he himself wanted? Because accusing Lewis Hamilton—bearing in mind that some observers believe the president’s pointed comments were actually aimed more at Lewis Hamilton than at his teammate Charles Leclerc—of individualism and self-centeredness risks coming across as both grotesque and logically inconsistent. Lewis Hamilton did not arrive in Maranello to simply join a chorus or to follow along passively. He was recruited specifically to lead a revival of Ferrari, to embody the winning Ferrari that John Elkann had envisioned during the numerous high-level board meetings held in Maranello, Turin, and even London. But in order to achieve success, strong foundations and a robust technical platform are essential. Posters, publicity campaigns, and branding alone cannot win races or championships.
Has Lewis Hamilton disappointed in some races? Undoubtedly, yes. But the Ferrari team has disappointed even more. This is an undeniable fact that reflects deeper structural issues.
Ferrari’s real problem is the SF-25 chassis
The fundamental issue, however, does not lie within the cockpit or with the drivers themselves. The SF-25 is, at its core, an unfinished racing machine, the product of a technical project that lacks boldness, ambition, and originality, and that has remained too constrained by a desire for continuity. The SF-25 was intended to represent a radical break from the past—a powerful response from Ferrari to counter the increasingly dominant performance of McLaren and other top teams on the grid. Instead, the car has ended up being a compromise, a project that masquerades as a revolution but is in reality a cautious evolution.
The engineers at Ferrari, led by some of the most talented technical minds in Formula 1, have done everything in their power to extract performance from the SF-25. Yet, the upper management has imposed a strategy characterized by extreme prudence, excessive caution, and a preoccupation with balance—three qualities that, in the high-stakes environment of modern Formula 1, rarely produce anything truly groundbreaking. The SF-25, despite having some revisions to its floor and a rear suspension design hailed by certain sections of the media as revolutionary or miraculous, has failed to show meaningful improvement. Ironically, the same observers who now point fingers at the drivers were, only months ago, actively fueling speculation, discussion, and commentary on the team’s technical developments—and not solely for analytical purposes.
John Elkann, for his part, prefers to speak about lofty concepts such as team spirit, unity, and sacrifice. These are undeniably important values, but when spoken by someone who does not actively protect and nurture the team, they come across as hollow. A president who genuinely believes in the strength of the collective does not publicly criticize his drivers in such a manner. Instead, he defends them, shields them from undue pressure, and ensures that they have the necessary conditions to perform at their best. At Ferrari, this culture of protection and internal solidarity is largely absent. Whenever problems arise, a scapegoat is sought. Yesterday, it was former team principal Mattia Binotto; today, it is Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc. Tomorrow, who knows who will be blamed?
The truth is that Ferrari continues to struggle with a persistent identity crisis. The team proclaims itself to be a “united team,” yet the reality is that it is an organization in which roles are often blurred, responsibilities diluted, and accountability inconsistently applied. Instead of asking Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc to think less about themselves, John Elkann should scrutinize those who designed and approved the SF-25 and reflect on the technical and strategic decisions that have resulted in a car incapable of keeping pace with the fastest and most competitive rivals. He should also examine the repeated strategic approaches, which are often predictable, tired, and ultimately ineffective in producing consistent results on the track.
Lewis Hamilton, for his part, does not need defending. His exceptional career and seven world championships speak for themselves. His evident struggles this season have been openly acknowledged by him on multiple occasions, including moments of candid self-assessment and public reflection. Yet, it is emblematic that the very individual brought to Ferrari with the explicit goal of “revolutionizing the Scuderia” now finds himself targeted by the president, as if the failures of the team were entirely personal and not indicative of broader structural issues. It is as if the complex and multifaceted problems of Maranello could be solved by the efforts of a single driver, regardless of how extraordinary or talented that driver may be.
No, the real problem is not Lewis Hamilton, nor is it Charles Leclerc, nor is it a single individual engineer. The real issue lies in the management of the Maranello team. It is the absence of a clear and coherent sporting vision, a lack of leadership that inspires confidence, and the failure to cultivate a protective environment in which drivers and technical staff can perform to the best of their abilities. Until John Elkann ceases to act as an external observer—more concerned with image, branding, and public perception than with the underlying substance of the car and the sporting project—Ferrari will remain trapped within its own myth. The team may be beautiful to look at, revered in history, and capable of capturing the imagination of fans worldwide, but on the track, it remains limited, vulnerable, and powerless. Ultimately, if there is anyone in Ferrari who is thinking more about themselves than about the success of the team, it is almost certainly not seated in the cockpit with Lewis Hamilton or Charles Leclerc.
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