TECHNOLOGY WITHOUT HEROES?

A while ago, I expressed cautious optimism about Formula 1’s 2026 season. The doubts surrounding the new regulations were obvious, as were the parallels with technical eras we had already seen elsewhere, but I believed the only fair judgment would come once the cars hit the track. Today, after the first signs from Bahrain, that confidence is clearly wavering.

This is not merely about the typical teething issues of a new regulatory cycle. The impressions emerging seem far deeper. Some limitations may be addressed through development, others appear embedded in the very foundations of the project. And among all the technical concerns, the one that troubles me most is not outright speed, but the role of the driver.

Even Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen have hinted at similar concerns. And it is difficult to ignore them.

Motorsport is born from the balance between machine and human. Categories change, technology evolves, but what remains constant is the athlete’s ability to push the car beyond its theoretical limit. That is what builds mythology, what makes a pass unforgettable, what turns a race into an epic narrative. Not parameter management. Not energy deployment charts calculated to the millisecond.

If talent becomes primarily the ability to manage energy—to lift off in the corners in order to store charge for the next straight—something fundamental shifts. It doesn’t take a once-in-a-generation talent to save energy. It takes one to risk half a mile per hour more through a corner.

This is not nostalgia. Technological progress is inevitable and, in many ways, necessary. But when innovation begins to compress the sporting dimension, the risk is losing the very essence of the discipline.

From a technical standpoint, the most questionable choice is the removal of the MGU-H. It was complex, expensive, and heavy. But it ensured continuity of energy supply, balance, and strategic flexibility. Relying almost entirely on kinetic energy recovery does not appear to offer the same operational margin. And Bahrain, on paper, is one of the more favorable circuits for this kind of architecture. What will happen at tracks where braking phases are less significant?

There is also a recurring tendency in Formula 1 to overlook lessons from other categories. In the early 2010s, the WEC developed extraordinarily sophisticated hybrid prototypes, with power split almost evenly between combustion and electric systems. They were complex machines, yet spectacular, incredibly fast, and capable of delivering thrilling, competitive races.

Today, with cars theoretically lighter, fitted with more advanced tires and refined aerodynamic systems, what we are seeing are machines forced to modulate pace based on available energy. It is not the stopwatch that worries me, but the way the lap time is achieved.

Cars that are less aerodynamically extreme, less glued to the ground, and more demanding to drive are welcome. But not cars that must sacrifice their full potential simply to survive energetically over a lap.

In this context, the role of Stefano Domenicali becomes crucial. He could have been the bridge between the sport’s passionate fan base and the commercial vision of its American ownership. A mediator capable of preserving technical excellence without sacrificing authentic competition.

It is clear that complex industrial balances exist, that new manufacturers must be accommodated, and that sustainability goals must be met. Still, one cannot help but wonder whether a more harmonious set of regulations could have been shaped—less skewed toward extreme energy management at the expense of pure racing.

I sincerely hope development proves these early concerns wrong. But the feeling is that 2026 may represent not just a new technical era, but a shift in identity. And when identity shifts, it does not always move in the right direction.

© Simone Marchetti Cavalieri