My tester didn't come with official fuel-economy documentation, but I calculated less than 20 mpg combined, and the M8 demands premium petrol.
The BMW M8 Competition ragtop belongs to a genre of vehicle that I think of as rewards for life lived according to the disciplined application of skill or talent to lucrative purpose. Translation: Nobody needs a 617-horsepower convertible with a orange interior that can do o-60 mph in three seconds, but somebody wants such a machine, and for them the M8 is preferable to a harshly sprung sports car or a high-velocity automotive plaything with no back seat.
A toy for grownups, then.
There's never been an 8-Series M car before, so purchasing one of these is historic, if that matters to you. (The M8 has also replaced the M6 in the BMW lineup, so you currently jump from M2 to M4, then to M5 and M8, if you're working your way up — and at the moment, the M5 is the only sedan.)
The M8 Competition is a genuinely fantastic car, but it is a throwback. It's purpose is to convey an affluent owner, at great speed, from point A to point B, with limited luggage and perhaps one companion along for the scenic, top-down ride. One might term this "stately pleasure."
Of course, with a o-60 mph time of about three seconds and a top speed that tickles 200 mph, not to mention all those M Sport goodies — Comfort, Sport, Sport-Plus, and Track drive modes, plus all the customizable permutations — and a suspension-and-handling demeanor that is indeed race-worthy, the M8 is more than a straight-line, high-velocity cruiser. It's muscle in a smashingly tailored suit.
In other words, a whole lotta car. Maybe too much, to be honest. While the 850i is suave, the M8 is sort of violent. In a good way, but still. The drivetrain's digital brain, in say Sport-Plus mode, wants to put the power to the rear wheels and genuinely burn much rubber. I drove the M8 right before I got into a Porsche 911 Carrera 4S, which boasts an uncannily composed all-wheel-drive setup that cannot be flustered by mortals; but the M8 Competition, while not exactly insane, nurtures a spirit of greater threat. It reminded me of a German take on something like a Shelby Mustang GT350.
The segment that the M8 Competition proposed to lord over does appeal to me. I like sport coupes and grand tourers with great big engines up front and cramped seats in the back. The sheer impracticality of these machines suggests a life well lived, culminating in frivolous discernment and a no-apologies attitude.
You have other, more naff ways to spend $180,000. But the M8 lets you maintain your dignity, while still unleashing the demon, when the mood strikes. And the mood strikes often.
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