Cartorque vol 11 - ‘Tom matano’
Some people design cars. You know the sort — people who sit in German glass towers, clad in designer turtlenecks, making increasingly angry-looking crossovers with 19 drive modes, a grille the size of a football pitch, and an interior that feels like a dentist’s waiting room.
And then there was Tom Matano.
Tom didn’t design cars to impress shareholders. He didn’t care about the latest traffic sign recognition algorithm or whether the cupholder could accommodate a grande latte. No — Tom Matano designed cars that made people fall in love with driving again.
And chief among those? The Mazda MX‑5. The car you, and quite frankly, anyone with a soul, should love.
Because the MX‑5 isn’t just a car. It’s a smile you can drive.
And Tom Matano was its architect of happiness.
Let’s rewind. The year is 1989. Hair is big, suits are baggy, and the sports car is on life support. British roadsters like the MG and Triumph have gone the way of the dodo, mostly due to appalling reliability and chassis flex measured in kilometres. The Italians were too busy designing cars that caught fire when parked. And the Japanese? Well, they were just beginning to realise that maybe cars didn’t need to be shaped like microwaves.
Enter Tom Matano, Mazda’s head of design in America, and quite possibly the last man alive who remembered that cars should be about feel, not spec sheets.
Working alongside Bob Hall and Mark Jordan, Matano didn’t just resurrect the lightweight roadster. He made it better. Lighter. Purer. Simpler. More fun. And — whisper it — reliable.
When the NA MX‑5 Miata launched, it had no turbo, no traction control, and no interest in straight-line speed. But it did have near-perfect 50:50 weight distribution, a five-speed manual, and the most satisfying gear shift this side of a rifle bolt dipped in honey.
Tom Matano didn’t just draw pretty cars. He designed experiences.
He fought to keep the MX‑5 small when the marketing teams wanted to make it bigger. He pushed for rear-wheel drive when the accountants wanted front. He made sure the gear stick felt like a precision instrument, not a melted ice lolly.
And through it all, he never lost sight of why people love cars.
Because the MX‑5 isn’t a status symbol. It’s not there to impress your neighbours or validate your LinkedIn profile. It’s there to connect you to the road, to the moment — and maybe, if you’re lucky, to yourself.
Matano understood that a great car doesn’t make more noise. It makes the right noise.
Tom Matano is sadly gone now, and the world feels heavier for it. But his legacy? That’s still alive. On twisty back roads, in weekend autocross events, in garages where someone’s just replaced their soft top for the third time and still thinks it’s worth it.
And most of all, it’s alive in our love for the MX‑5.
Every time you drop the roof, crack second gear, and hear the little four-cylinder clear its throat, you’re part of that legacy.
You’re living proof that Tom Matano’s vision — that joy should come in lightweight, manual, rear-wheel-drive packages — was absolutely, utterly right.
So here’s to Tom Matano. The man who didn’t just bring the sports car back from the dead — he made it fun again. He proved that less can be more. That power isn’t everything. And that driving should always leave you smiling.
Thank you, Tom. For every grin, every hairpin, every moment of unfiltered, open-top joy, and to you, dear MX‑5 lover — keep driving it like it was meant to be driven. Roof down. Revving high. Laughing all the way.
Because that’s what Tom would have wanted.
A truly sad loss for the world we surround ourselves with, Thank you Mr Matano
Writer
Adam Woodruff
