Five seconds. That’s all it takes to make a first impression. How someone carries himself, what he wears, what he says. Those five seconds are hard to undo afterwards; they burn themselves into people’s minds, and the first verdict is in. Ronnie Kessel knows this too as he bounces into the small but elegant reception room of the Kessel Group in Lugano, Ticino — three-day stubble, tousled hair. “If you’re expecting an elegantly dressed businessman,” he says with a boyish smile, “I’ll have to disappoint you.” He points to his trainers, his jeans and the T-shirt with the large Livefast logo. “This is me — you won’t get anything else.”
No problem. We want nothing more anyway. We’re here to get to know the man himself: the wunderkind of the Ferrari world, Ticino’s poster boy, the racing driver and top manager of worldwide renown. And the man with a tragic family history.
The backdrop: Ronnie is the son of Loris Kessel, the charismatic Formula 1 driver, founder and respected patron of a car dealership in Lugano. In the 2000s, young Ronnie is carefree, studying economics at the University of Lugano and racing in his spare time. He got his racing licence at twelve, started in an Italian series at 14 and in the Ferrari Challenge at 16. To this day he remains the youngest driver ever to start in an official Ferrari series.
All that changed 14 years ago, when his father Loris fell ill with leukaemia. Ronnie was just 21 when he took over the company and its 60 employees. On 15 May 2010, Loris Kessel died.
Ronnie, how do you take over a company at 21? Does anyone even take you seriously?
Ronnie Kessel: It really wasn’t easy. But it helped that I was a racing driver. As a driver you know you can’t win a race on your own. It takes a team. One man changes the tyres, another refuels the car; you need engineers, mechanics. You’re at the wheel, but you’re not the engine. It’s the team that carries you forward. That’s what you have to build on. And secondly, one of our closest employees gave me the best advice of my life.
Which was?
After my father’s death he said to me: “If you want to assert yourself, then do it. Convince us all that you have a vision, that we must follow you. But do it with autorevolezza, not with authority.” That was the crux of it.
Autorevolezza doesn’t translate easily. It means a blend of respect, standing and self-assurance. Is that what you mean by it?
There’s a big difference between the two words. Authority means you’re the boss. You tell people what to do, and they do it because you hold the power. Autorevolezza is different. Then people work for you because they respect you. Not because you’re the boss, but because they understand that behind your words stands a clear vision for the company.
And at 21 you have a clear vision? Most people at that age are still fairly naive and know nothing about life.
There I was lucky. Alongside my studies I was always at the company. I had a passion for fast cars. And my father, the best of teachers. And then there’s that Italian proverb, which applied here too: when the water reaches his backside, even the donkey learns to swim.
So you learnt to swim quickly?
Oh yes. My father’s death was a shock that made me grow up extremely fast and instantly gave me a great sense of responsibility. It was clear to me that I now carried the responsibility for 60 other people on my shoulders.
And was that hard?
No, it wasn’t. Something simply clicked in me. I was a driver, full of adrenaline, I wanted to win. But now I had to change circuits. I took the adrenaline and the will to win with me into the new world. The big difference was that it was no longer a single race. If something goes wrong in sport and you crash out, or you finish among the last, you get another chance the following weekend. This was different. I knew I couldn’t afford any mistakes. And that it was an endurance race. The race of my life.
You can’t help liking Ronnie. Walking through his showroom, he greets every employee by name and with a handshake. He always knows what’s going on, who is working on which car and on what. But behind the easy manner, the lack of pretension and the honesty, an irrepressible will keeps flashing through. Ronnie is a racer — a man who wants to win.
Over the past 14 years he has raised the Kessel Group to international standing. Behind it, from the very start, lay a clear strategy defined by the word Cars. C stands for the Classic department, which looks after historic cars. A for Automotive — the sale of Ferrari, Maserati, Bentley and Pagani. R stands for the Racing department: six Kessel lorries clock up 300 000 kilometres a year, transporting 30 racing cars that compete in five different championships — from Monza and Imola in Italy via the Nürburgring in Germany and Silverstone in Britain to Le Mans in France. On behalf of Ferrari, Kessel Racing is responsible for every GT3 car racing anywhere in the world. The firm now employs 140 specialists. The S denotes the service department.
How did you know from the outset where the journey was heading?
I thought about it a great deal and knew I needed a crystal-clear strategy. That’s how Cars came about. The beauty of it is that all the divisions support one another. We have everything under one roof — engines, gearboxes, bodywork, the electrics, the upholstery. Every department benefits. It means we can offer customers a 360-degree service, whether in the Classic business or in motor racing.
And how do you manage an operation like that?
You might not think it, but I’m a very structured person. Organisation is everything. Every day is clearly planned. On Mondays I deal with sales and marketing, Tuesday belongs to the racing team, and so on. And at the weekend I’m always at one of our races.
Seven days a week without a break — doesn’t that become too much?
Yes, it’s a lot of time. It means I’m investing my life in the company. But that happens to be my passion, and then it’s hard to separate work from private life. That’s the secret: you have to make your passion your work.
You’re only 35, successful and recognised around the world. What’s left to achieve?
Enzo Ferrari, the guru of gurus, once said: the finest victory is always the next one. I share that view. I’m in the race of my life. As long as my pistons are running at full revs, I’ll keep going.
But being constantly at the limit — isn’t that exhausting?
My motto is “Never off”. I wrote yesterday’s last email at around one in the morning and today’s first at 5.30. That’s how I am. I probably inherited it; it’s our DNA. We’re a family of racing drivers and we always go flat out.
How long can you keep that up?
I feel in peak form. But when I look in the mirror, I see my first grey hairs. I’m well aware I can’t drive at 7000 revs per minute in sixth gear forever. At some point I too will have to shift down. But it certainly won’t be into second or third.
And a family of your own — is that not on the horizon?
Do I want a family? The answer is a clear yes. There’s nothing more beautiful. One of the real goals in life is to leave something behind — to have heirs who carry this passion on. Kessel would no longer exist today if my father and mother hadn’t brought me into the world. But I still have a few years before entering that phase.
Is your favourite Ferrari still the F40?
Yes, and for several reasons. It was the car my father always drove me around in on Saturdays and Sundays. He loved the F40 because it came out the same year I was born. So we’re like twins, both the same age.
And the second reason?
The F40 is still a timeless beauty. It was also the last car Enzo Ferrari lived to see before his death. A car you have to treat with great respect, because it’s not exactly easy to drive.
As a small child, you fell asleep best to the sound of a twelve-cylinder engine. Is that true?
Yes. From three or four months old I was already there when my father raced. Back then it was mostly twelve-cylinders on the circuits. I grew so used to the sound that I would fall asleep straight away. And when I was at home, I cried. So my mother bought the CD ‘Mechanics Symphonies’, with the sound of cars. With that, I could fall asleep again.
And what does the lover of loud twelve-cylinder engines make of quiet electric cars?
I have no problem with them. We’re in the world of supercars, and we try to keep giving our customers new emotions. When Ferrari offered an eight-cylinder, there was uproar at first too. Afterwards, people loved the new car. Nor was the hybrid drivetrain a decline — rather the chance to gain even more power thanks to an electric motor. We have to stay flexible and keep finding new reasons to buy such cars. And for anyone who wants the roar of old engines, there are always the classics.
The interview is over; it’s time for the photographs. Ronnie offers to change: “I’ve still got an elegant suit with me.” We decline. Trainers, jeans and T-shirt — that’s the Ronnie everyone loves. We want nothing more.
This article appeared in MEN issue 2/22 (November 2022).
