"This is not my car," Non Fujita says to me when I show him the slides of his car for the very first time. He is staring at a shot that will eventually be featured on the cover of the magazine: his 1997 Silvia in a front-side stare down, all squat with gleaming fenders and marble-smooth curves. I hand him the next shot--the one you see on this page. He shakes his head and laughs. "No, this is not my car."
We are inside his shop, Enonvativ Force. The place is small and lean on décor. Inside the garage, there are no signs of tools. The four white walls starve for posters, and the floor is clean of grease. Everything about the place is simple, neat, and understated, which is glib irony considering the maniacally amazing projects he produces here. A past creation, a 1993 Mazda RX-7 (Super Street November 1997), sits tucked in a corner. The roadster has gone through a number of evolutions and incarnations, and most recently came out of the Fujita cocoon as a station wagon (dont even try to picture it--even he admits its weird).
There is also the Mazda Miata that his wife drives, sprayed with the same trademark mix of indescribable metallic deep tan-gray visible on the Silvia.
And finally, there is the Silvia: a 1997 Nissan 240SX that he built as close to Japanese specs as is possible in Southern California. Its distinction cannot be measured in trophies nor its exquisiteness in metaphors. During the photo shoot, the Silvia found its proper stage under the studio lights. Photographer extraordinaire (and part-time Kelly Slater wannabe) Wes Allison reined in every subtle detail. From the front, the car looks vicious. The bumper is unmistakably R33 Skyline GT (part of a custom-crafted body kit by Non under his shop tag, Enonvativ Force). The fenders bulge out in monstrous flares. Bomex aero side mirrors flush out from the windshield frame, balancing the top with the oversized bottom. Conversely, the car as a whole does not scream for attention; it whispers sophistication with the voice of aristocracy.
Oh, crap. That was me during the shoot. This car is on a different plane. How was I to describe all this? Now, with my work at hand, all I can say is I wish you were there.
On most days, the Silvia can be found parked in front of his shop. Despite its status as a multiple show-winner, it battles the pockmarked streets of Los Angeles on a daily basis as Non drives it every day to work and back again. "Cars aren’t meant to be trailered," he told me during the shoot. His sentences are curt, but always on point. "They are meant to be driven." I remember telling Non, at that time, that he was correct--that cars are meant to be driven--but, now, looking at these photos, I must contradict myself. The evidence presents itself. This car isn’t meant to be driven. It’s meant to be looked at.
But you’re still out of luck. As amazing as these photos are, they don’t do the car justice. Non was right: This is not his car. Well, not exactly. Precision and dimension are lost on the printed page. Words may add fill, but, at best, the result will still be a semi-sensory model of the real thing. I do not exaggerate when I say that textbooks could be dedicated to dissecting the work. From the Nismo side skirts and rear bumper to the Bomex rear wing, everything looks and fits like it was designed by Nismo for a Japanese showroom. Even the wiper blades have been removed in favor of a Japanese-spec single-blade unit by Battle club (removed per photographer Allison’s artistic request). Not as simple as it sounds. Non had to rewire the motors just to accommodate the single blade.
I am glad that I don’t own a 240. Otherwise, I’d have to sell it. My other choice would be to drool, yearn, and attempt to match Non’s design. And ultimately fail. Warning 240 owners: Do not try to emulate. Do not write or e-mail us to ask where you can find these products. Most of it is custom-made. The others can only be retrieved in Japan.
Have you seen these tires? Colossal Dunlop SP Sport 9000s, to be exact (225/40ZR18s in front and 255/40ZR18s in the rear). OK, now flip back to this page. Pretend you’re walking to the side of the car. Absorb the OZ Mitos huddled nicely under the crazy flares. They are 18x9 and 18x10 front and back. The Brembo cross-drilled rotors and Z32 brake calipers have to fight for attention through the paint-matched spokes. As for what you can’t see, the car has GAB adjustable shocks instead of the stock MacPherson struts to go along with the GAB coilover springs.
Do I have to say one more time that every attention has been given to the detail? The Super Street license plate rests deep within the rear bumper surrounded by mesh walls. There are clear side markers just behind the fenders and above two Nismo badges. Through the rear windshield, a genuine Nismo rear strut tower bar sits on display. A mischievous Silvia insignia hides in the shadow of the wing, reminding us where most of the car’s inspiration comes from.
Now, if the outside impresses with subtlety and sleek styling, then the cabin takes you into a different world altogether. The same sort of high-end Japanese-inspired theme is carried over to the interior, but it is shock therapy all the same. The Japanese plastic-commuter interior has been traded in for supercar status. We’re talking Nismo seats and steering wheel for starters. Of course, there are the requisite white gauge faces, and carbon fiber is used generously for fill. On the passenger side, four GReddy gauges line up above the glovebox, measuring oil temp, oil pressure, exterior temp, and fuel pressure--while a Kenwood Mini-disc player lounges snug inside. Disregard the boost gauge in the driver-side door panel for now--the Silvia still has the American-spec factory KA24DE engine, though anticipate something drastic in the near future. Here’s a hint: think Japanese and count up from S14.
OK, so there is no turbo. And in terms of engine enhancements, there are few. A Blitz stainless steel air cleaner and exhaust, a custom-fabricated intake pipe, and a Blitz radiator panel are all the car carries to battle for now. A bummer, yes, but with the way the car looks, it’s impossible to dwell on that for long. Especially when more useful toys can still be found inside.
The Silvia isn’t short in the sight and sounds department. A Kenwood 400W amp powers Image Dynamic IDQ-12 woofers. An Addzest (Japanese version of Clarion) VRX8250 deck shoots out from its slot in the dash and flips to reveal a monitor with a TV antenna (a Zender radio antenna pulls in the audio frequencies). But the monitor isn’t just there for Love Boat reruns. Also hooked up to the screen is an HKS Camp System, which provides digital readouts of everything going on within the engine. Uh, cool.
It’s no secret that pure Japanese parts and components are practically requirements to winning shows on the West Coast. That’s why everyone clambers with flailing arms (and open wallets) for Nismo, Mugen, Feels, and Bomex. Besides, hard-to-find equals exclusivity equals cool. However, Non’s desire for all things Japanese runs deeper than that (he lived in Japan up to 10 years ago). For him, it’s not a question of status, but integrity. His objective for his cars is to stay true to the country that created them. Ultimately, that translates into a modest and sincere approach toward design. So, when he sculpts his car in 24-karat Nismo and Bomex, he ain’t just showing off. He’s just being Non.