Porsche 718 Cayman GT4 RS Review: The Car That Makes Maps Obsolete

The wrong turn that felt so right

It happened somewhere between the vineyard-lined switchbacks of Napa and the redwood forests of Mendocino. One moment I was following the prescribed press-route waypoints; the next I’d flicked the GT4 RS into second, squeezed the throttle, and let the 4.0-liter flat-six howl past 8,000 rpm. The navigation screen dissolved into a blur of green. I was gloriously, deliberately lost.

A license to wander

Porsche’s 718 Cayman GT4 RS is not built for practicality. It’s built for moments like this—when the road empties, the sun dips low, and the only thing louder than the twin-tailpipe symphony is your own heartbeat. With 493 hp yanked from the 911 GT3’s engine and a six-speed gearbox that snaps like a guillotine, the coupe doesn’t encourage detours; it demands them.

I realized I’d missed my third scheduled photo stop. Didn’t care. The GT4 RS had become compass, map, and destination rolled into carbon fiber.

The numbers that matter—and the ones that don’t

Zero-to-60 in 3.2 seconds? Impressive. 9,000-rpm redline? Addictive. But the spec that lingers is the 1,415-kg curb weight—lighter than a Toyota GR86—achieved through pull straps instead of door handles and a rear window fashioned from racing-grade polycarbonate. Translation: every input feels like it’s hard-wired to your nervous system.

• Downforce: 25% more than the standard GT4, hugging asphalt like gossip in a small town.
• Steering: 911 GT3-derived rack, surgically precise at 14.3:1 ratio.
• Brakes: Optional PCCB ceramics that scrub speed so violently your lungs feel the g.

Getting lost, on purpose

Modern cars cocoon us in connectivity, but the GT4 RS rips the SIM card out of that philosophy. The cabin drones at highway speeds; the bucket seats require yoga-level contortions to exit; the infotainment screen looks embarrassed to be there. And yet, when the road kinks like a child’s doodle, none of that matters. The chassis telegraphs every pebble, the steering wheel trembles over camber changes, and the engine note climbs from baritone howl to metallic shriek that makes pedestrians swear and dogs bark in harmony.

Should you buy one?

Only 2,000 will reach North America this year, each stickered north of $141,000 before the inevitable dealer markup. If you’re shopping spreadsheets, the Corvette Z06 offers similar punch for less cash. But if you crave a car that turns mundane Tuesdays into folklore, the GT4 RS is worth every cent—and every mile you never meant to drive.

I finally checked the nav an hour after sunset. I’d added 127 miles, burned through half a tank of 93 octane, and grinned so hard my cheeks cramped. The destination didn’t matter; the detour did. And that, perhaps, is the finest compliment you can pay any sports car.