Silhouette (pronounced sil-oo-et)
(1) A two-dimensional representation of the outline of an
object, as a cut-out or representation drawing, uniformly filled in with black,
especially a black-paper, miniature cut-out of the outlines of a person's face
in profile.
(2) The outline or general shape of something.
(3) Any dark image outlined against a lighter background;
the outline of a solid figure as cast by its shadow.
(4) To show in or as if in a silhouette; to cause to
appear in silhouette.
(5) In printing, to remove the background details from (a
halftone cut) so as to produce an outline effect.
(6) In motorsport, a category in which limits are placed on modifications changing a vehicle’s side-silhouette.
1759: From the French à la silhouette, named after Étienne de Silhouette (1709–1767), controller general (1759) in the French government. The surname was a gallicized form from Biarritz in the French Basque country and the southern Basque spelling would be Zuloeta, Zulueta, Ziloeta or Zilhoeta, the construct being zulo (hole, cave) + the suffix -eta (abundance of). The word came widely to be applied to the artwork (existing since 1743 and sometimes called figure d'ombre (shadow figure) in 1859. The rare alternative spelling is silhouet and the verb dates from 1876, derived from the noun. Silhouette is a noun & verb and silhouetted & silhouetting are verbs; the noun plural is silhouettes.
Jeanne Antoinette
Poisson, Marquise de Pompadour (1721–1764 and usually referred to as Madame de
Pompadour), was a member of the French court of Louis XV (1710–1774; le Bien-Aimé (Louis the Beloved), King of France 1715-1774) and the king’s official chief mistress (that how things then
were done) between 1745-1751 and a court favorite until her death. One way the estimable Madame de Pompadour used
her influence was in appointments to government offices. While some of this was little more than
nepotism and the spreading around of available sinecures, one substantive position in the
Ancien Régime was Controller-General (the
treasurer or finance minister) and to this, de Silhouette, long recognized in
France as something of a “wizz kid” in economics, was appointed early in 1759 with
the concubine’s support. The powers of
controller-general made whoever held the job powerful but also vulnerable, the
task of limiting the expenditure of the king not one likely to be popular in
the Palace of Versailles but given the state of the royal exchequer after years
of war, the need for reform was urgent. Modern
economic historians seem to regard the job he did as competent and an orthodox example
of rationalizing public finances in that he managed both to reduce expenditure and
institute a system of taxation simultaneously simpler to administer and more
effective although probably more far-reaching were the long-overdue efficiencies
he introduced in internal trade.
Silhouette of the Manhattan skyline.
However, despite his success, his budget for 1760 projected a huge deficit and a rising cost in debt servicing. Seeing no alternative, he suggested adopting some of the methods of the detested English including collecting tax from the previously exempt aristocracy, landed gentry and the richest of the clergy (the latter existing in what would now seem remarkable numbers). That was his downfall and after less than nine months as controller general, De Silhouette retired to the country although, such was the national fiscal position, his successors were compelled to follow much the same course. From his bucolic seat, Étienne de Silhouette might have pondered Apris moi le deluge (After me, the flood) the phrase attributed to Louis XV who is reputed to have uttered the words to the Marquise de Pompadour. It conveys a feeling both narcissistic and nihilistic, the notion that once one is dead it matters little what happens in the world, an intoxicating sentiment expressed by characters in many novels. Whether the king really spoke these exact words isn’t certain and there are different versions but it’s certainly something he might have said and historians don’t doubt the fragment of thought was a glimpse into the royal mind. In a more romantic telling of the tale, he whispers to his concubine: Après nous, le deluge (After us, the flood).
Why his name endures to describe the two-dimensional black-on-white images we know as silhouettes is obscure but there are two competing theories. One is that his methods in finance and administration were all about simplifying what had over the centuries become a system of labyrinthian complexity so, a silhouette being about the simplest form of visual art, the association stuck. A less sympathetic view is that he was thought an austere and parsimonious fellow so his name was linked to the simple, cheap black & white portraits that had since 1843 been popular among those unable to afford more elaborate forms such as an oil painting. There’s also the suggestion the minimalist art was named as an allusion to his brief tenure as controller-general and finally, although there’s no evidence, some maintain de Silhouette decorated his office with such portraits. Whatever the reason, the portraits gained their name in 1859, the year of de Silhouette fleeting ministerial career.
Still, his brief tenure was longer than that of Katie Zacharia (b circa 1984) who served as the 37th White House press secretary in the second administration of October 2026 Donald Trump (b 1946; POTUS 2017-2021 and since 2025), her five days in office smashing the ten-day record set in July 2017 by Anthony “The Mooch” Scaramucci (b 1964) during the first Trump administration. A photogenic creature perhaps not ideally suited to the role, what’s of especial note about Ms Zacharia is she fulfilled pop artist Andy Warhol’s (1928–1987) most famous prediction: “In the future everybody will be world famous for fifteen minutes”, that much-repeated (if slightly altered from its origin) quote first appearing in print in a catalogue for a 1968 exhibition of the artist’s work at the Moderna Museet, Stockholm, Sweden. Ms Zacharia’s contribution to cultural history was her sole press briefing (in the James S. Brady [1940-2014] Press Briefing Room) on 13 October, 2026 that lasted almost exactly 15 minutes. On 16 October, the White House issued a statement saying Ms Zacharia would be “transitioning into a new role that will be announced at a later date”. That announcement has yet to be made but to mark Halloween she posted photographs showing her svelte figure in a bikini so there was that.
There is also the unanticipated contribution to the Washington political jargon. After Ms Zacharia so decisively broke the Mooch’s record for “brevity in position”, it was revealed a ten day career in the Trump administration is now styled as “one Mooch” (someone lasting 40 days and 40 nights thus a “four Moocher”, John Bolton (b 1948) surviving 519 days (19 April 2018-10 September 2019) as national security advisor making him a “51.9 Moocher" etc); it’s a useful shorthand metric and Ms Zacharia is (thus far) unique in having lasted a desultory “half Mooch”. That doesn't mean she should despair because Mr Scaramucci has since his epoch-defining White House “Mooch” become a frequent (and presumably well-paid) commentator on political events, his contributions genuinely thoughtful. If Ms Zacharia’s thoughts on the 2026 mid-term elections are a guide, she too will find a ready audience at Fox News and beyond because clearly she’s from the Kellyanne Conway (b 1967; senior counselor to the POTUS, 2017-2020) “alternative facts” school of political analysis, a discipline exemplified by former opposition leader Sir Billy Snedden (1926–1987) who, rationalizing the results of the 1974 Australian general election (at which he’d just led his party to defeat), told the press: “We didn’t lose, we just didn’t get enough votes to win.” Ms Zacharia seems likely to become a fixture on screens and all should welcome that.
Silhouette of Mercedes Benz SLC (C107; 1971-1981, left) and 1979 450 SLC 5.0 (right) in competition under the FIA’s silhouette rules. The FIA (Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile (International Automobile Federation)) is world sport's dopiest regulatory body; really not approving of motor-sport in which cars go fast, it should re-purpose itself as the governing body for competitive basket-weaving or something similar.
Silhouette racing was introduced essentially because it was simple to administer. There had been a variety of classes for “modified production” cars which permitted changes to bodywork to improve aerodynamic or allow wider wheels & tyres to be used but formulating and enforcing the rules was difficult; the regulations becoming increasingly precise, subject to variations in interpretation and cheating was rife. What the introduction of a baseline silhouette for each competing vehicle did was provide a simple, literal template: if the car fitted through, it was lawful and if manufacturers wished to change a silhouette and produce a sufficient number of identical models to homologate the car for whatever competition was involved, that was fine. Sometimes with variations, the silhouette formula widely was adopted in classes as varied as series production to quite radical constructions with space frames or carbon-fibre monocoques and drive-trains unrelated to road-cars, the attraction always that the external skin continues to bear more than a superficial resemblance to a production model, something important to both manufacturers wishing to maintain a tangible link to their consumer offerings and an audience anxious willingly to suspend disbelief.
Despite the name, the Lamborghini P300 Silhouette (1976-1979) wasn’t designed with competition in mind; it was an attempt to produce an open-top model able to be certified for sale in the lucrative US market, then a place in which the company had no such offering. The Silhouette was Lamborghini’s first production targa-top and was based on the P300 Uracco. Neither the Uracco nor the Silhouette went close to matching the volume of its competitors from Ferrari & Maserati and only 54 of the latter were but both contributed to the company’s survival in the difficult 1970s, something that at times seemed improbable. The Silhouette’s successor was the P350 Jalpa (1981-1988), the final evolution of the Uracco. Lamborghini was by then more stable and the Jalpa a much improved product (although the interior always attracted criticism) and not only did it sell in a volume that made production viable but, more importantly, it was profitable. Like Ferrari’s 208 & 308 GT4 (1973-1980), the styling of the Uracco was never greeted with great enthusiasm but it’s not easy to fit both four seats and a mid-mounted V8 engine into a sleek package, even if the rear seats realistically were best-suited to one’s (very young) children, cat, dog or handbag.
First displayed as a prototype at the 1970 Turin Motor Show, the first production Uracco appeared in 1972 with a 2.5 litre V8 and was dubbed P250; it was within twelve months (as the P250S) revised with additional appointments and a slight power increase (except for the emission-compliant US-specification models). The press reception generally had been positive (some testers even managing to be polite about the looks that, given the design parameters, genuinely were quite accomplished) with the level of adhesion especially praised, the ability (under ideal conditions) to achieve a verified 1.0 G when negotiating fast sweepers then something associated with racing cars on slick tyres. Just as impressively, that was achieved without sacrificing ride quality, the approach a combination of relatively soft springs, carefully calibrated shock absorbers and immensely stiff anti-roll bars.
At a time before supercomputers were available to optimize such dynamics, the Uracco's suspension was was an innovative approach. In 1974, the P300 was released with the displacement increased to 3.0 litres, something necessitated by the power robbed from the 2.5 by the addition of the anti-emission equipment required to meet the increasingly strict US rules. However, the carefully laid plans to have a V8 able to be offered in the US proved chimerical and fewer than two dozen were sold before the venture was abandoned. Now fitted improved DOHC (double overhead camshaft) cylinder heads with a chain drive (the belts used earlier not as robust as improvements in materials would later make possible), performance was comparable with the competition but it was a difficult time to be selling such things and without the vital US market, production never went close to achieving the hoped-for thousand-odd a year. When in 1979 production ended, 791 had been built (520 P250s, 190 P300s and 77 P200s (a 2.0 litre version designed to suit Italian tax laws).
Although the Silhouette was the factory’s first targa to enter series production, a decade earlier, the factory had shown one exquisite creation in that vein. The modern convention is to distinguish between a roadster (with a roof that wholly can be removed or folded back) and a targa (with a removable panel above the seats (a car with left & right panels being a “T-top”)) but in what now seems a forgivable linguistic quirk, Lamborghini in 1968 displayed a (sort of) targa it called a Roadster. It would be the only convertible Miura of any type the factory would build. Although the P400 Miura's rolling chassis had generated much interest (and some scepticism from engineers who understood the implications of installing its mid-mounted V12 engine transversely) when displayed at the 1965 Turin Auto Show, when a pre-production prototype was used for the car’s debut at the Geneva show, it created as much of a sensation as the Jaguar E-Type (XKE, 1961-1974) arrival in the same city half-a-decade earlier. The Miura is the spiritual ancestor of the “supercars” and “hypercars” of recent decades but while undeniably beautiful, at high-speed (it could exceed 170 mph (275 km/h)) the aerodynamic properties were dubious and the transverse engine induced handling quirks even experts found challenging to master. Still, with close to 800 made over three series (P400, 1966-1968; P400 S, 1968-1971; P400 SV 1971-1973), it was a great success and the most desirable of the breed are now multi-million dollar machines. It was quite an achievement for a concern that between 1948-1963 had built only well-regarded tractors & other farm equipment and although the Miura wasn’t the company’s first car, it was the one that gained the marque the credibility to ranked with Ferrari; indeed, greatly it influenced the mid-engined Ferraris and Maseratis of the 1970s as well as encouraging lower-cost imitators such as De Tomaso’s Mangusta (1967-1971) and Pantera (1971-1992).
Perhaps counterintuitively, the sensuous Miura was named after a breed of bull but it was one prized in bullfighting for its aggressive qualities so one can see the connection. While a few claim to be cooks who helped stir the broth, the Miura’s lovely lines usually are credited to Marcello Gandini (1938–2024), a designer working at Giuseppe "Nuccio" Bertone’s (1914-1997) Turin-based Carrozzeria Bertone. The one-off Miura roadster wasn’t exactly the first mid-engined coupé in a targa configuration, Ford building in 1965 five such GT40s (1964-1969) but these were pure racing cars and the first appeared a few weeks before Porsche in 1965 released the 911 Targa so it’s not surprising Ford dubbed the things “roadsters”. The Fords were actually rolling test-beds for components and featured a number of differences from the more numerous coupés but nor was the Miura Roadster simply a coupé pulled from the assembly line and then de-roofed. What Bertone did was a significant re-engineering, the roofline lowered by 30 mm (1¼ inches) with the rollover hoop lowered to reduce drag, the angle off the windscreen made more acute and the rear bodywork re-shaped with larger air-intakes for the V12, a more pronounced spoiler fitted to the rear deck, the tail-pipes re-routed with revised taillights fitted. Unseen were structural changes reinforcing the chassis, the box-section side members strengthened to compensate for the loss of rigidity created by the roofectomy. Inside, there were detail changes to the trim and switchgear.
The reaction when the roadster was displayed at Brussels was little less enthusiastic than at Geneva two years earlier, dealers and the factory at once receiving enquiries about price and delivery dates. Unfortunately, what the designers knew was that stunning though it looked, what the removal of the roof had done was so compromise the structural rigidity that not even the strengthening done to the platform had been enough to make the Roadster viable for series production. To achieve that, the whole shell would have had to be re-engineered and Lamborghini’s engineers knew that though achingly lovely, the shape and the transverse mounting of the V12 which made it possible were both flawed concepts, the future being in longitudinally-positioned power-plants within an angular wedge. Those conclusions would be rendered in physical form when the prototype Countach appeared at Geneva in 1971 and its lines can be seen still in twenty-first century Lamborghinis and many other machines. Ultimately, the shape of the Countach proved more influential but the Miura incontestably was more lovely.
So the Roadster was destined to be a one-off curiosity but the show car subsequently had an interesting life. In 1969 it was purchased by the New York-based ILZRO (International Lead Zinc Research Organization) that wanted something eye-catching with which to promote the use of the metals in automotive use. Renamed ZN 75, it became a demonstration platform for zinc and lead applications in automotive engineering; it was repainted in an iridescent green, and various components were recast in zinc and lead-alloys, including trim, bumpers and even engine parts. On the periodic table, the chemical element zinc has the symbol “Zn” while the “75” was a reference to 1975, the year the ILZRO and other industry groups were lobbying the regulators to set as the date by which new automotive materials and corrosion-resistance standards would become widespread. The ILZRO’s campaign emphasis was on galvanization and anti-corrosion technologies, with the argument that by the mid-1970s, manufacturers would need extensively and more systematically to use zinc and such to meet with expectations of durability and comply with legislative dictate. During the 1970s, ZN 75 was shown around North America, Europe, and Asia, becoming one of the more widely displayed Miuras and decades later, was restored to its original appearance. Whether it even should be referred to as a targa is debatable because Bertone didn’t include a removable roof panel but, over the years, some Miuras have been converted to targas (with a removable panel) so pedants can dub the original roadster as being “in the targa style”.















