I'm on my fourth M4.

That sentence either makes complete sense to you or raises every red flag. There's no middle ground with M-series cars. They have the kind of pull that doesn't come from brochures or YouTube walkarounds. It comes from 8,000 RPM at the top of the rev range at two in the morning when the road opens up, and you remember exactly why you wrote the check.

The first one wasn't even supposed to be an M4. It was supposed to be an M3 — practical, four doors, sensible upgrade from a 335i. Then the dealer had a Competition coupe in Austin Yellow and I sat in it for approximately four minutes before making a decision that no financial advisor would sanction.

That car was impractical in the best way. It ate tires. It demanded attention. Every time I got in, it asked something of me. That trade is underrated.

Post-100K miles, the mythology burns off and what's left is real. It still does everything. It's not precious. It's a working car that happens to be one of the best driver's cars built in the last decade.

The M4 has appeared in more shoots than most models I've worked with. There's a specific quality to photographing German performance cars against environments they weren't designed for — tropical roads, city parking structures at 3 AM, film sets where it's simultaneously the most and least important thing in the frame.