A CAR'S design creates that vital first impression and many subsequent impressions. But design itself is shaped by multiple factors.

While cars are strongly associated with their national identity, the reality is quite the opposite. Sourcing for components knows no national boundaries or loyalties, regardless of brand prestige.

This includes one of the world's most iconic vehicles: London's black cab. Their engines were once Japanese, then Italian from a joint venture between General Motors and Russia's GAZ Group, and now from China's Geely.

Design maestros cross borders at will. Cuban-American Alfonso Albaisa is Nissan's chief designer, Japanese Ken Okuyama penned Ferrari's iconic Enzo, American Chris Bangle was BMW's chief designer, and the world's fastest and priciest car, Italy's Bugatti Veyron, is designed by a Slovak-German duo.

The Veyron, assembled in France, carries the name of Italian engineering genius Ettore Bugatti from a company owned by Germany's Volkswagen AG. When motoring companies are bought and sold across borders, what national identity remains?

National origin once seemed visually identifiable: "European" expanses of sheet metal in body panels, "American-style" chrome mouldings, bumpers and accessories, and "Japanese" accents in US styling.

This began to change as "Japanese" form shifted, essentially from American to European tastes. It coincided with Japan diversifying its US-centred auto market to cater for more European customers while the British motoring industry declined, showing the impact of external factors on design.

One of the world's most iconic shapes in Volkswagen's Beetle famously resulted from external forces. Ferdinand Porsche had already considered an affordable "everybody's car" in 1931, but it was only in 1933 when Adolf Hitler ordered a people's car in the "Volkswagen" that the Beetle was hatched.

When it arrived, the Beetle was among Europe's most comfortable and powerful budget cars. Its practicalities would see an astounding lifespan of 65 years (1938-2003). The other German design icon, the Porsche 911, took the cue in 1963 for production the following year, evolving until today.

This is typical of European marques: an identifiable shape across different models and from one model generation to the next. It suggests steady progression through technical evolution, with continuity through tradition.

The British Motor Corporation (BMC) unveiled an epitome of Englishness in Alec Issigonis' Morris Minor of 1948. Created to provide affordable transport to the working classes, it proved endearing and enduring (1948-71): simple, unpretentious lines offering a roomy interior and competent handling, it also became a staple for driving schools in Malaysia.

At the time a typical American design would be a "gas guzzler" sporting tail fins on an oversized body. Then road space was not an issue, oil prices not a problem, and global warming still unheard of.

A leading icon of British design that resulted from strong external imperatives was the Mini (1959-2000). Also penned by Issigonis, the Mini's economy concept was tasked to reduce the impact of the 1956 Suez (fuel shortage) Crisis and the proliferation of tiny German "bubble cars", which BMC detested.

The greatest icon of British sporting form then emerged in 1961 with the Jaguar E-Type (XKE).

Designer Malcolm Sayer was an early believer in wind tunnel testing, so the result was an amazingly svelte shape sexier than the D-Type racer.

The E-Type's successor, the XJS, has been criticised as a design disaster despite having better aerodynamics. Redesigned in stages without its predecessor's elegance and launched after Sayer's death, it was deemed a lesson in how not to design a car: by committee.

Like other creative pursuits, great automotive designs had to be the handiwork of gifted gurus. Enter the era of the Italian design houses: Bertone, Ghia, Giugiaro (Italdesign), Pininfarina.

Bertone's prolific Marcello Gandini boasted a bulging portfolio that included the legendary Lamborghini Miura (1966-72). Billed as the fastest and most beautiful car in the world, the Miura was a technical and design breakthrough for a road vehicle: its mid-mounted, quad-cam V12 wore the most sensuous curves in all the right places, all perfectly proportioned.

This was despite Gandini's forte being flattish shapes, as with the Miura's successor, the futuristically "extreme" Countach. Though still spectacular, the Countach borrowed design cues from Gandini's previous concepts: Alfa Romeo Carabo, Lancia Stratos Zero, Lamborghini Marzal; angular wedges with sharp edges, rear window slats and scissor or gullwing doors.

Some classic designs were targeted by kit car makers, with Japan's Mitsuoka also trading in nostalgia. The response: the Mini and the Beetle returned for an encore with decent build quality, along with Ford's sporting icon in the GT40.

The Miura almost returned, but the "updated" concept arrived (2006) to a mixed reception. A classic is something you do not mess with, since it inspires passion in the besotted.

Chrysler took over Lamborghini in 1987, and three years later the Diablo would replace the Countach. The Chrysler Design Centre then repeated the XJS mistake: fiddling with Gandini's original Diablo design, toning down its aggressively sporting features and leaving him and Diablo enthusiasts unimpressed.

After mimicking European designs, Japanese manufacturers would commission the designers for some of their models. This opened up exclusive designing to a global mass market, diluting the elite clientele of bespoke coachbuilders.

Today even London's black cabs are turning green to reflect a greater environmental awareness, with Geely providing the electric engines. The British and US governments are now allocating billions in subsidies to protect "their" car companies - furnishing the most distinctive "national" identity yet for cars.