According to legend, Singer Vehicle Design founder and executive chairman Rob Dickinson was a young boy the first time his dad pointed out a Porsche 911. He was instantly smitten. Dickinson turned that passion into a multi-million dollar business, reimagining classic Porsche models with his own twist.
To be perfectly clear, Singer is not sponsored, approved, endorsed by, or in any way associated or affiliated with Porsche. Customers bring their own 911 to the Singer shop—not just any old 911, but an air-cooled 964 version model from 1989-1994—for a complete makeover. The cars are completely disassembled and modified around the original chassis with a process driven by Singer’s obsessive attention to detail.
Every piece, every bolt, every single tiny thing is evaluated and lovingly recrafted. Dickinson started Singer to recreate the classic 911 with modern science while keeping the essence of the car and making it better.
“I scrawled ‘Everything is important’ on a wall 10 years ago,” Dickinson says. “It all needs to be addressed with the same amount of excessiveness. This is part of what our clients love–that it’s bonkers. It’s the most important sports car in the world, which is why I chose the 911 to be the lens through which the Singer brand operates.”
For all of its engineering advancements and technology, here’s the surprise: At the end of the day, the car is analog. That means no touchscreens and no self-driving coding. It’s faithful to the era, and intensely focused on crafting a perfect vehicle, not a cyborg imitation.
Recreating a cultural German icon
Named partially after Norbert Singer, who began his career as a racing engineer in the development department of Porsche in 1970, the Singer Group now employs upwards of 600 staff in California and the UK. The 300th Porsche 911 reimagined through Singer’s Classic restoration services department was completed in February 2024, with unrelenting demand that has no end in sight.
“Whether you love the Porsche 911 or not, it’s a culturally important icon with millions and millions of faithful fans,” Dickinson points out. “Perhaps wisely or unwisely, we put ourselves out there as suggesting that we take this spectacular icon of a car and reimagine it to be better than it was when it started. And a little bit more relevant for the modern world.”
A client collaborates with Singer, picking their menu items to create the car they want to create within the boundaries Singer sets. It may be equipped with a normally aspirated or turbocharged engine. It may include body work that evokes the early 911 F-Model first introduced in the early 1960s, or the later 911 G-Model, or even a specific Porsche racing car, all based on the 964.
These cars are not recreations or continuations; they’re not simply restored, either. To riff on a classic 1970s TV show, these Singer-rebuilt supercars are like the Six Million Dollar Man: They can rebuild it. They have the technology. They can make it better than it was. Better, stronger, faster. One Porsche 911 reimagined by Singer might not cost you six million dollars, but it will approach a million or more. And that’s because of Singer’s fixation on perfection.
From start to finish, a Singer project can take about 10 months once the process begins, and the company has a long line out the door, says Maz Fawaz, the company’s CEO. Customers approaching Singer today might get their car back in three years after it proceeds through the gauntlet of disassembly and reassembly, guided by a cadre of experts in their craft. On the engineering side, Fawaz says, there are a multitude of Singer employees with motorsports experience, including F1, who understand the material science.
Tearing apart a 911 to put it back together, better, stronger, and technically perfect
The first step–disassembly–happens off-site from Singer’s pristine Torrance, California shop floor. Mostly, because it’s extremely grimy work.
“Imagine bringing in a car from 1990,” Fawaz explains. “It’s old and generally very, very dirty. Typically, the donor cars are high mileage, not precious.”
A donor car is media blasted to remove the muck and the paint down to bare metal, then given a rust inhibitor coating before transport to the Singer site. Then the team repairs and bolsters the chassis, using seam welding, then they remove the body panels, replacing them with lighter, stronger carbon fiber panels. The car is effectively restyled and rebodied. Finally, it’s painted and gets a full “shakedown” to check for squeaks and rattles.
From a design perspective, the Singer shop is technologically advanced while blending analog methods. The team will both create a full-size clay model and use Autodesk Alias, which is the surfacing software used all over the world for car design. Singer uses modern milling techniques to mill from clay and build hard models before the baton is handed off to the engineers. The shop also displays artisanal skill in painting and surfacing the cars, wrapping the cars in leather. It runs the gamut from cutting-edge rapid prototyping and computer software to very old-fashioned ways of doing things. Whatever is needed to get the job done, Dickinson says.
“We start with a very specific 911, then deconstruct it and make the cars lighter, stiffer, and more beautiful than ever,” Fawaz says. “We use carbon fiber, aluminum, and titanium a lot, and we optimize the cast performance without resorting to expensive modeling.”
For all of its high-tech tools and materials, the Singer designers put these vehicles together more like a high-end watchmaker puts together a timepiece. “We treat the paint, leather, and trim the way we’d treat jewelry, not a car,” Dickinson says. “When we started, we built one or two cars per year. Now, we’re at the bleeding edge, proving that a restoration company can scale itself.”
