Gene Winfield

So Gene Winfield died yesterday. The final stretch was a little murky—details fuzzy, the kind of thing appropriate people whisper about but never say outright. By most accounts, it was rough. I met him a few times, but I don’t have any real history with the man. And to be honest, writing obits—whether for legends or old friends—is my least favorite part of this whole racket. But skipping over it completely didn’t sit right either.

Winfield wasn’t just some guy with a torch and a hammer—he was an architect of the impossible, a man who shaped metal like it was wet clay and turned ordinary cars into rolling hallucinations. His fingerprints are all over the history of custom cars, etched deep into the DNA of this thing we love. He mattered. A lot.

So rather than drown in eulogies and half-remembered stories, I figured I’d do something better. No obituary, no long-winded reflection—just my favorite Winfield car. Because in the end, the work speaks louder than anything else.

Drop yours in the comments. Let’s send him off the right way.

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Without further ado, I present to you the Strip Star… My favorite Winfield car.