Well looky here race fans, I’m finally going to get back to basics and drop you a Modelo En Bofus post! These are fun to write, even if this one does focus on a marque that hasn’t always been one of your humble blogger’s favorites. And why is that? It’s not because of any shortcoming on the part of Lamborghini and the cars they’ve built. It’s my own way of looking at the world that never fails to feel some discomfort with a super car brand that has no racing heritage. Again, that’s not Ferruccio’s fault: he set out from the beginning to build high-performance road-legal grand touring cars, not racing cars, and he never pretended otherwise. Its just that when I look at my favorite high-performance European brands (Alfa Romeo, Ferrari, Mercedes-Benz), all of them have racing in their DNA going back to their earliest days.
Even so, there’s no denying the “Lambo’s” place both in history and in the hearts of gearheads the world over, and there’s a lot to be said for the engineering and styling of the company’s early days. Moreover, while some of Lamborghini’s earlier cars have been tragically neglected by toymakers, there are other models of that have just about been “die-casted” to death, so what sense would it make to do a blog about 1:64 slotties and die-cast cars without a homage to the raging bull?
There are cars that are “famous,” and then there are cars that function like a before-and-after line in history. The Lamborghini Miura is both of those. It doesn’t just look fast — it looks like it’s inventing speed while standing still. Low. Wide. Predatory. A nose like a shark and hips like a sculpture from the future.
And if you grew up the way I did in the pre-digital age — absorbing the car world through posters, magazines, VHS grain, and whatever die-cast you could get your hands on — the Miura becomes less of a vehicle and more of a mythological object: the moment Lamborghini stopped being “that new Italian company with a V12” and became Lamborghini.
So welcome to the long-awaited installment 4 of Modelo En Bofus: same car, many tiny versions — diecasts and slotties in the 1:64-ish universe — and then we zoom back out and appreciate the real machine that started the obsession.
First, a quick disclaimer for the pedants (I love you people)
Somebody always wants to fight about “firsts,” and honestly, I get it. I’m one of those people too.
The Miura is widely credited as the world’s first mid-engine production supercar—even if a few earlier mid-engine road cars (often low-volume or more “sports car” than “supercar”) technically got there first. Earlier mid-engine road cars include the René Bonnet/Matra Djet (often cited as the first production mid-engine car), or ultra-low-volume exotics like the ATS 2500 GT and the DeTomaso Vallelunga. The Porsche 904 is the stand-out: a street-legal mid-engine GT built largely for homologation—a spectacular car with a heritage that runs with the best of them at Drag City Raceway, but it lives in a different category than the Miura poster-car fantasy.
If you want to add a qualifier that keeps you safe from the “well actually” crowd, make it: “often credited as” the world’s first mid-engine production supercar. That one phrase is like undercoating: it prevents rust.
The real Miura: why it hit like a meteor
Lamborghini’s own history page lays out the core facts cleanly: the Miura made its public debut in 1966, shown at Geneva in March 1966, and it was Lamborghini’s first mid-engine road car — a transversely mounted V12 tucked behind the cockpit to keep the wheelbase short.
From there, the story is basically a three-act play:
- Miura P400 (1966–1968): 265 built
- Miura P400 S (1969–1971): 338 built
- Miura SV (1971–1973): 150 delivered
And the nerdy part I love: Lamborghini even documents the power climb across the versions — roughly 350 CV (P400) → 370 CV (P400 S) → 385 CV (SV).
So yes: it’s gorgeous, but it’s also serious engineering — including that famous early layout where the engine and gearbox were integrated in a way that made packaging possible but created its own headaches.
In Miniature: the 1:64 Miura rabbit hole
This is the part where I admit something: I went looking for the Holy Grail — a single, clean, comprehensive photographic roll of every 1:64 Miura ever made, in one place. Instead, I did what all of us eventually do: I got lost in the abandoned shopping mall of the old internet — forums, dead images, broken hosting, Photobucket ghosts, and half-finished threads.
So rather than pretend this is every Miura, I’m going to do it the honest way:
Here are the key Miuras that matter most in 1:64-land, with a few side-quests worth mentioning if you’re building a true “Miura shelf.”
1) Lesney Matchbox: As usual, the 1st and best
This another of my all-time favorites in the “bread-N-butter” of my toy-car life, the Lesney-era Matchboxes. I’ve loved it since I was a child and have collected quite a few of them including some scarce variations, although there are several even more rare ones that I’m still after! As with so many of the “transitional” cars from 1969/70, there are all kinds of mixed and matched varieties as the company x-itioned from “regular” to Superfast wheels. My favorite, however, is the first: the bright yellow one with red interior, as it seems closest to the way I would want my own Miura to look if I owned a real one! These colors carried over to the early SF issue but there’s a rare crossover version with the gold body on the regular wheel chassis that I WILL have some day!
The detail is awesome, especially the Weber carb throats seen through the back window; that’s a feature that was lost when the SF x-ition happened, partially to make room for the plastic brace for the axles but also, I’m sure, as a cost-cutting measure: the back window was “frosted” on these later models to conceal the lack of engine. The rest of it is fantastic: the proportions, the the opening doors with detailed door panels to the large English license plate to the “eyelashes” around the headlamps.
1B) Matchbox Redux: Let’s Do It Again!
Matchbox has serious Miura energy in its DNA. There’s the classic era, and then there’s the modern casting — the one a lot of us have actually handled recently — the 2016 Lamborghini Miura P400SV design that shows up in later assortments and reviews. Matchbox Miuras tend to feel like they’re trying to be cars first, toys second — they sit “right” in a diorama, and the proportions read correctly on both the original and the modern interpretation.
2) Hot Wheels: from “toyetic” to “RLC museum piece”
Hot Wheels is where the Miura becomes a personality test. Some Hot Wheels versions lean exaggerated and aggressive, some go cleaner, and then there’s the top-shelf collector lane: the RLC Exclusive ’71 Lamborghini Miura P400 SV that Mattel sold through Mattel Creations.
Even if you don’t collect RLC, it’s worth mentioning in a Miura post because it shows what happens when Mattel decides to treat the Miura like a crown jewel instead of “another exotica casting.”
(Also: if you’ve read my other posts, you already know I have feelings about the price ladder and the way “collecting” gets hijacked by the investment culture vibe. But the spectraflame lime green SV with correct wheels makes it hard to stay mad.)
3) Tomica Limited Vintage: the “tiny 1:64 museum” approach
If you want Miura minis that feel like somebody cared in a sacred, slightly obsessive way, Tomica Limited Vintage is a deep well. TLV has produced Miuras across the line’s history, and you can find them cataloged and sold as dedicated releases (Miura S, SV, etc.).
These are usually the versions you buy when you want the Miura to look like a real car that shrank in the wash.
4) Kyosho 1:64: sleeper-class Miura goodness
Kyosho has also put out 1:64 Miura models — the kind you’ll see pop up from collectors and sellers because they’re “just premium enough” without turning into a bank loan.
Kyosho 1:64 is often the sweet spot where you still feel like you’re collecting models rather than accessories for a plastic display case. I have yet to acquire one of these because I know it will be too small for the diorama, but it is “scale correct” and it is a beautiful model. It’s been made in @ least 6 colors, and being unable to pick one is the main thing that’s kept me from closing the deal!
5) Yatming, PlayArt, and other “vintage-ish 1:64-ish” Miuras
Yat Ming belongs in this post because it represents a whole category: the old-school, sometimes slightly-off-scale, sometimes charmingly clunky Miuras that many of us ran into before “premium 1:64” became a mainstream concept.
This is also where the “made in a thousand variations” brands sometimes show up — not always perfectly scaled, not always perfectly accurate, but absolutely part of the historical ecosystem of the hobby.
The slotties: Miura in HO scale (a.k.a. “1:64-ish” with electricity)
Here’s the part that hurts: Aurora didn’t give us a Miura. Tragic. Un-American. Possibly unconstitutional.
But there was a Miura slot car floating around the HO universe via Tyco Pro — the kind of thing you’ll see surface through listings and collector circles. Made in the right colors: orange-red, lemon yellow, lime green, all with a matte black rear window and deck: exactly what you would want. It’s expensive, but probably worth it.
And that’s really the magic of doing a Miura post from an HO slot car guy’s perspective: the Miura isn’t just “another exotica.” It’s a reminder of the alternate timeline where we missed a full suite of mid-engine European monsters in the golden era of HO. Instead, we got Corvettes and Camaros and a lot of happy little Mustangs.(Which is great. But still…)
Outside the scope of this blog due to scale but worth mentioning anyway because its so beautiful: there is a 1:32 scale slotty made in limited numbers by a company called “AutoArt.” I know nothing about these, but it appears they were designed primarily with the Scalextric/Carrera enthusiast in mind. Not my world, but it sure is purty!
What the Miura did to the world
The Miura didn’t just popularize a layout. It changed what people expected a performance car to look like.
Lamborghini’s own writeup even notes that the Miura was the first car that the media termed a “Supercar,” and that’s really the heart of it: the Miura wasn’t merely fast — it was categorical. A new kind of object. It also became pop-culture gasoline — famously showing up in film, including The Italian Job (1969), cementing the Miura’s “this is what cool looks like” status for generations of people who weren’t even born yet.
And if you’re building a diorama the way I am — that mid-1980s inland SoCal dream where the past is still breathing — the Miura fits perfectly. Not because it’s modern, but because it’s timelessly dangerous. The kind of car that turns heads, starts arguments, and makes people forget what they were talking about mid-sentence.
For a rare expensive supercar, we got a lot of ways to interact with the legend as kids!
The Miura is one of those cars where even the bad miniatures are still interesting, because they show how different eras “saw” the car.
…A vintage diecast might miss the proportions but nail the vibe.
…A modern premium piece might nail every vent and crease but lose some of that toy-soul.
…A slot car version might be inaccurate in detail, but it gives the Miura what it always wanted: motion.
So no — I didn’t find the single master gallery of every 1:64 Miura ever made (which really means I’ll have to just make my own). But I did what this hobby always forces you to do: I followed the breadcrumbs, grabbed the best examples, and built a little Miura museum the way we all do it now — one find at a time.
This is a really cool post with tons of cool information and observations. I really like that 400GT, I think it has a cool look. It is a brand that I hadn’t thought much about in the past, but you definitely made it interesting. I like how you talk about both the real cars that inspired the models as well as the details of the models themselves.