A Renault Floride: a glimpse of summer dreams

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It was early April when I stumbled upon this photograph. The sun had just begun to stretch its golden fingers across the Netherlands, though the chill of winter still lingered. Yet, summer dreams had already started to take shape—dreams of winding roads in the South of France, the scent of pine trees in the air, and the distant hum of cicadas.

At first glance, you might think this image was taken in Provence. The warm light, the carefree elegance—it all evokes that idyllic southern charm. But in fact, this summery scene was captured in Port Marly, just outside Paris. Still, the atmosphere is undeniable. Everything in the frame breathes the optimism and style of the 1960s: the elegant woman, the neat flower beds, the bold, modernist architecture of the Azur gas station—and of course, the convertible.

Is it a Renault Floride? Or perhaps a Simca? Both would feel right at home here, but the graceful lines of the car suggest the Floride—Renault’s sophisticated response to the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia.

Introduced in the late 1950s, the Renault Floride arrived at a time when cars were expected to be more than just practical—they were expressions of taste, personality, and freedom. Designed in collaboration with the Italian design house Ghia, the Floride exuded flair: elegant fenders, wraparound bumpers, and a silhouette that still sets the hearts of car enthusiasts racing.

Beneath the surface, the Floride shared its mechanics with the Renault Dauphine. It wasn’t built for speed—its rear-mounted 845cc engine (later upgraded to 956cc and 1108cc) made sure of that—but it didn’t need to be. The Floride wasn’t about performance. It was about experience. Light, agile, and irresistibly charming, it was the perfect companion for a leisurely cruise along the Route Napoléon or a sunset drive by the Côte d’Azur.

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