Formula 1 is a sport built around numbers. Points, wins, podiums, poles, championships, lap times. We have endless data to tell us what happened on track. But there is another way we understand the sport, and it has very little to do with numbers.
Narratives
Narratives. Every driver has one. Some are created before they even reach Formula 1, while others develop over years of racing. The talented young driver. The future World Champion. The aggressive racer. The emotional one. The unlucky one. The driver who is being held back by their car. These narratives can be incredibly powerful because, once we have an idea of who a driver is, we tend to interpret everything they do through that idea. And what I find particularly interesting is how quickly that narrative can change. A driver can have the same strengths, the same weaknesses, and the same personality, yet be perceived completely differently depending on the situation they are in. The car changes. The results change. The expectations change. And suddenly, the story changes too.
The driver in the wrong car
There is a version of the F1 driver that fans and media seem to love: the talented driver who hasn't been given the machinery to prove what they can really do. It is an easy narrative to build because it leaves room for possibility. The results might not be there, but there is always an explanation. The car isn't good enough. The team isn't giving them what they need. The strategy isn't helping them. If only they had a better car, we would finally see what they are capable of. And sometimes, that narrative is completely justified.
But then something interesting happens. The driver gets the better car. And suddenly, the narrative has to change. The excuses disappear. Expectations rise, and the same performance that was once considered impressive can suddenly become disappointing. A podium in a midfield car can be described as a brilliant performance. A podium in a championship-winning car can be described as a missed opportunity. The driver hasn't necessarily changed. The standard has.
Lando Norris
Lando Norris is perhaps one of the clearest examples of this. For years, Lando was presented as one of the great talents of his generation who simply hadn't had the car to show it. McLaren was rebuilding, and while the team improved, it wasn't consistently capable of fighting for wins or championships. Lando still produced. He scored podiums. He took poles. He showed strong pace and regularly extracted a lot from the machinery available to him. The narrative was largely positive. He was talented. He was fast. He was consistent. He just needed the right car. Then McLaren became a championship contender. And the narrative changed. Suddenly, the conversation was no longer about what Lando could do with a competitive car. It was about what he should be doing with one.
His mistakes became more important. His missed opportunities became more significant. Questions about his mentality and ability to perform under pressure became louder. Some of that criticism was completely fair. Lando made mistakes, particularly during the 2024 season, and those moments deserved to be analysed. But the interesting part isn't whether criticism was justified. It is how dramatically the overall perception changed. For years, the car had been part of the explanation for why Lando wasn't winning. Once he had the car, the conversation became whether he was good enough to deserve it. And that is how quickly a narrative can move.
When the same performance means something different
This isn't unique to Lando. A driver's performance doesn't exist in isolation. We judge it against expectations. A driver finishing P6 in a Williams might be celebrated. The same driver finishing P6 in a Mercedes might be criticised. A young driver making a mistake can be described as part of their development. A championship contender making the same mistake can suddenly be described as a mentality problem. A driver fighting aggressively can be praised for having a killer instinct. Another driver doing exactly the same thing can be called reckless. The action is similar. The interpretation isn't. And that is where media narratives become so interesting. Because the media doesn't simply report results. Through headlines, analysis, interviews, television discussions and social media, it helps create the context in which those results are understood. The same result can tell two completely different stories depending on how it is presented.
George Russell
George Russell is another interesting example because his narrative has moved in a different direction. At Williams, George was often described as one of the biggest talents on the grid. His performances were regularly praised because he was doing them in a car that wasn't capable of fighting at the front. The narrative was obvious. Give George a competitive car and he could show everyone what he was really capable of. Then he moved to Mercedes. Suddenly, the expectations changed. He was no longer the talented driver trying to drag a Williams further up the grid. He was a Mercedes driver, competing alongside one of the greatest drivers in the history of the sport and expected to fight for wins.
When he produced strong results, the narrative was reinforced. George was proving that everyone had been right about him. But when things became more difficult, the same narrative began to move in the opposite direction.
Questions about his consistency appeared. Questions about whether he was actually as good as people thought. The driver who had once been praised for what he could do with less was now being judged for what he couldn't do with more. Again, the circumstances changed. And the narrative followed.
We don't just judge drivers. We judge expectations.
This is perhaps the part that interests me most. We often think we are judging a driver based on their performance. But sometimes, we are actually judging them based on our expectations of their performance. That distinction matters. If we believe a driver is a future World Champion, finishing second can feel like failure. If we believe a driver is underrated, finishing second can feel like proof of greatness. The result is exactly the same. The story is different. This is why some drivers seem to have an enormous amount of room to make mistakes, while others are judged harshly for every small error.
Once a narrative has been established, we start looking for evidence that confirms it. If we believe a driver is fearless, an aggressive move becomes proof of their confidence. If we believe another driver is reckless, the same move becomes proof of their lack of control. If we believe someone is mentally strong, a difficult weekend can be described as an exception. If we already think they struggle under pressure, that same weekend becomes evidence that we were right. The narrative shapes the way we interpret the performance.
Personality makes it even more complicated
And then there is personality. I think this is one of the most overlooked parts of how drivers are perceived. We like certain personalities more than others. Some drivers are naturally charismatic. Some are quiet. Some are emotional. Some are aggressive. Some are extremely private. And without even realising it, we can allow those personalities to influence how we judge their performance. Lando is an interesting example because he has always been relatively open about his emotions and his mistakes. He doesn't always fit the traditional image of the ruthless racing driver who never shows vulnerability.
For some people, that makes him relatable. For others, perhaps it makes him appear weaker. But why should personality determine how we evaluate talent? Why should admitting that you made a mistake make you less of a driver? And why is aggression interpreted as confidence in some drivers but arrogance or recklessness in others? These are not always objective judgments. They are interpretations. And interpretations are influenced by the narrative we already have.
Narratives are not necessarily lies
I don't think narratives are inherently bad. They are part of sport. We need stories. They give meaning to results, rivalries and careers. They make us care about what happens beyond the numbers. The problem is when a narrative becomes so strong that it becomes impossible to challenge. A driver becomes “the future champion.” Another becomes “overrated.” Another becomes “unlucky.” Another becomes “the best driver without the car.” And once those labels exist, every result becomes another piece of evidence for the story. Until something happens that forces us to reconsider. Sometimes that takes a season. Sometimes a few races. Sometimes a single weekend. And Formula 1 has shown us repeatedly how quickly that can happen.
So who is the driver we are actually watching?
Maybe the most interesting question isn't whether the narrative is right or wrong. Maybe it is whether we are aware that we are consuming one at all. Because the driver we see today is not necessarily different from the driver we saw last year. Lando didn't suddenly become talented when he became a World Champion. George didn't suddenly lose his talent because his results became more difficult. A driver doesn't become a completely different person because their car improves, their teammate changes or their championship position moves.
But our expectations change. And when expectations change, the narrative changes with them. That is why I think Formula 1 is not only a sport of performance. It is also a sport of perception. We watch the drivers race, but we also watch the stories being built around them. And sometimes, those stories become so powerful that they influence what we think we are seeing before we have even decided for ourselves. Maybe that is why the same driver can be described as a future World Champion one year and overrated the next. Maybe the driver didn't change. Maybe we simply changed the story.
