If you’re a BMW fan in the US you should know about Max Hoffman. In many ways Hoffman was the single most important figure in BMW’s early success in the U.S. singlehandedly and yet he was undone by the same audacity that earned him such praise. This is his story.

As the brand’s sole distributor from 1962 to 1975, Hoffman was both champion and cautionary tale—a man whose faith in BMW brought models like the 2002 to a dedicated audience, but whose practices often cast him as a self-serving antagonist in the marque’s history. His relationship with BMW, like many others he represented, was a tangled mix of vision and volatility.

Hoffman’s story begins in Vienna, Austria, where he was born in 1904 to a family with entrepreneurial roots. His father’s business evolved from a general store to manufacturing sewing machines and bicycles, fueling Hoffman’s early passion for racing. By 30, Hoffman had left racing to import European cars to Austria and export them to the Middle East. But in 1938, with Austria under Nazi control and as a Jewish man, Hoffman fled first to Paris, then to New York two years later.

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Landing in America, Hoffman initially planned to export U.S.-built trucks to Egypt. When that venture failed, he pivoted to crafting metallized plastic jewelry, which thrived during wartime. This unexpected success financed his reentry into the car business. In 1947, he opened Hoffman Motors on Park Avenue with a single Delahaye. Within a year, Hoffman had secured Jaguar as his first major marque, and over time, he represented 21 brands, including Mercedes, Alfa Romeo, and Porsche. Hoffman’s influence spurred iconic models like the Mercedes 300SL and Porsche Speedster, designed to cater to American tastes.

In 1954, Hoffman turned his sights on BMW. The company had just resumed car production, with its V8-powered sedans and plans for a roadster and GT coupe aimed at the U.S. market. Hoffman, unimpressed by the proposed 528 roadster, recruited designer Albrecht von Goertz to pen the now-legendary BMW 507 and redesign the 503. While the 507 is celebrated as one of BMW’s most beautiful creations, its $10,000 price tag proved disastrous. Hoffman’s promise to order 2,500 units dwindled to 300 annually, and his failure to prepay for the cars left BMW on the financial brink by 1959.

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By then, BMW’s flirtation with bankruptcy was averted only by Herbert Quandt’s investment. Hoffman’s handling of the 507 and his declining portfolio of brands—reduced to Lancia and Porsche by the early ’60s—made him a controversial figure. Yet BMW, unable to fund its own U.S. distribution network, rehired him in 1962. Hoffman’s return coincided with the Neue Klasse’s debut, a game-changing midsize sedan lineup. While the 1500 was underwhelming for American tastes, the 2000 and the customer-racing 1800 TI/SA found traction. The real breakthrough came with the 1600-2, later evolved into the iconic 2002, which Hoffman initially doubted but enthusiastically embraced after its runaway success.

By the late ’60s, BMW sales in the U.S. had skyrocketed, thanks in part to sharp advertising and rave reviews. Hoffman also introduced the Bavaria, a stripped-down, budget-conscious version of BMW’s large sedan. However, the model was unprofitable for BMW, which soon ceased offering large cars stateside.

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Despite growing sales, Hoffman’s relationship with BMW soured in the ’70s. His lax dealership standards and erratic ordering practices frustrated Munich’s leadership. Dealers struggled with subpar service support, while Hoffman profited handsomely. As new leadership at BMW scrutinized his operations, it became clear that Hoffman’s priorities didn’t align with BMW’s long-term vision. By 1975, BMW extricated itself from Hoffman’s lucrative contract, ending an era defined as much by his audacity as his missteps.

Max Hoffman’s legacy is complex. He undeniably championed European brands in America, shaping the market for performance cars. But his self-serving tactics and contentious dealings left a mixed imprint on BMW’s history—a history that might have been very different without him.