F1 and the futility of comparing eras

There comes a moment in every sport when a dominant era is no longer sufficient on its own. Comparison becomes necessary. A mirror is needed. A measure of perspective is required. In Formula 1, that measure is almost always the past. Recently, the debate—or, depending on your perspective, the flame of nostalgia—was reignited by Jacques Villeneuve, the 1997 world champion, never shy of blunt judgments. This time, his focus was not a team or a rule but an individual: Max Verstappen.

The Canadian driver does not attack Verstappen; on the contrary, he praises him. He calls him a “pure driver,” a crystallized talent, a modern interpreter of speed. Yet he stops there. According to Villeneuve, simply dominating an era does not automatically make one the greatest of all time.

Villeneuve’s perspective on F1 today

The reasoning of the former Williams driver is straightforward: modern Formula 1 flattens differences. Villeneuve states this bluntly. In the past, the gap between the front-runners and the midfield was often around two seconds. Today, half a second can encompass half the grid. This is partly due to more stable, predictable, and safer cars. It is also the result of regulations that impose meticulous tire management, turning races into exercises in tire conservation. The consequence: a “midfield driver” can appear “acceptable.” And as the general level rises, the star no longer shines in the same way.

Villeneuve goes further. He argues that during the era of Ayrton Senna and Alain Prost, there were “five drivers like Max” each year. Today? Only one. Not because Max Verstappen surpasses past legends, but because the other drivers are simply not on his level. “Max is not better than the best of that time,” he says firmly. “He is simply the one who exists today. That is why he stands out.” A provocative observation, yet it contains a grain of truth.

Max Verstappen, a dominance without precedent

Max has not stolen anything. He made his Formula 1 debut at 17, won a race at 18, and has claimed four consecutive world championships. Even when struggling with an RB21 that is not up to par, he still produces exceptional performances. He is ferocious in qualifying, precise in races, and razor-sharp in managing pace and tires. He has won under variable conditions, on different circuits, and using contrasting strategies. Max is the face of an era—but also a product of it.

Villeneuve does not question Verstappen’s talent; he questions the context. More precisely, he questions how much the context influences our perception of talent. Formula 1 in 2025 is a completely different beast from that of 1989 or 1991. Cars are longer, heavier, and more reliable. Mechanical retirements are rare. Data is everywhere: every corner, every exit, every temperature is monitored in real time. Drivers are not just racing—they are managing complex systems.

In this environment, pure speed is no longer enough. Strategic intelligence, constant attention, and the ability to translate information into consistent pace are essential. Winning is no longer just about the right foot; it is about the right mind.

The anti-modern romanticism

Here lies the “romantic” vein in Villeneuve’s critique. It is not an attack on Verstappen—it is a lament. A longing for an era when talent was measured by courage, when the car was an imperfect companion, the risk was real, and the driver was the ultimate differentiator.

In the era of Ayrton Senna, Alain Prost, and Nigel Mansell, duels were physical, mistakes carried real consequences, and overtakes were rare but meaningful. Today, Formula 1 is an exercise in efficiency, where differences are defined by invisible details. Villeneuve, raised on the legend of his father Gilles and a winner of a championship in a wild season, views a discipline where errors are punished with grid penalties rather than crashes with skepticism. But is it fair?

F1—the strength of the present

Those who view modern F1 less nostalgically might respond differently. The fact that half a second now encompasses ten cars is not a sign of flattening; it is evidence of a higher average level. A “midfield” driver appearing “acceptable” does not mean mediocrity—it means overall quality has risen.

Margins today are minimal, qualifying is often decided by thousandths of a second, and the difference between pole position and the fourth row can come down to a single braking point. In this context, standing out is not easier—it is simply different.

Verstappen dominates because he can. Not because others are weak, but because he is consistently perfect, or as close to perfection as possible. Perhaps his greatest merit is mastering the key to interpreting a complicated era and making it look effortless.

Eras that cannot be compared

Ultimately, the real question is: does it make sense to compare such different eras? The cars are not comparable. The circuits have changed. Regulations have been revolutionized. Safety has transformed driver behavior. Technology has altered the way races are run. Championships are longer, more global, more demanding. Teams operate like armies, not workshops.

So what are we really comparing? Talent, certainly—but talent exists within its time. Would Ayrton Senna be the same driver today? Would Max Verstappen have had the same impact thirty years ago? Nobody can know. That is why any attempt to rank drivers “across eras” risks being a sterile exercise.

Comparing Senna and Verstappen is like asking whether a Roman gladiator could beat Mike Tyson in hand-to-hand combat. Fascinating to debate over drinks, utterly useless in serious analysis. Eras cannot be compared—they can only be recounted. Each has its myths, its languages, its legends. Each has shaped talent in its own way, and every champion has shone in their own sky.

Villeneuve has issued his provocation, as is his style. But perhaps true greatness lies in not seeking the “greatest of all time.” Formula 1 is not an eternal arena where champions battle across centuries—it is a story told in chapters. Max Verstappen, whether one likes it or not, is writing his.