Meet your heroes: the Alfa Romeo Brera is textbook style over substance

Gorgeous, isn't it? If Alfa Romeo launched the Brera now, the internet would be in raptures. That’s how well Giorgetto Giugiaro’s design – first revealed as a concept at the Geneva Motor Show in 2002, presumably to the sound of a thousand jaws thudding into the carpet in unison – has held up. It would’ve looked right at home on a bedroom wall full of supercar exotica. Which is where I put it, right? Wrong. Full of Manchester United posters, you see. Sorry Alfa, even the Brera wasn’t dislodging Paul Scholes.

But of all the cars to light that spark as a preteen, this was right up there. Not only was it pretty, it felt within reach – the most attainable object of desire for a lad with no pocket money. These things started from around £25k when they arrived back in 2005 but, much like the Lotus Emira today, it looked far more exotic than it had any right to for the money.

Mechanically of course, it was a different story. Developed together with the 159, the Brera was quickly found out as, well, not a show pony, but a car that couldn’t back up its exquisite lines with handling to match. Go look up its TGTV lap from 2008, and marvel at how badly the nose dives under braking and how comical the understeer is. No wonder the Audi TT and Mazda RX-8 demolished it. In those days, the BMW 3 Series and Peugeot 407 coupes were both more sorted as well. Dynamically, the Brera missed the mark.

Photography: Jonny Fleetwood

Until Prodrive got hold of it. In came Eibach springs, Bilstein dampers (both tuned for UK roads), geometry changes, a 10mm lower ride height and 19in alloys that still saved 8kg over the standard 17s. All told, the 2.2 4cyl lost 35kg, the 3.2 V6 100kg. And lo, the Brera S was born. Italian style, British fettling, 500 examples only. The greatest Brera of them all.

Here I’m driving... the normal 2.2. Arguably the sweetest non-S, though – what the 3.2 brought in V6 anthem, it paid for with weight. Made the front end much less responsive, you see. With expectations set to ‘heavily tempered’ I set off, and within a mile I’m grinning widely. The Brera is way more involving than a modern car, simply by virtue of getting on a bit. Weighty steering, no Ultra HD dash, no ADAS bonging away. Bliss. At what point over the past 15 year did we put so much distance between human and machine? 

True, it’s not especially deft. Nor is it especially quick. And the steering lags behind your inputs. But the shift action is lovely, the view out wonderful, and by the double takes of passers by you get the sense that you’re making people’s day just by driving past. Sharing the love is the best bit about it.

It dawns on me that the clutch is beginning to feel a bit spongy

Suddenly though, it dawns on me that the clutch is beginning to feel a bit spongy. And, more than that, is it... starting to smell? Uh oh, this is not ideal. I try to shut the windows but now the motors are playing up. Ah, so this is Alfa ownership. Joy, chaos, worry, repeat. With the odd stop in a lay-by.

I pull over with a feeling of mounting anxiety, and as the clutch has a breather, so do I on a nearby bench. Was the Brera a hero worth meeting? I didn’t expect it to move me and it hasn’t – this was an attachment that was always skin deep. And it still is. But what a glorious thing to pore over. Even with the bonnet propped open.

With car (and driver!) fully recovered, I hit the ignition and start to head for home. Nope, this was enough for me. The best kind of Brera is the one you keep on your bedroom wall, not on your driveway.