The wing tells you almost everything you need to know. It is not a subtle gesture. It is a vast, bi-plane carbon fiber structure that dominates the entire rear of the car, a direct reference to the Porsche 934/5 endurance racers of the 1970s. This is the Singer DLS Turbo, and it represents a very specific, very expensive kind of obsession.
For years, Singer Vehicle Design has operated as a sort of high-level automotive philosophy. The California firm took the 964-generation Porsche 911 and posed a question: what if the air-cooled era had never ended? What if it had been perfected with modern engineering and an unlimited budget? The answer was the Dynamics and Lightweighting Study, or DLS. A collaboration with Williams Advanced Engineering, it produced a screaming, naturally aspirated flat-six and a chassis that was a monument to obsessive detail.
An Engineered Contradiction
The DLS was about precision and response. The word Turbo, in Porsche history, suggests something else entirely. It implies a certain brutality. A sudden, overwhelming arrival of force. The original 930 Turbo was a car that built legends and punished the unwary. By adding a turbocharger, or two, to the DLS formula, Singer created an intentional contradiction. It is the meeting of obsessive finesse and overwhelming power.
This car, set to be sold by RM Sotheby’s in a sealed auction, is one of two test mules used to develop the DLS Turbo project. It is finished in Blood Orange, with the car’s carbon fiber bodywork left exposed under the clearcoat. Every detail is a considered decision. The 3.8-liter, four-valve, twin-turbocharged flat-six was developed with Williams and produces over 700 horsepower, delivered through a six-speed manual gearbox. It is a specification sheet that reads like a fantasy wish list.
A Quiet Sale for a Loud Car
Two versions were conceived: a track-focused model with that enormous rear wing, and a road-focused car with a more classic ducktail spoiler. This example comes with both, allowing the owner to change the car’s character. The interior is just as focused. Exposed carbon, lightweight bucket seats, and a motorsport-derived steering wheel leave no doubt about the car’s purpose. It is a machine built for driving, at the very edge of what is possible with a 911 platform.
The choice to sell it via a sealed auction is telling. This is not a public spectacle for the highest bidder. It is a quiet, private transaction for an object that has moved beyond the normal collector car market. It treats the car less like a vehicle and more like a significant piece of design, something to be acquired discreetly. The car itself is loud, visually and mechanically. The sale is the opposite.
This Singer is not simply a restored Porsche. It is a thesis on what the 911 could have been. It is the result of pursuing an idea to its most extreme and logical conclusion. For a select few, the opportunity to own that conclusion is now on the table.
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