Driving F1 car

The 2026 Formula One (F1) season has just begun, but the expected celebration of speed has already given way to a chorus of complaints from the very drivers who need to wrestle with the machinery. Heading into the race in Melbourne, the sport’s most recognizable voices have rendered a verdict on the new regulations. From their vantage point, overseers have managed the rare feat of producing cars that are technologically remarkable yet oddly joyless to drive. And the irony is not lost on all and sundry: The cars may be more sophisticated than ever, but the men behind the wheel are not thrilled. At all.

Lando Norris, the reigning world champion, offered perhaps the bluntest appraisal of the new generation of cars. Formula One, he said, has gone from “the best cars ever made” to “probably the worst.” The shift is largely rooted in the sport’s latest technical overhaul, which places far greater emphasis on electrical power and energy management. The new power units split output almost evenly between combustion and electric systems, forcing drivers to juggle energy harvesting, battery deployment, and braking regeneration. In other words, they need to focus as much on racing as on resource accounting: Push too hard in one corner and the battery drains; ease up and any advantage disappears.

Max Verstappen, arguably the sport’s best driver, summed up his experience more bluntly: He was “not having fun.” His qualifying session at the Australian Grand Prix ended abruptly when his car’s rear axle locked under braking, sending him spinning into the barrier before he could even post a lap time. The incident was attributed to the complex energy-regeneration system now embedded in the cars, if nothing else an abject reminder that technological ambition may well carry unintended consequences. He escaped injury, but his frustration mirrored that of his peers, who fear the regulations have made the sport harder to drive and, even more worrying, harder for fans to follow.

To be sure, a familiar pattern has emerged amid the criticism: Someone always manages to make the machinery work. In Melbourne, George Russell produced a commanding qualifying lap to claim pole position, leading a front-row lockout that hinted at Mercedes-AMG Petronas’ renewed strength in the sport’s new era. Needless to say, he was pleased, if surprised, by the margin, acknowledging that the car delivered more than expected. His reaction was pragmatic: When the opportunity presents itself, he said, the job is simply to “make hay while the sun shines.”

The performance inevitably drew attention to Mercedes’ power unit, which several rivals believe may hold an early advantage under the new rules. Even Lewis Hamilton suggested that the team’s engine could prove decisive in the championship battle. To be sure, such suspicions have become ritualistic in Formula One; whenever one team finds pace the others cannot immediately explain, speculation inevitably follows. In any case, the grid appears to have entered a competitive cycle featuring yet another shift in the balance of power.

For now, though, the opening weekend in Australia has offered an unusual spectacle: a sport launching its most technologically ambitious era while its drivers publicly pine for the same old, same old. Formula One has always been a delicate compromise between engineering ambition and the purity of racing. Tilt too far toward technology and the drivers become shackled to algorithms; tilt too far toward simplicity and the engineers lose the challenges that define the series. At this point, it’s anybody’s guess as to when, or if, 2026 regulations will find their equilibrium. In the meantime, the message from the cockpit is unmistakable: The cars being faster on paper is one thing, but the joy of driving them is another matter altogether.