James writes:

Hello, last year during one of my morning walks I passed a nearby home where an S-Class Mercedes was parked on its driveway. As I approached, the silhouette was that of an early 2010’s Mercedes S-Class with noticeably flared wheel arches. As I passed by I observed the model identification on the left side of the trunk. Instead of the anticipated S 550 badge, it displayed a CLS 550 badge.

I did eventually meet the owner, an elderly man who could not provide any information about his car. And by this time he had replaced this “CLS 550” with a newer S 580 Mercedes. I did research on the internet, but no luck with a possible CLS 550 S Class.

I am fairly certain with my identification that this vehicle is at least an S-class Mercedes. (As a previous owner of a 2014 CLS and a current owner of a 2022 CLS, I have some familiarity with Mercedes models.) So, are the trunks of this S-Class and the CLS Class of this era interchangeable, and a junkyard CLS trunk was used to repair a damaged S-Class trunk? Or, the S-Class Mercedes needed its trunk repaired and the repair shop put the wrong model identifier on the repaired trunk?

I seriously doubt there ever was a CLS 550 S Class Mercedes. What do you think?

Sajeev answers:

Dang, I really would love to see a photo of this machine. But I share your doubt, and I suspect someone with an S-Class Benz bought those CLS 550 emblems from a place like eBay to be cheeky.

I get the vibe, however. Both the W221 (2007–13) and W222 (2014–20) bodies of the S-class have a distinctly sleek, curvilinear CLS flavor to them. Once the CLS hit the ground running, all sedans (save for Rolls-Royce) had to re-think their position as being staid and stately. Perhaps the CLS offered the sedan a lifeline to coolness in the wake of CUV/SUV dominance. Even the S-class can’t be immune to this trend.

Adding a body kit to the S-class also aids in the CLS-ification of these flagship Mercs. But let’s focus on the phrase “flagship”, as that answers your other question. Sheetmetal on a flagship isn’t interchangeable with cheaper models from the same brand. Not that the CLS is a bad car, but it’s based on the smaller E-class: That trunk lid is unlikely to have the same hard points as an S-Class.

Even if it technically could bolt up to an S-class, the surfacing and cut lines would make absolutely no sense. There’s a good chance you saw an S-class with an aftermarket body kit that made it look sleeker, and the owner decided that it became a CLS in the process.

And the W221 makes a rather awesome CLS-daddy. It’s hard to tell what’s an actual “wide” body kit on these cars, as this era of S-class came with flared-out rear fenders from the factory. But there’s also the issue of looking at 2-D photos on a computer screen, which is my current conundrum.

What say you, Hagerty Community? Did James see a widebody S-class, a CLS-class, or just some CLS emblems on that big-body S-class Mercedes?

Have a question you’d like answered on Piston Slap? Send your queries to pistonslap@hagerty.com—give us as much detail as possible so we can help! Keep in mind this is a weekly column, so if you need an expedited answer, please tell me in your email.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Piston Slap: What Do I Spy With My Eyes? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

“For the Suprematist, the proper means is the one that provides the fullest expression of pure feeling and ignores the habitually accepted object.”

– Kazimir Malevich

The perfection of bare geometry popularized by Russian avant-garde artist Kazimir Malevich has arguably created some of the most controversial paintings of all time. Take, for example, the one that looks like he painted a white square on a white canvas.

People often revile such minimalism, especially when it comes with a similarly radical price tag: I’ve lost count of how many people think they can replicate suprematism with a can of white paint, display it in a gallery, and get chumps to buy it for insane prices. Except these haters (as it were) never woulda considered doing it in the first place had it not been for artists like Malevich. And I reckon they weren’t already immersed in abstractionist theory, ensuring art remains unbounded and unrestricted by human constructs.

Automotive design is significantly different, as it can only take a pure form so far before things like safety regulations, functional requirements, and manufacturing constraints come into play. The suprematist design of the Tesla Cybertruck threaded that needle shockingly well, much to the beholder’s delight/dismay. So let’s run it over the vellum and see what conclusions come to the surface.

Tesla’s design team and their controversial CEO likely didn’t have Russian suprematism on their minds when fashioning the low-resolution Cybertruck. The front end has a unique stainless-steel face and light signature that resembles the mask of a superhero, with a strong neck (bumper) below and a monolithic mane of glass shooting back from an impossibly flat hood.

Headlights lie between the “mask” and the neck below, and searching for them is almost unnecessary. It takes away from the sheer joy of the hard lines of the fenders and windscreen, which share a vanishing point that is easier to explain than on any other automobile in production.

I am terrible with sci-fi references, but this cloistered space for sensors and cameras reminds me of some spaceship’s appendage from a Star Wars movie.

The perfectly flat, trapezoidal shape of the Cybertruck’s windscreen is part of the vehicle’s radical signature, as it blends seamlessly with the hood. It’s reminiscent of design studies from Italian studios in the 1970s, or Trevor Fiore’s Citroën Karin from 1980.

Part of the windscreen’s appeal comes from the lack of a cowl to house the wiper blades and fresh air ducting for the HVAC system. Here, the only functional element of the cowl is the oddly shaped footprint for the base of the Cybertruck’s massive wiper arm mounted at the lower right. Singular, because the other side is just unadulterated glass.

Just below the seemingly non-existent cowl is one of the most understated, distraction free hoods ever to grace a pickup truck.

The only issue is how the stainless steel fenders and hood butt up against each other. Looking more like unfinished construction than a mass-produced machine is almost part of the equation, however: A case can be made that these are akin to blade fenders on older luxury vehicles. That case may be poppycock, but it’s convincing in person.

Appalling panel gaps aside, the superhero mask makes more sense from this angle. The front fascia, fender, hood, and lighting strip all look like items you’d see on a “normal” vehicle, but they’ve been reduced to their most basic forms, like a full-face helmet on a motorcyclist.

But when you step back and admire (as it were) the whole design, you see how Malevich’s suprematism is contorted into cyberpunk transport for elitists escaping a dystopian future: There’s a cab-forward cabin, angry angles and slashes, a squinty light bar under a furrowed brow, and headlights that are forced out of the equation.

That squinty light bar took a fair bit of surfacing to come to fruition. While the hood is close to flat, its outer contour makes the lights’ general shape. Below is the front fascia in stainless steel and a black plastic(?) textured filler panel. That filler panel allows the radically angled light bar to make sense with the far flatter stainless steel face (with only two bends on its profile). Panel fitment between the light, filler panel, and fascia is surprisingly good.

The Cybertruck takes to the next level the modern designer’s mantra of hiding headlights in places normally reserved for understated fog lights. This is pure architectural excellence, worthy of an office building or a high-end living space.

Below the front license plate bracket lies a rather ordinary, almost HVAC contractor–grade grille. Which is a nice throwback in an era of overdone grilles on modern vehicles, and there’s even a shutter mechanism to seal off the system and reduce aerodynamic drag.

The civil engineering references continue elsewhere on the bumper, as the plastic trimmed tow hook and its garage door–like background remind me of a loading dock in some Robocop-ian action scene. To the right of the hook is a front valance with clever angles that make the light dance on its body.

The Cybertruck’s frunk is nothing to sneeze at, but the hexagonal washer fluid reservoir cap and the contrast of the stainless steel hood against its aluminum substructure are fascinating in their presentation of geometric supremacy.

The transition to the side view is challenging. The vertical fender looks uncomfortably static against the downward slope of the wheel arch, but it makes more sense when stepping back and seeing the A-pillar blend with that arch.

And what an A-pillar this truly is. It’s intentions are fully realized by the hood and front fender, much like on a Ford Aerostar. Except Ford’s minivan wasn’t clad in stainless steel, with this material’s minimal surfacing requirements. The harsh angles and semi-reflective finish make the sunlight and shadow absolutely dance on the Cybertruck’s profile.

But the rest of the body doesn’t necessarily appreciate or believe in the A-pillar’s sleek overtones. There is conflict at every point below the A-pillar, and that challenge continues down the body side. In fact, this is a vehicle that challenges you from almost every angle, and that isn’t necessarily a good thing.

But geometric surprise and delight lie in the details, especially how the angular fender arches complement the harsh bends present in the Cybertruck’s stainless-steel cladding. And the triangular carve-out for the camera is abstractionism worthy of an art gallery.

The wheel arch bends in harmony with the crease in the stainless steel, but it makes no such effort to do the same with the charcoal-colored rocker cover below it. The intersection feels like a primitive cave, or the lair of a Batman-like hero.

A big problem with this design stems from the wheel arches and the bespoke Goodyear tires each being designed with geometric flair in mind, but the structural wheel doesn’t want to abide. Tesla made an angular wheel cover that fit into the recesses of the tire’s sidewall, but it quickly proved to dig into the rubber in real-world driving. We are left with this unfinished wheel design instead.

Goodyear likely worked hard to make a sidewall worthy of a Tesla wheelcover, to the point of adding its Wingfoot logo where the cover ended at the sidewall. There are talks of a new wheel cover in the works, with spokes that won’t not extend into the sidewall. And with those covers comes a far more conventional tire, allegedly.

If true, that has the potential to make this Goodyear the rarest of rare tire designs on the planet.

Above the wheel arch is where the Cybertruck’s remarkable look has more merit: The body-side crease turns into a sharp, angry triangle thanks to the A-pillar and a daylight opening (DLO) that extends far ahead of the front door.

You don’t necessarily remember that the Cybertruck’s minimalist cowl area lacks a VIN plate. So it’s instead placed on the A-pillar, behind the windscreen.

The intersection of tinted glass and brilliant stainless steel feels right, but the weatherstripping’s fade-away action at the top of the A-pillar is a bit disconcerting. (The vehicle was dead slient at speed during my time with it.)

This is such a strange combination of black trim, glass, rubber, and metal (stainless steel) in an automobile. It feels more like interior design for a high-end dressing room, not an automobile.

That’s just the start of automotive design intersecting with architecture and interior design. A pyramid-shaped truck with stainless-steel cladding worthy of the poured concrete aesthetic of brutalism does not make for a conventional assessment normally found here at Vellum Venom.

Tesla wisely stuck with a front DLO made entirely of glass, leading to a side-view mirror mounted to the door. But since this is the Cybertruck, the mirror body is also pyramid-like, with a base that varies in thickness to keep the design from looking static at any angle.

The front door glass is as terrifyingly triangular as the side-view mirror, sporting a steep rake at the A-pillar, a modest amount of tumblehome, and an awkward door aperture with a rounded weatherstrip seal. Not having any section of the roofline parallel to the ground is beyond unconventional for a truck, but this application works: Most folks will be able to enter the Cybertruck without their heads getting anywhere near this pyramid-shaped top.

The B-pillar is remarkably conventional, as even a pyramidal roof needs an upright support. The verticality is complemented by the strong bends in the sheetmetal, complete with a door cut line that adds a forward-thrusting element to the design.

The rear door is a bit more conventional, with a radical downward slope but a more conventional-looking four-sided polygon as a sheet of glass. The shape cheats your eye at a quick glance, as the stainless steel roof cuts off at a different point than does the window’s glass. Tesla added a black plastic insert (with electronic door release) after the window glass, but for some reason this DLO FAIL makes sense as a functional door release and not just a fake vent window.

No such complications when looking south of the Cybertruck’s belt line, as there’s a single crease in the sheetmetal, with an almost conventional rocker cover underneath.

The rear wheel arches suffer from the same incongruity as the front (thanks to a lack of blocky wheel covers) but make for a great place for a battery-charging door. The angularity also allows for a logical transition to an integral flap at the base of the rocker panel.

If only the wheel design was as angular as the rest of the body, as this C-pillar takes what we saw with the Chevrolet Avalanche (i.e. flying buttress) and turns it into a razor-sharp arrowhead that loves to play with sunlight and reflections.

From a lower, more head-on view, the Cybertruck loses its arrowhead levels of sharpness. The tall, upright cladding becomes far more like a conventional truck.

But there’s nothing conventional about this truck, as no truck has ever considered the boldness of just a few lines run across its entire body. The most obvious example is the crease that runs from the top of the front end’s light bar, to the top of the rear lighting assembly.

While the pyramidal roof has more initial bite, the Cybertruck’s flavor profile comes into full view while digesting this endlessly long crease.

Much like the front end’s negative space reserved for headlights and turn signals, the space between the bed and the bumper is perfect for a side marker light.

Like a large shop window facing a street, the red lense extends around the side and to the rear, where it’s greeted by a minimalist bumper that looks like a deconstructed Ranch Hand bumper.

And much like a brutalist building that faces a main street, the Cybertruck’s bed (and tailgate) sliced off the bottom right angle to reduce the visual weight above the red “shop window” in the bumper.

That massive array of quadrangles comprising the bumper make plenty of sense with a flat, rectangular rear tailgate that fully extends to the Cybertruck’s corners.

Due north of that stainless-steel tailgate is one of the Cybertruck’s more impressive design features, a smoked panel with parking and brake lights. Both it and the stainless steel have chamfers to add visual tension to an otherwise flat and boring posterior. Add in the blade fenders (as seen in the front) and you have a posterior that accentuates this lighting feature.

The only fly in the ointment is that the minimalism promised here isn’t present when you tap the brakes and realize very little of it illuminates. It’s best to leave the parking lights on (the whole thing illuminates) and never touch the brakes. Well, in theory.

The entire panel might not be a brake light, but building a triangular footprint for the rear camera integrates well with the rest of the Cybertruck’s angular theme. The triangle’s 3-D shape also makes it easier to aim the camera correctly, without the need for amoebic tumors used on other vehicles for correct camera orientation.

Open the Cybertruck’s bed and you’re rewarded with a redundant red reflector, a deep storage well à la Honda Ridgeline, and handy power outlets, both hidden from view until needed. The onboard power is certainly appreciated but falls functionally flat compared to the plethora of outlets available in the bed/cabin/frunk of the Ford Lightning EV. The Ford also has more ergonomic outlet covers, but ergonomics were clearly not paramount in the Cybertruck’s design. (Remember, this vehicle lacks a functional rearview mirror when the tonneau cover is unfurled.)

Speaking of that tonneau cover, it operates quickly and effortlessly behind all this easily stained plastic cladding. Considering how well this stuff aged on the Pontiac Aztek and aforementioned Avalanche, the Cybertruck is going to be an automotive detailer’s nightmare. This could be just as bad as the stain-creating steel chosen for the body, but it’s certainly an exciting piece of industrial design when in perfect condition.

With the tonneau cover closed, the Cybertruck has an impressive contrast of plastic, glass and stainless steel, all meeting up like an edgeless infinity pool. The details (i.e. weatherstripping) aren’t necessarilty as elegant or weathertight as one would hope, but this isn’t a mass market vehicle.

Never forget, this contrived and polarizing design cannot appeal to everyone like a functional/practical Ford or Chevy truck, no matter what Tesla said back in 2019.

Although the build quality on this example was better than what the Internet might lead you to believe, the gaps around this panel between the tonneau cover and the glass roof clearly leave something to be desired.

Which is truly a shame, because the transition between bed and roof is otherwise perfect. It looks expensive. It even feels expensive, because nobody else would have the nerve to make truck with a one-piece glass roof.

Nor would anyone else dare craft a bumper of brutalist, concrete-looking blocks arranged to both play with light and mask its functionality (center step, receiver hitch cover) so effortlessly.

Even the backup lights are recessed deep within the rear bumper, much like many an iconic brutalist building.

But sadly, the Cybertruck as a whole cannot delight like the individual details do when examined up close. The overall design lacks refinement, something normally resulting from months of surfacing treatments by car design teams within a manufacturer. This design was meant for quick consumption on par with a meme or shitpost, not for a loving embrace with longform content in a video or a white paper.

Nothing brings this lack of detail home like a Tesla dealership that uses packaging tape to install a paper tag. Yes really: Above, that is packaging tape on the back of a luxury vehicle that someone spent/financed $102,000 to purchase. This adds a new wrinkle to retailing concerns seen elsewhere at this company.

Never before have I come across a design that so delights in details, yet ultimately fails in the fundamentals. These feel like the mistakes a freshman design student will make once, and only once.

The minimalist cyberpunk theme has validity to some, though it brings about equal parts excitement and cringe to yours truly. The Tesla Cybertruck is a luxury good for a unique audience, likely a demographic that mirrors those who sided with Kazimir Malevich and his artistic suprematist followers back in the day.

But this is a product made in volume, not a controversial work of art. All vehicles (especially trucks) are primarily designed to be appealing in function and form. Even a Lamborghini Urus or Porsche Cayenne can be a soccer-mom SUV, but the Cybertruck doesn’t exist in the world of fleet managers, off-roaders, or family-oriented crew cab trucks with normal things like metal roofs and durable exterior finishes.

Instead, it feasts on the social media buzz that is so important to this company’s controversial CEO. Perhaps functionality is overrated, as its worked quite well up to this point. (Just don’t tell that to some Wall Street types.) The Cybertruck is the unobtainum minimalist wedge that was the Lamborghini Countach’s exclusive territory a few decades ago. Except it’s even more polarizing, and not necessarily for the best reasons. Thank you for reading, I hope you have a lovely day.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom: 2024 Tesla Cybertruck appeared first on Hagerty Media.

April 17 marked sixty years since the Ford Mustang’s public debut at the 1964 New York World’s Fair. The original pony car immediately became a pop-culture and automotive phenom, and it remains one of the most impactful cars in history. We’re celebrating with stories of the events surrounding the Mustang’s launch, the history of the early cars, and tales from owners. Click here to follow along with our multi-week 60 Years of Mustang coverage. -Ed.

We know how big of a splash the 1965 Ford Mustang made upon its introduction, from its debut at the New York World’s Fair to 22,000 units sold in its first day on the market. The Mustang created the formula for the pony car genre, offering the classic long hood, short deck proportioning of a grand touring car from Europe for the approachable asking price of $2368.00. The base models weren’t outstanding performers, and that’s why many of us know the options that made this pony a real sweetheart.

There were V-8 engines, four-speed manual transmissions, a special handling package, and preferred equipment groupings like the “GT Equipment Group” that added the right amount of flash to go with that hardware. But the Mustang’s interior has an interesting story to tell, one that you likely haven’t heard yet.

This first “pony” car was accessible to many drivers, and its style was crucial to the vehicle’s success. Credit some of the Mustang’s instant popularity with its ability to provide more rungs on its ladder, appealing to Ford Falcon buyers and well-heeled shoppers alike. Going upscale with unique sheetmetal and structural underpinnings is difficult, but the move is quite easy to accomplish with interior trappings. Take the optional floor console, from the Mustang’s extensive options list.

Nobody needs a console, but Mustang owners with bucket seats had an opportunity to add more storage, an ashtray for rear seat occupants, and a ton of flash in a space normally reserved for a carpeted driveshaft tunnel.

For a reasonable(ish) $51.50, this courtesy-light-equipped console gives the affordable pony car a sense of luxury in the Thunderbird tradition. Just look at how it integrates the offset floor shifter while complementing the dash’s chrome accents. But the coolest feature is the “edgeless” rear courtesy light, and how it interfaces with the carpet on the transmission tunnel. It’s like sitting in an infinity pool that merges concrete ground with a stunning backdrop with water as its visual glue. (Or light, in the case of the Mustang.)

Making the Mustang’s interior look like that of a Thunderbird—a vehicle that was twice the asking price of the Mustang—is an impressive transformation for the equivalent of $506.33 in today’s dollars. But we haven’t covered (as it were) the optional wood veneer for these consoles, as that’s where our story kicks into high gear.

While Ford referred to it as the “Interior Decor Group,” the upgrade presented above is colloquially referred to as the Pony Package. The name comes from the horses embossed on the package’s uniquely crafted two-toned seats. While the console was a standalone option, the simulated wood trim on the Pony Package’s console was designed to blend with the wood-effect bits on the steering wheel and dashboard.

Unique door panel inserts with Thunderbird-style handles and courtesy lights were also part of the deal, as was the Mustang GT’s fancy gauge package. Unique kick- and quarter-panel covers with carpet/vinyl coverings and stainless steel trimmings rounded out the Pony Package’s preferred equipment. This is a fair bit of equipment at any price, for any vehicle.

While the Pony Package was a not insignificant $107 hit to your wallet, that $1051.98 spent today can’t even buy the blackout wheels/trim/spoiler combo in the 2024 Mustang’s Night Pony Package. Is black paint and plastic really worth more than all this wood, chrome, ornate trim, and pressed-on ponies?

Very few interior upgrades for a modern Ford can match the bang for the buck of the Pony Package; A Mustang so equipped is more akin to a Black Label Lincoln Continental. The original Mustang might not be crafted like a Jaguar of the era, but that didn’t stop around 27,000 customers (out of 559,451) from choosing this upscale splash of style back in 1965. Clearly, there was a market for a premium Pony Car, and the Mustang’s future competition was foaming at the mouth for a piece of that action.

The Pony Package’s attainable luxury offerings were also part of Pontiac and Mercury’s plan for their pony cars, as those upscale brands traditionally offered more than a mere Ford. Take the Jaguar-esque Cougar XR-7 for 1967, a vehicle which took the now-defunct Pony Package’s game to the next level with extra functionality (more lights and switches), acres of faux burl trim, and decadent leather seating surfaces.

So, consider the oft-overlooked Pony Package to have an enduring legacy on par with that of the Mustang GT: the package had an impact far beyond its two-year lifespan as a factory interior upgrade. This option package gave the masses a shot at personal luxury before the genre even existed, giving the pony-car class an even broader appeal.

Back in 1965, you could get a mere car for $2368.00, or you could have a Mustang. You could also spend $4500 to $6000 for sleek two-doors like a Thunderbird or a Jaguar XKE, or you could have the nicest Mustang in town and save a ton of cash to go with all that flash. (I’d recommend purchasing some of those wild Eames Chairs and a HiFi system for your living room with that extra scratch.)

The purchase scenarios above are brilliant moves at market segmentation, and the Pony Interior shows how important enlightened interior design can be for an entire class of car.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: The 1965 Mustang’s “Interior” Motives appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The original Ford Mustang is celebrating its 60th birthday this month, but owners of the seventh-generation (2024 model year and newer) pony car are the ones getting the presents. Yesterday Mike Levine, director of Ford’s North American Product Communications team, posted a video of the gift on Instagram. The buildup begins with a glance at a 1967 Mustang’s gauge cluster, and ends with a quick start of the 60th Anniversary Edition to show off the new gauges, gifted to new Mustangs via an over-the-air update.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mike Levine (@mrlevine)

While OTA updates are nothing new in the industry, this iconic overlay is a delightful throwback design element that loses none of the impressive information presented in the S650 Mustang’s user interface. If anything, the chrome ring renders help to differentiate the cluster’s traditional functions from the modern ones we expect in a new vehicle (tire pressure, fluid temps, cruise-control following distance and speed, song selection, etc.).

It’s wonderful to see an OEM embrace its deep roots, using software updates as a new way to delight the customer of an iconic marque. Who knows, maybe this new overlay makes the next throwback Bullitt Mustang a foregone conclusion? That iconic Highland Green paint job likely cannot wait to meet these gauges.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post All Seventh-Gen Mustangs Get Free Throwback Gauges appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Chrysler designer Tom Gale once said in an interview that taller tires were key to the success of the original Chrysler 300. He then inadvertently let the cat out of the bag, going into detail as to how the wildly popular sedan had the presence of a Bentley because “the 300 is deceptively tall, and we disguised that with larger wheel openings and larger tires. But we also raised the beltline so that the roof looked chopped. The cars always looked relatively low even though they were deceptively tall.”

Deceptively tall is right, and the Chrysler 300 is one of many reasons we now have a dying crop of sedans with worse outward visibility and significantly less utility than crossover SUVs. It appears the sins of 2005 are revisited in 2023’s final run of this iconic family sedan, so let’s run the vellum over a 6.4-liter example of the breed.

To some extent, the Chrysler 300 lost its trademark swagger once every car sported a nose just as swollen as this. The generic texture of the grille doesn’t help the inability of the 2023 model to stand out in a crowd, either. This honeycomb is in stark contrast to the massive egg-crate texture of the original, which also benefited from the lack of a similarly textured hole below the grille.

Stand up and behold the 300C from an elevated position and the redesigned fascia of the 2011+ model makes sense. The grille is bold and the headlights are squinty. The front-splitter effect of the bumper draws your eyes up and to the grille, while the reverse mohawk in the hood ensures the space above the grille looks visually lighter.

The retro graphics are a nice throwback to the Chrysler 300 J, but this one is unfortunately tucked away in the upper corner of the grille, unlike yesteryear’s gunsight grille design.

The lack of a bold texture for a Chrysler “letter car” is a bit of a missed opportunity. Much like 1980s American performance cars wearing understated charcoal gray trimmings and Sacco Planks, the 2023 300C might be too understated for its own good.

At least this final example of a bold Chrysler sedan has a grille texture that is never blocked up and eschews artificial texture. The parts that don’t need cooling are blocked off from behind.

And the “seeing eye” of the cruise control sensor is framed by both a thick border of plastic and negative space; designers did not even try to mess with the understated grille texture. Perhaps a design like this would make a great frame for the 300 C logo within a gunsight grille?

The bolder, round fog lights on the flat face of the 2005 Chrysler 300C really helped accentuate the headlights and balance out the radical egg-crate grille. This generic 2010s statement of non-functional performance styling cues on the 2023’s bumper waters down the original vision and leaves a bland aftertaste.

It’s refreshing to see a grille that doesn’t try to incorporate technology like proximity sensors for parking, as their omission keeps the texture from getting murky and complex.

While the 2005 model had design elements (like headlights) conforming to a flat-faced bumper, the redesign has headlights that try to become a more evolved surface. That might sound like a word salad, but bear with me …

Here on the inner contouring of the headlight, the Chrysler 300’s bumper extends from the headlight to the face of the grille. It’s a refinement that’s light years ahead of the 2005 model, which had a crude stair step in the same location and a bumper shelf that slowed down the visual speed of the front end. The elegant surfacing looks great on this monochrome 300C, but the lack of a shelf hurt other 300s that still had chrome trim where the shelf once lived.

The outer contouring of the headlight is met with sympathetic rounded forms in the bumper. The integral side-mount reflector has a hard contour, which becomes the genesis of a strong fender crease.

While the subtle transition from the round headlight projector to its chrome bezel is pretty clever, the pattern doesn’t match that of the ribbed turn-signal lights next to it. Another complementary bezel of black plastic that matches the chrome one is clever, but it’s too subtle: the jeweled lights of the 2005 Chrysler 300C, deeply set into the car’s bumper, were more memorable.

And the panel gap where the fender, headlight, and hood meet is clumsy. This is far less elegant relative to the previous generation Chrysler 300.

But it is hard to argue with the cool factor present in a fender crease that’s almost as aggressive as that iconic grille design.

That fender crease does accentuate the strong power bulge in the hood, more so than same feature in the previous generation, with its softer curves.

The one perk to all this extra surfacing over the original is that the current 300 looks far more sinister. And not just the 300C; even a Pentastar V-6–equipped model looks this good. (The same can’t necessarily be said about V-6 versions back in 2005.)

And like most modern vehicles, the 300C has creases that awkwardly disappear into nothing. I reckon it is because vehicles are too tall, too much like rolling billboards: Extending the lines here and there gets your point across. To some extent, this feature would improve the original, 2005 model, as it looked boring and unfinished from many angles.

From the side you can see the redesigned 300 has a much smaller face than the outgoing model, but with similarly large fender flares. This makes the 300 look more aggressive than it really is, or just the right amount of aggressive, when you consider the 6.4-liter engine powering this 300C.

Perhaps that smaller face also accentuates the 300’s long dash-to-axle, which is clearly a million times cooler than that of any other sedan in its class. (Dodge Charger stablemate excluded.)

Adding to the decadent dash-to-axle is that long, sweeping fender crease. It goes from the headlight to the base of the A-pillar in one fell swoop.

The wheels, while beautiful in their organic simplicity, prove the Chrysler 300 was an entry-level luxury car on its best days and a rental-car special at its worst. These particular forgings have the requisite depth (the hub is sunken relative to the spokes) to be the former, but it isn’t priced like a BMW M3 for ample reason.

The wiper/cowl area is short and harder to spot at a glance, as you’d expect with a cab backward, long dash-to-axle design. The steep rake from the (higher) hood to the (lower) windshield suggests this area was crafted with pedestrian-friendly design in mind.

The rear-wheel-drive (i.e. long dash-to-axle) proportioning really shines in the 300’s pillars, as that impossibly thin A-pillar belongs to anything but a space-efficient crossover utility. The sideview mirror has assertive angles and a bold repeater indicator light but tucks away perfectly in a black plastic triangle within the DLO.

The front door is almost exaggerated in length, but this car has more of a coupe flavor than its counterparts from Asia and Europe.

The B-pillar, while static and upright (like all vehicles in this era of head-curtain airbags), has just enough tumblehome to look less like an SUV or CUV, more like a vintage muscle car.

There’s a strong character line a few inches below the DLO, and it’s absolutely needed because the 300 gets even taller in the back (and needs something to break up all that height).

All things considered, Chrysler did a great job keeping the 300 (looking) as trim and low to the ground with its use of horizontal lines and modest surfacing. While not technically a shoulder line, the crease in the C-pillar that turns into the top of the deck lid is absolutely gorgeous and is a nice homage to the 2005 model.

The rear wheel arch is a bit troubling, however. Its thick shape cuts deep into the contours of the rear door, unlike the smooth forms presented in its brother, the Dodge Charger. Perhaps most of the issue is in my head, as I have a particular Avenger haunting my car designer soul.

The minimal contouring of the roof (save for cutlines for a fancy moonroof on this 300C) accentuates the long, luxury-sedan lines of the Chrysler and is a good way to save money. The exposed rain gutter isn’t as pretty as the extra plastic strips of other sedans in its class, but I generally prefer its minimalism in a low-visibility area. Can’t give the same kudos for the lasagna noodle–like rear window seal, however.

The transition from the aforementioned character line and the shoulder line is harsh and angular, which has implications for the taillight. But it is another throwback to 2005, ensuring the Chrysler 300 has a design DNA like so many other American icons of our past.

The redesigned 300 eliminates the smiling rear-end treatment created by the original’s curved rear deck and rotund rear bumper. This is produced by implementing the bends in the quarter panel and rear bumper as design limitations of the rear light. The downward force pictured here gives a contrasting frown to the bumper. It’s a little fussy, in a Malaise Era Chevy Monte Carlo way, but eliminates the under-surfaced issue of the previous generation.

There’s a certain harmony that comes from a bumper that’s directly influenced by the outer contouring of the light, and a trunk emblem that naturally steps down from model name to trim level to reverse light.

The Aston Martin–like emblem Chrysler chose after its bankruptcy never resonated with me, as there was something special about both the Blue Ribbon and the Pentastar before it. All that recognition was lost forever, so that’s probably why I like it better in a morbid-like black finish on the decklid’s otherwise unadorned center section.

Unadorned is right, because Chrysler did a fine job integrating both a push-button trunk release and a rear camera within the CHMSL at the top of the decklid. To some extent, perhaps the designers didn’t leave themselves much of a choice.

Just like the original, Chrysler opted to put the license plate mount in the rear bumper, leaving an acre of underutilized space in the trunk above. It’s a nice change to the usual “trunk plate” seen on today’s Camry and Accord, but it looks unfinished compared to the heckblende-equipped trunks of the Charger, Sonata, and (Kia) K5. I’d personally like to see C-H-R-Y-S-L-E-R spelled out on the back to fill in some space—and to be proud of this once-famous brand, and the founder behind it.

The lower bumper sports a matte plastic insert with arches around the exhaust, sized appropriately to match the wheel arches on the body side. The integration of the reflector lens into the insert’s outer boundary with the painted bumper is a common trick for modern cars, one that is both clever and beautiful.

The ducktail spoiler is a wonderful touch, adding much-needed visual excitement to the 300’s tall and flat-faced posterior. But it’s all relative, because this butt clearly received hundreds of hours more surfacing time from Chrysler designers than the same area of the 2005 original: The decklid is toned and muscular, and the 2022 bumper tries hard not to have a big-faced smile anymore.

It works, as the 300 now has a cocky smirk instead. Be it a Pentastar or 6.4-liter Hemi, anyone who has driven Chrysler 300 knows it’s pretty darn fast. Pick a fight with one and you know that trunk is absolutely giving you a victorious smirk, because it knows who won the race. While it’s a shame that family sedans are an unprofitable genre deemed unworthy for most automakers, at least the Chrysler 300 made a splash in 2005 and went out with a helluva bang last year.

Thank you for reading; I hope you have a lovely day.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom: 2023 Chrysler 300C appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Hagerty Community member TingeOfGinge writes:

Dear Sajeev,

Your Piston Slap column never fails to entertain and educate. Here’s one for you: In what timeframe do we think the most important, most durable advances in automotive technology — and subsequently, automotive ability — took place, and what were they?

My proposal: 1953–60. We started with a 6v charging system, manual brakes, and flathead motors. But we moved to the 12v system the industry would use for the next 60+ years, power-assisted brakes, and high-compression, overhead valve ubiquity.

Now, as a millennial, I didn’t have the joy of experiencing these technological developments as they happened, but I’m sure some in the Hagerty Community did. And they have plenty of tales to tell about how X technology made their dad/uncle/brother’s “New For [insert model year]” vehicle so much better than the one it replaced.

Sajeev answers:

This is a question with multiple correct answers, and it changes over time. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the PhD-level chemists, physicists, engineers, etc. working on battery technology will one day come up with a formulation that makes our current EV frustrations resemble the machinations of people living in the dark ages. And doing so would improve the performance, price, and reusability of said EV battery at a monumental level. But that’s a future we have yet to (or may never?) see, so let’s discuss what might be the most important historical time periods for advancements in automotive technology.

Your time period (1953–60) is indeed a great one. My favorite time period is the Malaise Era (1973–83, approximately) because of the breadth and depth of improvements to automobiles and the societies that rely on them. We can and should hate this era more than any other, and trust me, I used to be one of the haters.

Here’s a little sugar to help the medicine go down: The Malaise Era ushered safer designs, better fuel economy, cleaner exhaust emissions, and superior luxury/NVH controls. And many of these benefits came from two bits of underlying technology: computers (inside and out of the vehicle) and extensive use of plastics on interior and exterior surfaces.

The photos above show the fruits of our Malaise-y computing efforts: aerodynamic modeling, interior ergonomics, and finite element analysis. I condensed all three computing advancements into a singular vehicle: The late-malaise revolution that was the 1982 Ford Sierra.

This Ford and the luxury-oriented Audi 100 were design and engineering tours de force for the time, lack of emissions controls outside of North America notwithstanding. They’d both get stomped on by a pancake catalyst-equipped, 8.1-liter Cadillac Eldorado in that regard. (The “Eldog” also had Malaise Era plastics, but the less we discuss of that the better.)

Let’s discuss in a little more depth the technology that made the Malaise Era a good (relevant?) time period in automotive history. While plastic panels and pleather interiors could owe a debt of gratitude to a singular creator, reducing Malaise Era computing to one hero is pretty easy: Meet the Cray-1 Supercomputer from 1975. According to computerhistory.org, it was 10 times faster than its competition, had over 60 miles of wiring, and drew 115 kW of power (about 10 households worth of juice). Depending on configuration, these sold for about $7.9 million dollars in 1977 (over $41 million in 2024), with a total of 80 units made.

The ring of benches around the Cray-1 was a nice touch, likely reducing uneasiness and fatigue when the malaise of a polyester-clad engineer’s work begins to rest heavy on their soul. But the folks behind Malaise Era automobiles endured, surviving the dark times, making our lives better in the process.

I’ve had a hard time finding an OEM press release that specifically thanked this electronic game changer for being the genesis of our modern automobile. But press releases of the era do suggest computer aided design was created and shared across multiple departments for faster production with fewer errors. Odds are, their rudimentary modeling came from a Cray supercomputer or three. Which is pretty cray-cray-crazy if you ponder on that notion.

While the Malaise Era may not be the best answer for TingeOfGinge’s question, it is definitely in the top 10. Maybe top 5? What say you, Hagerty Community?

Have a question you’d like answered on Piston Slap? Send your queries to pistonslap@hagerty.com—give us as much detail as possible so we can help! Keep in mind this is a weekly column, so if you need an expedited answer, please tell me in your email.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Piston Slap: Cray-Cray Thoughts On Periods of Great Progress appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Rivian, the embattled electric automaker behind the R1 truck/SUV and the Amazon EDV van, isn’t going down without a fight. And everyone loves an underdog, especially when their design team is tasked with making smaller, more affordable vehicles that promise the same good vibes of their current crop of aspirational designs.

That’s precisely what happened yesterday, as Rivian announced the R2 SUV and the R3 crossover. Thanks to the thoughtful body surfacing and a headlight signature that resembles a dual USB port, both concepts have the DNA of the original R1T flagship pickup.

The R2 rests on a new architecture, with party tricks like fold-down rear and front seating for camping trips. But it looks a bit derivative and dull, in a light beer served at a franchised restaurant kinda way. Enter the R3: Photos make it look far more delicious than its larger stablemate, like a hoppy craft brew served on an outdoor patio with a food truck parked nearby. While based on the R2’s platform, the R3 has a shorter wheelbase and, presumably, a cheaper asking price.

That’s a value proposition with some legs, and most of the online chatter since yesterday’s introduction is about the R3. That’s likely for good reason, as we currently have a dearth of small, affordable EVs that offer town-and-country substance with aspirational style. (Sorry Nissan Leaf and Chevy Bolt owners.)

Pricing has yet to be released, and that’s always a concern with an EV startup. Hopefully Rivian has learned from their mistakes because the R3 is hitting a chord with folks who want a cheaper vehicle with the requisite CUV dimensions and price point. This little rig does something that even the Ford Bronco Sport can’t do on with its portly, Escape-derived bones. Heck, even the clamshell hood cleans up the front view, giving good vibes on par with the affordable Kia Soul.

The R3 sits so perfectly on its haunches from the rear quarter view. The rear door’s dogleg hugs the wheel arch, evocative of the original Jeep Cherokee (XJ). The compact rear cabin makes for difficult ingress/egress, but there’s a purity to this design when paired with the upright roof pillars, flat cant rail, and aggressive horizontal bodyside creases. In a perfect world, this purity is paired with Chevy Bolt-like affordability.

But most enthusiasts can’t stop talking about the R3 trim with rally-car flair, the R3X. Analogies to the dynastic rule of the Lada Niva is prevalent across social media, and for good reason: both look like workaday passenger cars from a forgotten analog era, right down to the ride heights, upright B/C pillars, strong horizontal lines, and that flattering clamshell hood.

There’s something about the R3X that tugs at your heartstrings, just like a Lada does. (Or like a Subaru Crosstrek in a sea of Camry LEs, if vintage iron isn’t your jam.) Here we have a promise of added practicality via extra ride height, with a footprint suggesting a price point friendly to lending institutions eager to finance the lower rungs of our society. Of course, that’s relative to the $90,000-ish Rivian R1T, which I drove and quite enjoyed.

Slice the baby Riv’s look another way, and I’d suggest there’s a bit of the Group B rally Lancia Delta S4 in its design. The roofline is purposefully boxy, the creases are crispy, there’s a spoiler at the back, and the wheels fill up their arches like a race car. The latter even gives off the same anthracite vibes of the Delta HF Integrale.

The Rivian family of vehicles is starting to look like a full line of modern SUVs and crossovers for modern lifestyles. Yesterday’s unveling of the R2, R3, and R3X have put the rest of the world on notice, and Rivian is clearly serious about reducing the fixed and variable costs that are an albatross around their neck.

The questions we have left are the same for all concepts: how much and when? Rivian says R2 pricing “is expected to start around $45,000, and R3 will be priced below R2.” Deliveries for the R2 are slated for 2026, but Rivian vaguely states that R3 and R3X deliveries will start sometime after that. Fantastic.

Those hoping for an R3/R3X aren’t getting the plausible price and timeline that buyers of the Escape-based Ford Maverick received back in 2021. And that affordable trucklet still suffered from tech-company-worthy production delays and price increases despite coming from a legacy automaker. That says nothing of the concern I have around Rivian’s negative contribution margin impacting its ability to deliver future product.

And if such financial and logistical headwinds feel like bizarre choices to include in a design column like Vellum Venom, just remember the author dropped out of car design school and got himself two business degrees. While I’d love to gush over the product, perhaps it’s wiser to have cautious optimism. As Neil Young said,

“It’s gonna take a ‘Lada’ love to change the way things are.”

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: A Whole Lada Love For The Li’l Rivian appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Perhaps the best silhouette isn’t a minivan from Oldsmobile in the 1990s, but it clearly gets the ball rolling for Hagerty’s According to You series. Admiring the beauty of the profile view has been a thing for portraits of human beings for thousands of years, so it’s no surprise we apply that aesthetic preference to objects around us, like the automobile. This angle has endless appeal, and I’ll assume I am not the only person in the Hagerty Community who stops in their tracks when the long lines of a well-designed automobile crosses my path.

Car designers spend an inordinate amount of time ironing out the side view to ensure the front and rear ends will look proper for the entire vehicle. So let’s make a big deal about it and see which vehicle has the best silhouette in the eyes of our readers. To start things off, here’s my choice.

As a late Gen-Xer, I saw these Thunderbirds everywhere during my childhood. While their front end wore sealed-beam headlights that didn’t necessarily work with the aerodynamic body, that silhouette was to die for. It was a little bit cab backward, possessed a great mix of soft curves and hard muscles, and included window trim that harmonized beautifully with the overall shape.

But I really started noticing these 1983–86 Thunderbirds after the 1987 redesign eliminated the aggressive drop in the trunk lid, the integrated ducktail, and the muscular contours in its thick C-pillar. The first three years of the “Aero Bird” looked like nothing before or since, and the car and its lovely profile passed far too quickly.

The way this C-pillar reflected the light at dawn or dusk was impossible to overlook, and though the overall shape wasn’t nearly as aerodynamic as the designs that replaced the 1983 Thunderbird, this truly was an automotive silhouette for the ages.

Which leads us back to our initial question: Which vehicle do you think has the best silhouette?

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Which Vehicle Has the Best Silhouette? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Domagoj Dukec is not your average car designer. As head of BMW design for nearly five years, he is responsible for some of the most radical BMWs to ever make production. (Radical might be putting a positive spin on some … downright challenging designs.) But even yours truly grudgingly admits the design of the current BMW M3 is well-executed.

Too bad “our” opinions as traditional car enthusiasts and/or BMW loyalists don’t matter to Dukec. In an interview back in 2022, he suggested that someone in his role can’t make everyone happy “because BMW was never about pleasing everyone.” As he sees it, his role “as head of design is to always create something which makes a difference.” Perhaps he has accomplished that?

Automakers always give customers new reasons to trade in their old ride for a new, and there are only so many times you can retread that same tire. That truth is magnified by Dukec’s assertion that the BMW iX is not a “beauty from first sight, but sales are 40 percent over what we estimated.”

Faint praise indeed. Sales and good design do not go hand-in-hand: The Fisker Karma was a beautiful dud, and the Tesla Cybertruck won’t be leaving any time soon. We may never know if sweetheart lease deals at BMW dealers, government EV incentives, or any factor outside the control of a design studio played a part in the sales success of the awkward iX; but I come not to bury Dukec’s designs. Instead let’s consider praise for a brand that flourished, on occasion, with boundary-breaking design. Perhaps we can see if the future can be brighter, as told by Dukec’s Instagram channel.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Domagoj Dukec (@domagoj.dukec)

Firstly, a round of applause for an upper-level design manager who isn’t afraid to post such interesting content on a regular basis on social media.

Dukec’s mastery of the medium apparently extends beyond the vellum and 3D designs of a studio, as he can place vehicles like the 1972 BMW turbo, a car with a vision that logically and clearly turned into the 1978 BMW M1, into proper perspective. While later concept cars may not be as directly responsible for icons that made production, it’s clear that BMW likes to use concept cars to bounce ideas off people. And those concepts do play fortuneteller, on occasion.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Domagoj Dukec (@domagoj.dukec)

Then we have the AVT concept from 1981, which flirted with the idea of having brand DNA plastered onto an aerodynamic future of sleek lines and plastic faces.  Too bad this was just a design study made of clay, and its DNA didn’t have a direct impact on future products: BMW didn’t love the concept of aerodynamics nearly as much as Audi, as demonstrated by its 5000 (1982), or even as much as downmarket Ford—see the Sierra (1982). But, again, this isn’t under the control of a design team: Multiple departments within a corporation, concerns along a supply chain, restrictions at the retailing level, and governmental regulations all take their toll on a designer’s initial vision of a vehicle.

I bet there are multiple reasons why even the much beloved BMW E30 took so long (1989) to receive the sleek, aerodynamic plastic bumpers its German, American, and Japanese competitors had received years before. Sleekness to the extreme is great, but maybe the AVT concept isn’t the best example of a BMW that shows us our future.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Domagoj Dukec (@domagoj.dukec)

Now we’re cookin’ with gas! The 1989 E1 Spider is a design study that clearly foretold a future with long-nosed BMW 8 Series (E31) and the rounded yet taut surface tension found on the hood of an E39 BMW 5 Series. Sure, it lacks things like a roof and wheels, but the silhouette is clean, elegant, and minimalist in its expressive contouring. It’s not unlike BMW products since the first E36 3 Series of 1990 to the last E46 3 Series in 2005: That’s a good tie-in for any concept car … even if it looks like a speed boat, not a car.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Domagoj Dukec (@domagoj.dukec)

These early renderings of the 1996 BMW Z3 show a decadent sports car with the classic long hood/short deck proportioning of a vehicle from the era of British sports cars, Italian touring cars, and American land yachts. It’s pretty amazing to see the production Z3 look so true to the concept, as BMW clearly spent a lot of cash to re-work the E36 platform into something worthy of a classic sports car. While it didn’t have to put in all that effort for such a long hood (BMW’s historical proportioning rarely chooses style over snub-nosed functionality), thank goodness it did just that.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Domagoj Dukec (@domagoj.dukec)

Even the Chris Bangle days of BMW design, an era generally reviled by purists, had concepts that were clear winners. The Z9 Gran Turismo influenced the 2003 BMW 6 Series (E63) right down to the elongated grilles and a Kammback rear that turned into one of the prettiest implementations of Chris Bangle’s infamous Bangle Butt.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Domagoj Dukec (@domagoj.dukec)

Now here’s one we haven’t seen before: The I16 a concept that was apparently ready for production, and Dukec suggests it was intended to be the successor to the hybrid BMW i8 supercar. It reportedly used the i8’s underpinnings to speed up production, and Dukec suggests “you will find a few cues” of the i8. He’s right, as I spy the i8’s long hood and scooped C-pillar right off the bat.

BMW wisely left the I16 as a concept, as a restyled i8 isn’t what the market needs at this point. It needs something radical under the skin, on par with the Tesla Plaid or the 1111-horsepower Lucid Air. If the I16 had reached the world as yet another hybrid, it would have become a showroom paperweight just like its predecessor.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Domagoj Dukec (@domagoj.dukec)

Now we get our fortune told by someone who knows our future better than we do. The BMW Neue Klasse (New Class) Concept may be little more than a dream car at this point, but even the name harkens back to an inflection point in the company’s history.

The tapered, fade-away front fascia and ample greenhouse are pure Neue Klasse BMW from 1962. The door glass’ lowered DLO would look wonderful in a production BMW sedan. There’s a tall rear deck as per modern cargo and aerodynamic needs, but all the hallmarks of a modern BMW (aggressive kidney grilles, radical lights, aggressive body side surfaces) are so darn logical it would be an absolute tragedy if this weren’t a lightly disguised production car.

Don’t take my word for it: Have a look at more photos of the Neue Klasse sedan and arrive at your own conclusion. The “New” Neue Klasse concept might be Dukec’s best work yet. It illustrates his need to break from BMW’s staid styling norms—but in a way that more enthusiasts can appreciate. Add in the fact that this concept is intended to have an EV powertrain, and Dukec is clearly giving new generations of motorists ample reason to fall in love with the BMW spinning commutator propeller brand.  So maybe Dukec was wrong when he said:

I can’t, and I don’t want to please everyone, because BMW was never about pleasing everyone. Actually, my duty as head of design is to always create something which makes a difference.

You will absolutely please everyone if this Neue Klasse makes production at the price of a Tesla Model 3, but with BMW build quality and its rock-solid dealership network. The market is constantly evolving, and a conservative German brand can’t stick to its enthusiast ethos forever. But you need not veer too far in the other direction to appeal to radicals and loyalists alike. And that’s quite a wonderful thing to behold.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: BMW Concepts That Peer(ed) into the Future appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Our last foray into the 1985 Lincoln Mark VII Comtech was over two years ago, but one comment from a reader suggested he knew why this car—arguably the very first one to ever have a touchscreen—never hit the showroom floor. His point got me seeking more truths about this car, both from the commentator and from the Ford Heritage Vault, a wealth of information that came online after our previous Comtech article was published.

Before we get to the truth behind the demise of the Mark VII Comtech, let’s see how its hallmark technology evolved into a final product that almost came to production in another Ford vehicle, thanks to rarely seen photos and press releases provided by the Ford Heritage Vault. In the process, we might learn how engineering from the tail end of the Malaise Era established changes in automobiles, advances that we seemingly take for granted these days.

1983 Continental Concept 100

The engineering innovations of the Comtech likely started with the 1983 Continental Concept 100. From the first and second photos, it’s clear that the Continental Concept was also a “teaser” for a new production car, the 1984 Continental Mark VII. The 1980s were certainly a unique time in history, as a luxury concept coupe came with radical technology not likely to be found in a production vehicle. (Ah, to go back to those days when concept cars were rolling dreams, not veiled threats of a modern reality we already know and begrudgingly tolerate.)

But the debut of any 1980s concept car ended with a cliffhanger: How much of its unique technology could make production? With Continental Concept 100, there’s a custom dashboard loosely based on that of the production Mark VII, and a host of bits robbed from a future Ford parts bin. We mentioned some of those cutting-edge bits previously, and now we see that the Lear-Siegler sport seats from the 1983 Thunderbird Turbo Coupe also made the cut. But the new photos unearthed from Ford show the technological goodies with clarity: voice control, NAVSAT navigation, and a diverse selection of media formats for in-car entertainment. Starting from the top, there are all seven frequencies of weather band radio, a TV tuner, a micro-cassette player (presumably not with the cheap tapes used for dictation), and a custom face for both Ford’s AM/FM digital stereo guts, and its corporate seven-band graphic equalizer.

This once-cutting edge technology was nestled in a frame wrapped in leather, par for the course in a concept car looking for maximum impact at an auto show. The ’83 Continental Concept 100 clearly made a positive impression, as more production-worthy implementations were pressed into existence at the same time.

1982 Thunderbird/Cougar Proposal?

Pictured above is the interior of a 1980–82 Ford Thunderbird, the technological flagship in Ford’s fleet before the 1984 Continental Mark VII. The downsized square bird was clearly looking at its Blue Ovaled creator to get into the navigation game, possibly noting how Japan Inc. was helping the likes of Honda, Nissan, and Toyota to innovate via in-car navigation systems. The navigation interface is very similar to the navigation system in the Continental Concept 100.

The T-Bird’s had potential, because the complicated blend of audio/video/HVAC integration appears to be simplified for production. HVAC is removed from this particular equation, as the automatic HVAC is still controlled by the Ford’s well-known, fully analog, sliding-lever control panel. But it was only two years until the 1984 Continental Mark VII sported a fully digitized climate control system, which was fully integrated into a touchscreen in the 1985 Mark VII Comtech. Nowadays touch screens are what we come to loathe expect in modern times, but it’s clear this march of progress began in the Malaise Era: This time period never ceases to disappoint, and the changes proposed for the 1980–82 Thunderbird and Cougar are proof.

In a press release dated April 1981, Ford CEO Philip Caldwell noted the increased amount of electric content in luxury vehicles, starting with about 50 semiconductors in 1970 (most were inside the radio) to “the equivalent of 250,000 transistors in the 1981 Continental Mark VI, contained in 17 different electronic modules using about 850 semiconductor devices.” And that Mark VI really had nothing on the Mark VII Comtech.

Too bad this ill-fated Thunderbird/Cougar navigation dashboard was lost to history, as its production could have spurred the greenlighting of the Mark VII Comtech. This complicated ‘Bird could have happily lived with the optional computerized gauges, trip computer, digital audio system, and keyless entry button pad that did make production and were heavily promoted in print advertisements.

New information about the Mark VII Comtech

Here we see the interior in action, thanks to this vintage B-roll from the fine folks at the Ford Heritage Vault. There’s the yoke behind the factory Lincoln steering wheel, letting the driver control many features without taking their hands off the wheel. I especially like the volume controls, which appear a good decade before they made production elsewhere. While the touchscreen interface is the “killer app” for this car, the user in this video never pushes a virtual button to adjust temperature or fan speed.

That’s a shame, but the Mark VII Comtech also lacked the navigation system teased in the aforementioned Thunderbird dashboard and the Continental Concept 100. Time has shown that the technology behind the screen needed at least another decade of improvement, even if this video proves the Comtech’s radical user interface was refined and seemingly ready for production.

Meet Richard Schierloh

This is where Richard Schierloh, the aforementioned commentator from our last Comtech article, comes into play. His 40-year career in automotive industrial design ensured his work on the Mark VII Comtech’s interior was polished and ready for the assembly line. Richard has a BFA from the University of Dayton and an MFA from Wayne State University, and he proudly asserts he has no formal training in automotive design. (Something that’s seemingly mandatory these days, thanks to academic institutions that are now firmly set in place.)

Richard, now 91 years old, tells Hagerty that he “had a wonderful career; I lived my dream. I worked on almost every type of vehicle that Ford produced but I had more years with Lincoln than with any other car line.  I was lucky because I got to design the sort of cars that end up in museums.”

His tenure at Ford started in June 1955, and his favorite design is the 1969–71 Continental Mark III, where he worked under the direct supervision of Lee Iacocca. While he was promoted to a managerial role at Ford, Richard states that he “much preferred the hands-on experience” of being a designer. And that is something he clearly did with the 1985 Mark VII Comtech. In his own words:

I was assigned to the Industrial Design Studio during the time that I worked on the Mark VII Comtech. I was not in the Lincoln Studio, and so I was the only stylist involved and I worked directly with Lincoln management. There were two areas of the Mark VII interior which would be exclusive to the Comtech, the steering wheel controls and the computer interface. I designed the control pod which was mounted behind the steering wheel.

The computer interface is the big story. Nothing like this had ever been done, so we had to invent every aspect. An example of this was the type font. The cathode ray tube did not have enough pixels to use a conventional type face, so I created a new font with simple shapes which could be used. I worked closely with a vender who supplied graphics for Ford.

In the early 1980s, computers were still mysterious things to most people and we had to be able to explain to management just what this system could do. I did not have access to an actual Comtech system, so my solution was to have the typesetter vender copy my screen designs on black film. These films were displayed in the Industrial Design showroom. The films were back-lit and the room was dark. Management could view the various pages of a situation.

The Mark VII Comtech did not have a true touchscreen, which is so common today. Instead there was a frame around the screen with infra-red beams shooting across. If you put your finger on the screen in an area where two beams intersected, this sent a command to the computer. For this reason, I had to design all screens so that a command was located exactly at the intersection of beams. Working with the engineers, we devised the series of screens which we thought would be useful. It was therefore important that we had a logical sequence to every series.

A favorite screen of mine was one that said, “GET OUT OF THE CAR AND RUN LIKE HELL.” I could not sell the team on that one.”

Lawyers killed the Mark VII Comtech

After many months of serious effort, the program was canceled because the Ford legal staff feared the liabilities if someone had an accident while driving and touching the screen. (Today the driver assumes full responsibility. — SM)

However, there was some good news. Money had been allocated for a test drive, and in a corporation like Ford you always spend money when it is available. A test drive was arranged, all the people involved would take four cars (three T-birds and a Continental) out West. We went to Las Vegas. Why not? Ford was picking up the tab.

One morning we went to Death Valley, and all four cars were left to idle with the heater at the maximum and all lights turned on. Windows were left up, too. The cars sat there in 120-degree heat for about six hours. At the end we put down the windows, turned on the AC, and checked the computers. Everything functioned perfectly: Comtech passed the heat test!

After we left Vegas, we drove to Mason, Ohio, the home of Voice of America. They had one of the biggest radio transmitters in the world. We parked the cars right under the antenna and functioned the computers. Everything worked perfect. Then we returned to Dearborn, and that was the end of my Mark VII Comtech experience.

But there is an interesting epilogue. Several days later, as I filled the tank of my Continental, I noticed that the tail-lamp lenses had melted. And here’s the Hagerty connection: Recently I was telling the tail-lamp story to someone and decided to google “Comtech.” I saw your article, and I felt that I should reach out!

I had a great time interviewing Richard, and he gave this Lincoln Mark VII enthusiast some great historical perspective on the car itself:

I can understand your fascination with the Mark VII. I have always felt that it was one of the greatest of the Mark series. At that time Ford styling was moving into the “aero” look, and the traditional Mark Series format was not aero. I felt that that the Mark VII was a successful compromise but I fear the public did not take to it. A lot of the reason was that tastes were changing and the definition of luxury car took on new meaning. The era of the big car would soon be over.

Richard is right: The Mark VII’s personal luxury genre was a slowly dying format that is unlikely to return. At least not until regulations that favor light trucks disappear, among other things. But there was a time when personal luxury flagships were a bellwether of product innovations. Or at least could be, as this quote from Nick Zeniuk in a Ford press release suggests:

Market research tells us luxury-car buyers are especially interested in electronic features, and the Mark VII Comtech goes a big step beyond anything we’ve ever offered. If the test program goes as we expect it to, some of Comtech’s experimental features could be incorporated into production cars in the near future.

 

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Navigating more unearthed secrets of the Lincoln Mark VII Comtech appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The new Toyota Crown is two-tone, and that refers to more than just its paint scheme. In one sense it’s an honorable advancement for a famous nameplate, but it could be construed as an insult to decades of heritage. Japanese-market car nuts love the Crown limousine’s legacy, but it should be no secret at this point that carmakers care more about money than enthusiasts’ attachment to history. Fewer and fewer people buy true sedans and coupes anymore, so perhaps Toyota can’t be blamed for making this revived Crown a kind of tall-ish crossover utility.

It’s to the point that two-box car designs resembling CUVs are becoming the norm. The Crown attempts to either inspire or feed the market’s appetite for elegance rather than outright family hauling. In that respect, it’s a modern relative of the 1937 Chevrolet Sport Coupe.

Back in the 1930s, the coupe’s sporty style was underpinned by an upright ladder frame, tall running boards, and bolt-on fenders of a conventional sedan, albeit with a faster C-pillar to create three boxes instead of two. I once hated to admit that a BMW X6 was a Coupe SUV, but that vehicle’s success (combined with the existence of many subsequent imitators) establishes that the genre is legit. So why don’t we run it across the vellum to learn more?

Aside from the rain (sorry about that!) you’ll first notice Toyota’s Hammerhead front-end design language on the Crown’s dual-toned schnoz. The header panel above the headlights is designed to have the thrusting appendages of the hammerhead shark from which the name is derived.

This Brown Crown (the nickname I gave this particular press loaner that we reviewed here) is the top-line Platinum model. That trim wears a two-tone scheme that accentuates the Hammerhead with a striking blow to your senses via bronze sides with a strong blackout center spine.

Readers of the Vellum Venom series may remember my take on the 2020 Ferrari SF90 Stradale and how its yet-to-be-named hammerhead front schnoz makes the car’s increased frontal area still look sleek and cool. The SF90’s nose, like that of every other new car sold in Europe, has to be pedestrian-friendly, and the hammerhead style definitely accomplishes the extra height with a dash of aggression worthy of a Ferrari.

The hammerhead nose on the Crown dovetails with Toyota’s new corporate branding. I’d argue works better on the new Prius, but the design has merit here. The Crown’s headlights are much lower relative to the top of the hood. Nothing can save a modern front bumper from “gaping maw” grille styling, but the extra black elements on the Brown Crown help the eyes focus on the bronze paint wrapping inwards.

Note how the rainwater cascades down the hood: That’s where the hood drops significantly to let the Hammerhead DNA come into play.

While this Brown Crown’s extensive use of black accentuates the contrasts, the LED headlight array is surprisingly understated—lost in a sea of shadows.

There’s a functional grille between the headlights, and its linear texture is replicated by the form of the Crown’s center light bar non-functional clear lens.

The LED array should not ordinarily turn the corner for the purpose of side illumination, but if you’re gonna do it, I always advocate not to use a pointless black filler panel for the gap. (At least side-impact collisions might be cheaper to repair this way.)

Speaking of non-functional design, the Crown has a huge fake grille, complete with a triangular graphic worthy of a mid-century bathroom backsplash. As much as I love to trash these open-mouth grilles, the bottom texture is genuinely cool; there’s a dynamic element to the triangles, suggesting they might all open up and fly away like geometric butterflies.

Someone needs to invent a triangular sensor lens to complete the look for this grille.

There is a second grille beneath the triangles, but it’s solid at the corners.

Move up the eye as we turn the front corner and one notices a muscular tone to the Crown’s fender. It’s tapered and elegantly surfaced, accentuated by a long-ish front overhang.

The same strong, muscular vibes continue as you extend past the front axle.

Yes, it’s a strange-looking face, and much like the 2022 BMW M3’s rear bumper, the Crown’s front grille area is doing a duck face; there’s a large black element thrusting forward while sucking inward from the brown fenders. This level of topographical layering is far easier to see from the front-three-quarter view.

The side view doesn’t adequately show how the front bumper’s extensive layering. But it does show how the Hammerhead nose rests atop the headlights (and headlight filler panel), giving the Crown the appearance of furrowed eyebrows above the headlight’s eyes.

Like so many modern cars, the fender has a flat spot leading up to the wheel arch. And there’s the requisite reflector lens in the flat spot. The round proximity sensor is a mandatory piece of kit at the Crown’s mid-$50,000s premium price point, and the extra layer of textured black plastic is needed to make this tall vehicle look like a coupe-ish SUV. The painted surfaces thus look smaller, helping your eye focus on the sleekness and less on the body’s inherent tallness.

There’s something about the rendering of these black spokes with machined high spots that reminds me of the legs on Marcel Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase No 2. Perhaps the wheels, when at speed, look a little like that modern masterpiece, too?

These mud flaps are admittedly a little tacky by luxury SUV standards. They also reveal another downside to these tall vehicles with huge wheel arches, even with twenty-one-inch wheels: the eye will naturally wander to all the open space and wonder why such a puny flap was so poorly integrated into the fender. It’s probably an aerodynamics-friendly way to keep the fender free from dirt kicking up from the tire, but the visual consequence is an uncomfortable middle-ground between functionality and aerodynamic understatement.

We offer no such over-analysis for the Crown’s cowl—it’s just a small area of black plastic harkening back to an era when everything had cab-backward design.

Coupe-ish SUVs tend to excel in dramatic roof pillar design, as this is where you can make a tall vehicle look sleek and sporty, and here the meeting point of A-pillar/door/fender is darn near perfect.

I question the use of black paint for the side view mirrors, but it certainly shows commitment to the two-tone theme of this Platinum model.

There’s some fine chiseling going on between the mirror body and the recessed turn signal light.

The door’s front cut line jets backward elegantly with the A-pillar, while there’s an interesting carve-out for the negative area where the door meets the rocker panel.

Sure enough, the bronze-painted doors suck inward to provide surface tension on the Crown’s tall bodyside. The black rub strip replicates the door’s surface tension and breaks up the wall of a single-toned panel.

There’s an up-kick to the rear door that, when combined with the huge wheel arches, looks like a smirk on a human face. I first saw this “smirk” on my parents’ 1975 Mercury Montego sedan, as I’d always be sitting in the back seat as a child.

The smirk might be more visible from this angle, as there’s a hard bend right below the door handles that shows just how aggressively the rear door kicks upward.

Too bad the smirk wasn’t tall enough to eliminate the need for the huge plastic triangle, which ensures the rear window will roll down without interference from the wheel arch.

Window tinting should be mandatory with a two-tone Crown, as the clear windows take away from the aggressive blackout treatment that Toyota’s trimmers surely envisioned.

Back to the notion of surface tension: Note how both the gentle and hard bends in the doors make the body side look muscular and taut.

Toyota continues the surface tensioning in the quarter panel, with less effectiveness. It’s a shame these quarters couldn’t be “sucked in” as aggressively as the doors, but safety, cargo space, and platform sharing of hard points clearly ruled the day.

The space where the rocker panel meets the rear wheel arch is shockingly angular compared to most other vantage points of this Brown Crown.

In case you forgot how tall this Coupe SUV is, here’s a view of the rear wheel arch’s plastic filler panel to visually halve its height.

This Crown still has a coupe-like C-pillar feel in its D-pillar. And it works, provided you don’t marinate on the logical but questionable transitions from black, brown, glass, rubber, and chrome.

There’s simply too much going on to truly enjoy a fastback … sigh … coupe.

The brown cant rails do work well with the black roof. If only all elements of the two-tone paint job worked this well.

Much like the D-pillar’s entanglement of lines and shapes, the decklid has a non-functional stamping to help explain what’s going on beside it. We’ve seen a similar issue with the Porsche Taycan; big things trying to look like coupes always need to cheat a bit.

I’ll not that the two tone black/brown paint makes that stamping look rather pointless. Everything lives under that shadow of darkness.

Like many modern crossovers, the shelf-free Crown does a fantastic job hiding the fact it has rear bumpers out back there, somewhere.

While the front end’s two-tone treatment looks like an angry bat coming out of a brown cocoon, the rear has no theme to mimic the front. Some more aggressive surfacing/negative area in the quarter panels would help make the black trim “pop” away from the brown body. But again, you can’t tweak the rear of a shared SUV platform too aggressively without incurring a lot more cost. And I bet Toyota already broke the bank (as it were) when making a new roof for the Crown.

Any further, deeper, surfacing efforts where brown meets black might also muck up aerodynamics, as these two foils near the tail light housing suggest. Those foils might have to stick out 1+ inch further if the rear end’s blackout treatment was as aggressively surfaced as the front.

But there’s a serious need for more surfacing to separate the two colors. While the lower part works well thanks to a strong carveout for those little red lenses, the top makes very little sense thanks to an all-black decklid and a mismatched quarter panel. Something that’s gloss black needs to be sunken in a good inch in some places for this to make sense.

Toyota did throw us surfacing freaks a bone, as there’s a gentle bump at the decklid’s, uh, crown. It’s just a bit too subtle to make an impact like similar contours in the front end.

It’s kind of a shame that the skinny red heckblende has to be thicker at the corners to integrate a brake/turn light. But the lack of uniformity is offset by intriguing textures and depth just below.

The ribbed and ramp-like panel below fills in the gaps between a thin heckblende and a thicker brake/turn assembly. The other gap filler is a brake/turn signal extension in the hatch door (second photo) which is purely cosmetic. Both items visually force your eye upward, where you notice the heckblende’s contouring as it reaches the central Toyota emblem. It’s like starburst, with the Toyota logo being the central sun of the Crown’s rear-end styling treatment.

The only downside is the camera has no other place to live but below that central sun. This wouldn’t happen if there was a high-mount license plate like more conventional SUVs that don’t cosplay as coupes.

The rear bumper’s matte black treatment behind the license plate ensures the gloss black above will indeed “Go Places.”

Recessed reflector lights between black and brown add more depth and texture, ensuring this large posterior remains taut and slimmer looking.

The aforementioned two foils upstream from the tail lights make sense, but the airfoil in the reverse light in the rear bumper seems to lack purpose. Maybe, due to its puny size and low location, the foil is needed to keep water and dirt from collecting, obscuring its light output.

The brown, gloss black, matte black, and red lighting elements are surprisingly well integrated into shapes and lines that define the Crown’s rear end.

However, there are over-contoured, frumpy bits in the rear bumper. The things you gotta do to make a Coupe SUV look sleek and sporty, eh?

Someone did a great job making a flat spot on the curvaceous decklid, ensuring Toyota’s badging isn’t an afterthought like the 2006 Camry’s decklid.

All the slender, long lines on the Crown’s tall posterior do a great job making this Coupe SUV look as sleek as a real coupe. Or not, but the Crown is at least more like a Porsche Taycan, right down to the sleek C-R-O-W-N lettering and the bizarre (yet necessary) stamping behind the rear window.

In the spirit of well-disguised parts sharing, the Crown overlay on Toyota’s ordinary key fob is a nice touch. It shows that Toyota cares enough about the Crown brand to ensure owners are treated differently at many turns, though this premium model is at its core a TNGA-K platform derivative.

I had the distinct pleasure of driving this car on Hocking Hills’ technically impressive and wholly beautiful roads. There was impressive coordination between turbocharger, electric motor, and six-speed automatic. If only the convoluted exterior design was as delightful as this complicated yet dialed-in powertrain.

Not that engineers and designers are competing directly for accolades once a vehicle reaches production, but its clear which team ensured this Brown Crown stole my heart. Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a lovely day.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom: 2024 Toyota Crown Platinum appeared first on Hagerty Media.

These 10 selections are part of a whopping 100 new photographs of Ford concept cars released by the generous folks at the Ford Heritage Vault. This includes 45 new vehicles the Internet has likely never seen before, bringing their total count up to 378 Ford, Lincoln, and Mercury concept vehicles. The Detroit Free Press reports they now have 1,844 concept car images from 1896 all the way up to 2021: judging by the sheer volume of photography, brochures, and press releases in the Heritage Vault’s arsenal, this number is certainly not overselling what their website has to offer.

So I went through their website yesterday to see what they’ve unearthed, and automotive concepts enlightened me at every click. They are a delight for all generations to appreciate. But the last time we covered the Heritage Vault, we inadvertently participated in the crashing of their website. Guess what happened this time?

It was more of the same, but having wagon imagery with a website failure is far cooler than yesteryear’s Twitter Fail Whale. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person behind the website crashing, and everything will be back to normal by the time you read this. Everyone at Hagerty Media sincerely thanks the Ford Heritage Vault for finding these treasures right before Christmas, especially since some of these gifts are completely overlooked these days!

Unlike the 007-themed Ford Thunderbird from 2003 that made production, this 1965 Mustang was intended for the 1964 blockbuster film Goldfinger, where James Bond successfully takes down the villain known for a penchant for gilded items. But the real Goldfinger was a well-regarded mid-century architect, and a Wimbledon White Mustang convertible was actually used in the movie.

This 007 Mustang coulda brought movie fame to Mustangs beyond the cult-classic nature of Bullitt, so it’s too bad this gold delight never saw the silver screen.

1992 Bronco Boss

This isn’t the Bronco Boss from 1969, but the 1992 Bronco Boss offered significant body modifications that could have made the Bronco a better performer with more style. The rear hatch is a bit Pontiac Aztek from some angles, but the lack of a removable top likely stiffened up the platform. While the top doesn’t come off, the Boss’ new roof is retractable and the side glass is removable. The rest of the styling is pure 1990s excess, with a radical “Lone Star” yellow paint scheme and organically shaped chrome wheels. But lose the concept car bits and the Bronco Boss would have been an amazing street truck, as the front end looks ready to sit in a showroom next to the bespoke front end bits found on 4×4 Rangers at the time.

Too bad Ford phased out this body style a few years later. And it’s a shame people were buying the smaller Ford Explorer (in both four- and two-door configurations) at a rate that would make anyone forget the Bronco had a following because the Bronco Boss had merit and potential.

2000 Ford 24.7 Truck

First, there was Google’s original driverless car. Then we had Waymo and a bumper crop of tech companies looking to make autonomous vehicles, some of which are no longer with us. But who forecasted this dystopian future way back in 2000?

Meet the Ford 24.7 concept truck, the most insane out of a trio of 24.7 branded miniature vehicles that focused on technology and put the software on center stage—the other two 24.7s were two- and four-door CUV concepts. Many (most?) of us scoffed back then, but this was during the first tech bubble, and it’s pretty clear that people will still invest in technology that pertains to the automobile. If the 24.7 truck came out today, it’d steal plenty of glory from Tesla’s Cybertruck. It might be a better vehicle for many folks who want a small truck for increasingly densifying cities. Too bad this one can’t make a comeback.

1962 Ford Seattle-ite XXI

Designed for the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair, this concept was a 3/8th scale “Dream Car” that Ford designed to explore ideas like fingertip steering, jalousie windows, variable density glass, and tandem-mounted front wheels. The latter, according to Gene Bordinat (Ford Design VP) can make “a self-contained, easily interchangable power capsule, allowing countless styling treatments for the ‘trailing’ vehicle that would house the passenger compartment.” The Seattle-ite’s seats were part of the concept’s structural frame, and Ford claimed the separate power capsule aided in NVH reduction. It’s a shame Ford didn’t make this one into a 1:1 scale concept car, the design was just a bit too far ahead of its time.

Ford LTD Berline I and II (1969/1971)

It’s clear that Ford designers were looking to make Semon “Bunkie” Knudsen feel welcome at the Ford Motor Company when he took the role of President in 1968. The Pontiac-like “Bunkie Beak” front fascia made production in the 1970 Thunderbird, 1970 Mercury Montego, and Ford’s full-size sedans for 1971. But before the Big Bird got this schnoz, would you believe the Ford Galaxie/LTD got it in 1969? And then again in 1971?

That’s precisely what happened, as the Berline Concept went through two iterations of being a custom-bodied LTD coupe that was a lightly disguised rendition of what hit Ford showrooms in 1971. Time has been kind to most Bunkie-beak Fords, proving the look outlasted the executive’s tenure in Dearborn.

1969 Ford Econoline Kilimanjaro

This concept took the custom van to a new place, being a Safari vehicle decades before GMC used that name for its own minivan.  The leopard skin accent likely made sense at the time, while the integrated storage in the custom rocker panels look very similar to those found in Ford trucks of the era. The bodyside’s four recessed steps (for roof access) would look right at home on a modern SUV.  Well, if modern SUVs actually went off road, and if only some of the features presented in the Econoline Kilimanjaro made production. (Leopard print trimmings aside!)

1981 Ford EXP II

Ford bought Carrozzeria Ghia in the 1970s, and made numerous concept cars for Ford of Europe and even became the top trim level for everything from the Ford Sierra to the Mustang. This Ford EXP II concept uses bits from Ford’s parts bin (wheels from the American Ford EXP, ironically) but wraps it all in aerodynamic style and plastic cladding worthy of a late ’70s concept car, and a sign of things to come for production models. The hatchback roofline is a bit Porsche 924, but it’s clear this concept was still a design study: check out the different-sized quarter windows from left to right. One thing’s for sure, the EXP II’s sleek front end was robbed for the original Ford Tempo, right down to the droopy headlight buckets and pointed turn signal lights.

1957 Ford X2000

The X2000 was the successor to Ford’s X-1000 concept car, having all the jet-age styling wishes, but with a cab-forward design allowing for a more Jetsons family-style approach to the era’s obsession with air and space travel. The X2000 was only built as a scale model and never became a 1:1 concept car, much less a production vehicle. Yet just like the Ford 24.7 concept above, it foretold of a future where technology outshadows traditional automotive design. It could be a modern autonomous driving pod, except with a sense of style that would get more people on board. (Literally!)

1972 Ford Experimental Safety Vehicle

Back in the early 1970s, a host of manufacturers made concept cars that prioritized safety in harmony with the US Department of Transportation’s Experimental Safety Vehicle (ESV) initiative. We covered the Mercedes ESF 22 in a previous article, and it sported energy-absorbing materials in the front end to protect pedestrians much like this Ford ESV from 1972. But unlike Mercedes’ efforts, Ford challenged their design team to integrate safety into the body more elegantly. The soft plastic bumpers wrap around the body, much like the 1980 Thunderbird and every Ford going forward. The integration had the added benefit of streamlining the Ford Galaxie’s lower body and gave us a convincing look into our automotive future roughly a decade later.

Not all with the ESV design is perfect, as the gasoline filler neck was routed to the C-pillar and a solid B-pillar ensured the top-level Ford LTD would never have its pillar-less hardtop design again. The price we pay for safety!

1972 Pinto Sportiva

Aside from the B-pillar’s implementation of a window slit in its tiny footprint, the custom roofline of the 1972 Pinto Sportiva concept looked ready for production. That roofline became standard fare for Ford coupes a few years later, thanks to successful implementations with the 1977 Thunderbird and 1978 Fairmont Futura. The Sportiva was an upmarket move for the cheap and cheerful Pinto and featured a removable targa roof and an integrated roll bar in that tiny rear pillar. The wheels were period correct, the door handles came from larger Ford products, and the custom interior accents look very similar to the ones that made production in future Pinto models. It’s a shame this one didn’t make production either, as it could have been the rear-wheel drive father of the Honda Del Sol from the 1990s.

Again, we have only covered 10 of the 378 concept cars you can find on the Ford Heritage Vault’s website, so do yourself a solid and check out more of them for yourselves!

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post 10 insane concepts from Ford’s Heritage Vault appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Them Dodge Boys sure know how to market themselves. They always lean into the fun aspects of their designs, ensuring there’s no doubt as to what differentiates a Dodge from the boring cars made by Toyota and Ford Tesla. Their designs (and the powertrains underneath) are all about muscular performance, ensuring the bold branding statements cannot oversell what the customer sees in the showroom.

These days Dodge is straddling the line between EV and ICE muscle car performance. And it is doing a good job, complete with a Christmas-themed commercial promoting its rear-wheel-drive offerings. But what do we behold before seeing acceptable alternatives to a Camry?

Oh yeah, that’s gotta be a fresh look at the Charger EV concept. The holiday-themed rendering, wearing a festive shade of red, proves that key elements of the Charger Daytona SRT Concept are coming to production. First up are the headlights and the R-wing front fascia:

Every EV (and some ICE vehicles) has a light bar on the front end these days, so the rendered round headlight with a distinct beam pattern is noteworthy. The lights look much like those of a Plymouth Barracuda, especially the 1970 model. This should be cause for celebration, because the EV concept car we saw last year was a bit too minimalist and undefined for the Dodge brand.

The R-wing above those headlights is most certainly making production, though it isn’t innovative if you consider the “bridge” fascia of the 2019 Ferrari 488 Pista. But the Pista cost over $300,000, and the Charger EV is gonna be deep in the five-figure range. Nice.

Now let’s put the holiday rendering’s greenhouse next to that of a current Challenger and the concept Charger EV. Check out the length and height of the quarter window: The Charger appears to have a more accommodating back seat than the Challenger it (presumably) replaces. While the new Challenger’s doors could be longer, the length of the quarter window suggests there’s still a chance that more real estate is dedicated to rear-seat legroom in the upcoming Charger.

And it’s about damn time someone re-created the Lincoln Mark VIII, as it was the last (best?) coupe designed for adult-sized rear seat occupants and their fully grown legs. While this holiday rendering is still just a teaser, we’ve learned more about the production model due in late 2024. And this holiday season is clearly going worse for another performance EV product.

It’s a shame, but aspirational designs with no backstory or context can be hard to move off the lot. BMW and Lexus are never this forthcoming in their holiday promotions, and I suspect the Charger EV will follow their trajectory in our slowly electrifying world. The car will have a built-in following of folks hungry for muscular styling and the rush of effortless torque.

I suspect the faithful will gladly seek out charging stations for their next hit of Mopar-infused electric torque … especially if those ‘cuda-inspired eyeballs become their guiding light.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: Dodge ad cheers new Challenger, due in ’24 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Be you a rural or an urban dweller in these United States, it’s a safe bet there’s a Chinese restaurant not too far away from where you live. While Chopstick Diplomacy played a part in the success of these dining establishments, the migration of people into the U.S. on merchant visas is the most likely reason for the prevalence of these restaurants. Their rise created a large number of delicious entrees with Chinese influences, and some of us quite love how the cuisine has percolated into American society over the last century.

Be it next to a rural truck stop or a wallet-draining experience at Caesars Palace, Chinese food is here in America to stay. The same could be said about Chinese car design. From bold color palettes to huge in-car entertainment screens and thoughtful exterior contouring, car design from China is making a mark on par with the Hofmeister kink and Sacco planks invented by Germany all those decades ago. Case in point is the 2024 Chevrolet Traverse—specifically, the dorsal fin over its rear wheels. As you will shortly see, this is Chinese takeout at its finest.

But first, a little about the Traverse’s dorsal fin. It has an upward thrusting motion into a glass panel, making the rear end look far less static than that of your average family hauler, with its uninspiring A, B, C, and D pillars. I don’t care for Chevrolet’s application of the fin: It feels like an afterthought, a visual cue added without regard for the frame of the vent window on the rear door. That vent window kills the flow of the glass above the fin. It feels like a part of a cost-conscious, mid-cycle refresh, even though the 2024 Traverse is significantly different than the model of the previous year. (Chevy even messed with the DLO to add DLO FAIL to the A-pillar. How great is that?)

I expect the intended buyer of the 2024 Traverse to love all the changes. But where did the dorsal fin C-pillar design come from originally? I did my best to go back in time, and I learned that the fin originated on a car that came from China in the year 2019. But that car’s fin wasn’t cosmetic like the Traverse’s; this one had purpose. The dorsal fin allowed for a smaller quarter window and, in addition, visually forced your eye to pay no attention to the opening roof above it. Until the roof actually opened.

Meet the HiPhi X and Y, made by Chinese tech company Human Horizons. While the HiPhi Y doesn’t have the dorsal fin, it’s clear that a little upkick in the sheetmetal above the rear wheel—that, or gullwing roof doors—signifies a HiPhi product. Impressive branding for any automaker, much less a young one.

Clearly the folks at Human Horizons had Tesla’s design successes on their minds, taking the insane “falcon wings” from the 2015 Tesla Model X to the next level: instead of a huge rear door, which is painfully complex and somewhat unreliable, the HiPhi X and Y use a conventional door that hinges at the rear. The glass then rolls into the door and lets the roof lift along with the quarter window, like the hatch on a hatchback.

The arrangement is crazy but logical: HiPhi implemented something on the side that’s been scienced out (so to speak) by the likes of Land Rover at the rear. The dorsal fin below the roof’s hatch is just a big, pointy arrow forcing your eyes to notice the show right above it. And what a show that is!

Suggesting that the HiPhi X is a clever piece of design is akin to calling Mr. Chow just another Chinese restaurant. (Unfamiliar with that establishment? Keep reading.) And this automotive flight of fancy actually made production, likely spurring fits of jealousy in design studios owned by more traditional, more risk-averse automotive manufacturers. While the use case is questionable, the HiPhi is aimed at the frivolity of the luxury SUV market, not the white-collar audience of the Chevy Traverse. And for that reason, the HiPhi is a smashing success.

At least in theory, because some customers will be leery, citing the complexity and unreliability of the Tesla falcon doors. Odds are the HiPhi’s door/hatch combination will be significantly more durable, and the dorsal fin below isn’t corny like the Model X’s dance show. The door/hatch accomplishes the same thing (i.e. makes it easy to install baby seats, etc.) but does so with understatement and long-term functionality. But like any other design element since the advent of the chrome grille, once one company does the fin, everyone else will follow.

The HiPhi X’s radical door arrangement lends itself logically to a dorsal fin below a floating C-pillar. Too bad none of the rolling tributes made after its 2019 introduction had the nerve to include an actual door above the fin.

I’d wager this dorsal fin helped convince many a suburban family hauler to buy the new Kia Carnival minivan over a traditional SUV, even without a roof door allowing kids to trampoline their way out of it. The fin will likely serve the Volvo EM90 multi-purpose vehicle in the same manner, especially in Volvo’s home market of Sweden China. China is indeed a safe space for minivan appeal, but it’s also a place where car design can flourish.

That flourishing extends to more than cheap subcompacts and affordable EVs. China’s rise to power in the last 20-ish years has elevated automotive design for everyone, not unlike how Chinese food been showcased as a culinary art thanks in part to a gentleman named Mr. Chow.

I can’t remember exactly how much I spent at Mr. Chow’s establishment in Las Vegas: remembering such details means you didn’t have enough fun in America’s city of sin. But I remember the theatrics, the dynamic artwork, the exquisite food and cocktails, and the company I kept. And that’s precisely what you should feel when experiencing anything designed with purpose, when the owner/company of said organization throws as much money at the design as they darn well please. Aside from cars like the dreamy Lucid, we rarely see this level of purpose in American car design. And that’s a shame.

But money for a flourishing design scene comes at a cost, as cheap labor has downsides, and cheaper cars mean safety isn’t always built into Chinese designs. But the HiPhi X wasn’t intended just for China, and it passed all necessary safety tests for retailing in the European market. It’s only a matter of time before HiPhis infiltrate everyone’s social media feed…

… If they haven’t already. You know, just like General Tso’s chicken on menus from East to West coast.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: Traversing a new form of Chinese takeout appeared first on Hagerty Media.

One American sedan is still rolling off the assembly line, be it in Azerbaijan, in China, or in these United States, surviving and thriving in a global marketplace. With well over 10 million sold worldwide since 1964, the Malibu has been everything from a gussied-up Chevelle to the middle-class family sedan presented here. Which makes it a winner, and not entirely by attrition.

Finding a family sedan is harder than it used to be, especially if you want to buy American. But the current Malibu is a perfectly respectable car, American or otherwise. Even better, a 2019 refresh gave the Malibu a face worthy of competition with imported sedans and every crossover utility on the market. It’s big and bold, but also delicate and effortless. So let’s run this Canadian-spec Malibu, which I rented last month, over the vellum.

I’m not a huge fan of the Gaping Maw School of Design (TM), but it offers a beautiful way to integrate pedestrian safety into a modern automobile. And in the case of the Malibu, a larger opening made decades of Chevrolet split grilles finally make sense. Note how the grille’s lower chrome bands form a muscular ripple in the center, a shape that translates back to the hood’s pointed beak and muscular power bulge.

This is a very refined design with fantastic surfacing, giving the Malibu a front end on par with that of any premium vehicle from a more aspirational brand. And that’s a big deal considering previous implementations.

But don’t take my word for it: Take a look at the slideshow above, and the half-baked, bisected-by-bowtie grilles that preceded our car below. Every Malibu before this 2019 redesign sported a milquetoast grille that was lost in a sea of bold-faced Chrysler 300s.

This expensive-looking grille makes no apologies for its design: Chrome-accented black plastic is the modern-day equivalent of tail fins on American sedans from decades past.

Even the grille’s details are done right: The Chevy bowtie emblem boldly sticks out farther than the center grille bar but is elegantly molded around said bar.

The obligatory blocked-out grille holes, something I usually dislike, are pushed so far into the background that it takes serious effort to spot them. There are simply too many crisp horizontal lines, subtle contours, and chrome trimming to make the block-off plates visible to the passerby. Even better, the block-off plates’ linear relief pattern is nestled so deeply behind the bars of the grille bars that they are rewarding to behold once you get up close.

Even the holes for a front license plate are downright impossible to spot behind all that gently bechromed geometry.
Sajeev Mehta

This is one of the few bad angles for the Malibu’s grille: the headlights and painted bumper are absolutely dwarfed by this angry grille with a furrowed brow.

But it’s okay to be angry when almost all of your brother sedans from the Motor City have fallen by the wayside. The Malibu’s center chrome spear turns into a frame inside the headlight assembly. The transition from indoor to outdoor chrome trim is a bit awkward, but it’s downright breathtaking considering this isn’t a luxury vehicle.

More to the point, I’m thrilled that such attention was paid to a vehicle that stickers for $25,100 in today’s economy ($33,074 CAD as rented).

The grille and headlights combine to make the face of a vehicle that we all should be proud to own over others at the same price point. From the front, the Malibu is more restrained than a Camry, far more exciting than an Accord, and, best of all, it’s a gen-u-wine family sedan and not a crossover utility.

The cooling ducts and front splitter are non-functional, but remember how much real estate needs to be covered on tall, boxy front fascias of modern cars. This execution looks pretty great, with secondary lamps mimicking the “cooling duct” texture, itself a nice homage to the grille’s texture.

The color contrast between white paint up top and black trim below adds functionality, as the bumper is less likely to need a pricey bumper repaint in a minor collision. Hopefully, some sections of that massive grille can be rebuilt individually, like that of the Fusion sedan before it.

Is this the pointed hood of a Chevy Camaro? The DNA of Chevrolet’s pony car is very much on display in the Malibu, and that’s another reason why this body style might be the best of the Malibu series.

The sheer volume of creases on the hood makes no sense from up close, but their proliferation is not unique to the Malibu. The mission of these lines makes more sense when you step back.

The hood lines are actually a transition from a low front fascia (relatively low, anyway, provided a Chevy Corsica doesn’t park nearby for reference) to the tall cowl below the A-pillar. Go way back, like back into your hotel room, and the lines turn into connective tissue: the lines that add logic to the space between the cowl and the aforementioned “muscular ripple” in the center of the grille.

Speaking of connective tissue, there’s a hard line at the grille’s widest point, mirrored by the hard edge that frames the secondary lighting pod and fake cooling duct. It’s a nice compliment, one that doesn’t try too hard to make the visual handshake work.

The Camaro’s front-end design makes an even bigger impression on the Malibu, as the header panel pushes the Malibu’s hood back just like it does on Chevy’s pony car. The turn signal also has the same smart upkick in its tail, albeit with a chrome frame to work with the grille.

But the Malibu’s proportioning makes it clear this is a front-wheel-drive sedan for modest family needs, and not a rear-wheel-drive Camaro.

Much like the grille, the level of surfacing on the 1LT grade Malibu’s 17-inch wheels is impressive. Someone took the time to craft these muscular spokes and spent the money for the brushed aluminum center caps, which add a bit of prestige.

The front end’s aggressive face transitions to a bodyside akin to that of the Chevy Impala (RIP 2021), but the surfacing is far more subtle than that of the former flagship Chevy sedan.

Unlike the Impala, even the hard bends in its side profile are muted by curved transitions. The block of metal between the hood and the A-pillar is regrettable, but this tall cowl needs a filler panel in the fender to make everything line up.

To wit, imagine if the cowl ended where that chrome strip begins. This would be a far, far, sleeker design.

While the Malibu’s door lettering appears to be perched high atop this body, it actually falls closer to the midpoint of the door, which is unfortunate but expected with a cowl this tall. Still, the door stretches impressively forward, while the contouring of the body side is subtle and almost expensive-looking.

That long A-pillar makes for a sleek door, and pricey chrome trim and this nicely chiseled sideview mirror look more upmarket than the Malibu’s base price would suggest. Note the strong shadow where my finger’s pointing, as this assembly is sculpted quite nicely.

Too bad about the excess flashing on the mirror’s mounting panel—affordable family cars exist for good reason.

More to the point, I’m glad Chevrolet spent the money in places that matter. Like this blackout pillar trim, as it helps the chrome-rimmed DLO truly stand out.

Ditto the fact that Chevrolet spent the money for an actual piece of glass behind the rear window, instead of the DLO FAIL we see in the other sedan in GM’s portfolio.

It truly feels like Chevy’s designers had more time, money, and desire to surface the Malibu compared to their counterparts at Cadillac who made the CT5.

The only bit of bodyside surfacing that doesn’t quite work is the character line, which gets a bit too close to the negative area reserved for fingers to curl around the pull-out door handle.

And that character line has an aggressive downward trajectory as it slides back to the rear door. It is not terribly organic because of the door handle’s location—dropping it down an inch or so wouldn’t kill the flow.

And when that character line falls down the door, another one begins, crossing (too closely!) over the rear door handle, and becoming a significant design element in the quarter panel.

Indeed, it becomes a hard crease that does a fantastic job of elongating the quarter panel. Too bad it also has to crease the filler door; very few designs get away with an unbent gas door.

Down by the rocker panel, you can see how a few hard bends remain across the body (the chassis needs to remain flat for passenger space) but a cosmetic character line does bend upward to harmonize with the downward bend just a few feet away.

These body creases really make you forget how tall modern vehicles are, don’t they? Yeah, me neither. 

This body’s presence in rental fleets almost ensures it won’t be considered automotive art; its main role is to be an alternative to a Nissan rival. (Remember the infamous Big Altima Energy movement?) And that’s a shame, as the all-glass DLO, chiseled doors, and long strokes across the body deserve more recognition outside of airport parking lots.

But this one crease in the quarter panel? It feels unnecessary, relative to the flatted-out plane around the wheel arch, and almost fights the mandatory cut line for the rear bumper. I’d eliminate this bit of surface tension and let the cutline do its job, visually speaking.

Aside from the aforementioned crease, this might be the best angle on the Malibu. The bumper moves skyward to meet the tall rear deck, and the tail lights are squinting, like they are thinking long and hard about something. The integrated decklid spoiler kicks up, like an angry forehead enhancing those slitted eyes, while the bumper cutline goes right up to the tail lights like a mean mugging mouth.

But this is far from an overly angry family sedan. There’s a lot of swoopy, harmonious curves here, accomplishing so much without resorting to the tacked-on blobs seen on the Toyota Camry.

The bumper’s upward slope is accentuated by this black panel, which pretends to be a diffuser. Blackout trim panels at the top or bottom of a body are a common trick these days to reduce visual bulk, and they really help accentuate the aggressive upward slope of the bumper.

Large relief patterns and an integrated reflector also help reduce the visual bulk of this tall vehicle.

Sometimes I wish body sides had character lines that were this linear and flowing instead of swooshes and such stamped onto those huge doors.

The bumper’s upper character line aggressively moves upward to meet the taillight, thereby reducing the size of the bumper shelf and providing a clean break for aerodynamic efficiency along the bodyside.

Those squinting tail lights meet a center relief in the trunklid that looks like a menacing grin. The trunk itself has a gentle, sculptural curve from top to bottom, which smooths out the grin and makes it feel more natural than the jagged elements in the C8 Corvette’s license plate area.

That sculptural curve ensures there’s plenty of room to tuck a backup camera in the license-plate relief …

… but the curve isn’t wild enough to mess with the bowtie emblem’s mounting surface.

Ditto the surface behind the Malibu emblem. You can see just how “hard” the lights squint from other angles, just by looking at their drop in height relative to the emblem’s horizontal orientation.

The red lights themselves have a replicated “L” pattern in their internal diffusers, an accent that makes them almost as cool as the fancy LED units found on 2LT Malibu, as the duplication really accentuates the squint.

Get above the vehicle, and the fastback-style roof sports aggressive muscles that effortlessly translate to the deck lid.

It’s just a shame the muscular character line fights for your attention with a downright counterintuitive cutline between the trunk and the quarter panel. Odds are the cutline could be slightly modified to have the aggression of the character line while still working as a functional door with bulky hinges.

The strong linear elements presented in the rear are matched by exposed rain gutters on the roof. I never loved the gutter covers on similar family sedans, as it leaves more money for stockholders desirable items like a big screen with Apple CarPlay/Android Auto.

Because tech sells, and that color-matched antenna is proof. But it’s also resting on an elevated plateau on the roof. I wonder why?

Oh wow, that bump in the roof is for a white strip that turns red for the Malibu’s CHMSL. This kind of surprise and delight I would never have suspected in this car, but it’s precisely why I wanted to write this installment of Vellum Venom.

Here’s the thing: Even the most boring, mundane, and forgettable piece of product design was designed by folks who (at one point) were thrilled to be doing this task. I am sure even designer Yves Behar has some level of pride in the Juicero, as his efforts aren’t necessarily the problem with that doomed product. But comparing a failed San Francisco start-up to work on a General Motors product is a bit disingenuous, even if the results of both ventures are equally forgettable to most onlookers.

At least plenty of folks will enjoy driving this Chevy Malibu, in either a fleet or retail setting. Many won’t admit it, but some just want to understand why they’re intrigued by this vehicle. If so, I hope I helped make that happen.

I firmly believe these lines will age extremely well over time. And with that, thank you again for reading Vellum Venom. Have a good week!

***

place_marketplace_manual]

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom: 2023 Chevrolet Malibu 1LT appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s amazing how many luxury automotive brands made the transition from their iconic cars to the more profitable, high-volume world of sport utility vehicles. Be it sedan to SUV, or sports car to SUV, the formula is well known: Designers pick out the most important bits of their brand’s DNA, then slap it across the tall body sides and upright face of a utility vehicle. The Porsche Cayenne is almost a collectible vehicle at this point, and even Ferrari got it right. No matter how we may feel, an SUV is an inherently desirable vehicle on its luxurious, aspirational proportions alone.

That’s a bitter pill to swallow, but at some point the lines between the machismo of a cab-backward SUV over those of the glorified, passenger car–based CUV (crossover utility vehicle) get blurred. The cab-backward stuff is what really sells to this elite demographic, and that’s why it’s sad that Toyota didn’t get the memo. Both its Crown and Century models went from being the Japanese Cadillacs to CUV-based oddities. Before we discuss the all-new 2024 Century, let’s see what Toyota did with the Crown.

Although the Crown Vellfire luxury van has the gravitas of a Cadillac Escalade, it’s still clearly a narrow people mover like the Mazda MPV we had stateside. The other Crowns are either a fastback CUV or a rebadged Toyota Highlander. Not exactly the greatest start to high-end sport utility, but let’s remember that Toyota Crowns were usually an “of the era” design that fit off-the-shelf bits into whatever the vehicle needed to be to suit the market. That was never a problem, because for decades the Century was positioned above the Crown, having no peer elsewhere in the Toyota lineup.

The SUV blockification (technical term) of the famous Toyota Century should include a rear-wheel-drive architecture, complete with a longer hood to make way for a V-12 engine, or maybe a hybrid V-8 in modern times. Long, clean lines accentuated by more chrome than any other Toyota car on the planet would sweep back from that impressive powertrain, with a tall greenhouse elegantly rising above in the time-honored tradition of luxury SUVs. This is how Toyota succeeds with a luxury SUV, in the same vein as Porsche, Ferrari, Rolls-Royce, Bentley, and even Aston Martin have with their own SUVs.

And they almost made it work. The Century’s massive grille, turbine-style wheels, and understated body surfacing are hallmarks effectively transferred from the famous sedan to the new SUV. The headlights sport an external shape that works well with the current sedan (which is still in production, for now), but the lower chrome cladding made way for a complementary paint color in the transition. Not ideal, and the face looks a bit like a Cat Eye Silverado with LED headlights from eBay Motors. But that’s merely a North American-centric reference. The bigger problem are the overhangs that cling tightly to the massive wheels, in a most CUV-like manner. Uh-oh, is this actually a CUV and not an SUV?

It’s all very Rolls-Royce Cullinan in aspiration, if not in execution. Yes, the taut, understated body surfacing is appropriate for a luxury vehicle. But its size and proportioning do the surfacing an extreme disservice. Imagine these lines on the proportions of a Toyota Sequoia, for example. That said, words take a long time to get the point across, hence why a picture is worth a thousand of them. Or in this case, two pictures.

The proportioning is off. Way off.

This clearly isn’t derived from the third-generation Century car platform (as one does to make a Camry into a Highlander), nor is it the aforementioned Sequoia. The latter was never intended for markets outside of North America, but it woulda made for a Century that possesses Rolls-Royce–killing road presence. And this is precisely why cab-backward designs still exist in our modern society, as they simply look more prestigious.

Proportioning is likely the most important part of car design, and there is correlation to the concrete slab of a house: Do both wrong and everything afterward becomes less of an estate and more like a McMansion. The short dash-to-axle is the Century’s biggest proportional flaw, and instantly puts it in the McMansion category of luxury items. Then there’s the significant dogleg curve in the rear door that looks positively pedestrian, contributing to a passenger cabin more interested in providing CUV-like space over top-dollar style. Compared to the Roller and the Century sedan, that C-pillar looks far too much like any mainstream Toyota product: It should be further inset from the rear wheel and more upright for a more coachbuilt, limo-worthy appearance. That rear door is huge; it can afford a little trim on the back end.

Finally, take a look at how the leading edge of the Roller’s quarter window looks more like that of a train, as it’s intended to give the rear seat passenger an experience not unlike transport via luxury rail. This has been a hallmark of chauffeured motoring, from the likes of Rolls-Royce, Mercedes-Benz, and a certain American brand with an in-house coachbuilder.

Thanks to Fisher Body and Cadillac, we know this experience is easily designed and replicated with yesteryear’s cab-backward luxury coupes, as it made the Cadillac Fleetwood Series 75 a fantastic limo for many decades. Perhaps I am too much of a purist in limo designs, but no matter, I’m wondering if this thing is actually front-wheel drive…

Aw heck, look at that sideways engine. This Century is based on the aforementioned Camry/Highlander platform, right down to the transverse-mounted V-6 and hybrid powertrain. (But don’t take my word for it.) So it isn’t nearly as bespoke as its sedan sister, and it also means this is a CUV, not a proper luxury SUV. And it needed to be a cab-backward SUV, as the market already spoke on this matter.

Sadly, this Century is out of proportion by design. Even worse, Toyota had a perfectly good chassis in the Century/Lexus LS sedan. It’s a safe bet that a cost-benefit analysis was performed, and Toyota chose to class up its current CUV platforms instead of making a proper luxury SUV with traditional cab-backward design.

The stripped unibody presented above shows just how short the dash-to-axle is on this platform, but perhaps there’s a business case for tighter dimensions that ensure easier parking on the cramped streets of many Southeast Asian cities the Century calls home. But that theory falls apart when recalling that the intended owner of this vehicle is being chauffeured, and is not the driver. Instead consider the efficient hybrid powertrain’s ability to fall in line with Toyota’s Beyond Zero initiative. With headwinds like that, it’s no surprise that the Toyota Century became a boring crossover.

But what if we didn’t care about any of this green-washed, bean-counted hooey?

My dear friend David Houston, a talented auto designer I met as a student at the College for Creative Studies, loves to improve OEM designs on his personal Facebook page. He was kind enough to let me use this before/after image, as he was rendering this at the same time I was typing this very article for you wonderful folks.

David’s rendering is a properly proportioned Toyota Crown SUV, not a compromised CUV. It is far more authentic to the DNA Toyota has crafted for decades with the Century sedan, as it’s the same DNA Rolls-Royce retained for its SUV. He added more dash-to-axle real estate, darkened the lower body cladding (so it draws less attention, cough, Pontiac Aztek, cough), but kept everything else on par with the production model. (Note that the revised image was longer, and had to be shrunken down to fit in the same space as the image from Toyota.)

The work David put into the Century is likely what this vehicle needed, as yesteryear’s Century was less ostentatious than a Caddy or a Roller, but clearly a big step up from any other Toyota. Or any other Asian automaker, for that matter. But that was likely never in the cards, so this is nothing more than a sad moment in automotive history. The legacy of cab-backward flagships is likely coming to an end, as making a limousine out of a crossover-utility vehicle was the right move for a corporation with the size and scope of Toyota.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: A Century of mis-proportioning? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The joy of being a consumer in the Greatest Nation in the World is in the fact that we can have our cake and eat it too. Well, provided we don’t dig too deep into the sad reality of our situation, as I recently did when treating myself to a new suit. Personal health goals made the gift to me a reality, but someone who makes a big deal about car design on the Internet should probably look the part, too. Fashion in general is spiritual window dressing, but Fast Fashion is a problem for all. So I did a little online window shopping, seeing what all the fuss is about without contributing to our society’s demise with a foolish purchase.

I checked out the latest Chinese fashion app, the website of that Spanish fashion retailer found at my local mall, and traditional offerings from physical locations of various price points. (Time was of the essence, so no custom stuff for me.) I wound up buying a more expensive suit from an American brand sporting a webpage that’s littered, so to speak, with unabashed greenwashing. For those who don’t know, greenwashing is the practice of misleading the public about a company’s environmental impact, a derivative of the more common practice of whitewashing one’s sins for improved public perception.

Greenwashing is a fantastic feel-good sales tactic, as it lets us continue to design/manufacture/purchase whatever we want with fewer consequences. The fashion industry, fast or otherwise, is a dicey proposition: the American brand I chose gave me a suit with an admirable amount of recycled materials, but they are likely greenwashing with a consortium of questionable utility. It’s a utility not unlike that of buying a 2025 Cadillac Escalade IQ, the latest EV from General Motors.

We can’t have our EV cake and eat it too, as seen by the Escalade IQ’s massive 200-kWh battery pack (similar to that of the Hummer), and its prestigious 750-horsepower punch. Nobody in this country fetishizes the utilitarian, downright noble demeanor of Nissan’s Leaf (even if they probably should). Nissan’s EV is the equivalent of thrift store shopping for fast fashion, while everyone else lusts for a vehicle that meets both their needs and their aspirations.

The somewhat affordable Tesla Model 3 (or any used Tesla at this point) is a mixed bag of intenders, including aspirational BMW 3-series buyers, torque junkie street racer/SCCA autocross types, and virtue signaling environmental enablers like the once-stereotypical Prius owner from 17 years ago. The cake analogy goes to full-on “let them eat cake” as the price tag climbs, because the new Escalade IQ might be the luxurious, high-performance, greenwashed Fleetwood Talisman of our era.

Enough with the cake analogy, you say? Perhaps instead let’s focus on how automakers make the nut these days. Well, at least those outside of China. We almost exclusively design/market/retail EVs on the merits of prestige. Call it a cult, call it a validation of concept forged by the 2012 Tesla Model S, but the parallels between fast fashion and North American EVs end when our collective wallets open. Because while you can wear fast fashion and sit in the back of an Uber Black, you should be full on Burberry to purchase a new one for yourself.

Oh, but we love this vehicle at any age, any price point. The sheer number of zip codes that fell in love with Cadillac’s rebadged GMC Denali luxurious take on the Sport Utility Vehicle was astonishing. Suburbs needed the big Caddy over the minivan. Big cities needed it for flash in areas with poor coverage from Land Rover’s once-frail dealer network. And anyone who needed a truck or custom van for hauling big toys now had a Cadillac for recreational activities. The impact of this vehicle cannot be understated, especially since it stuck out like a sore thumb in Cadillac’s portfolio from the Art and Design era.

No doubt, the runaway success of the Escalade, the Escalade ESV, and even the Escalade EXT was a big middle finger to Cadillac’s corporate planners and designers, as they were crafting a prestigious image intended to steal BMW’s glory. Which rarely worked, and is another reason why we love the Escalade. A stunning rejection of modernity is fun, and the “IQ” derivative will likely make a similar impact in the EV space.

It’ll certainly extend the Escalade as a brand to a new demographic, and could turn into a pop culture icon just as quickly as select Cadillacs before it. The Escalade IQ’s proportioning is distinctly long hooded, looking more like a cab-backward station wagon than any SUV before it. Gone are the “real” Escalade’s upright pillars, though the latest gasoline-powered greenhouse also distances itself from tradition. The A/B/C pillars presented here are almost Land Roverian, while the D-pillar is a clarion call to soccer moms in their Lexus RX crossovers.

The Escalade IQ’s front end has those same large swaths of blacked-out trim and a down-the-road graphic worthy of Cadillac’s other EVs (the Lyriq and Celestiq) for maximum brand recognition. Tesla fascias are surfaced to look cheap minimalist, and Cadillac clearly wants none of that.

Cadillac, as with most premium brands, also seeks differentiation with unique lighting elements at the rear. The Escalade IQ finally deviates from a posterior heavily derived from that of a Chevrolet Tahoe. It’s about as unique as yesteryear’s tail fins and blends nicely with the DNA present in its Lyriq and Celestiq EV sisterships. It’s a softer, more approachable Cadillac SUV. Or is it?

While the Escalade IQ’s overall design looks like it’s catering to a “softer” EV crowd, don’t let the contours fool you: Everything is festooned on a shockingly upright fascia. That nose will be just as intimidating to pedestrians as any GM truck, making it clear this American EV isn’t here for saving the world. It might greenwash better than the Hummer EV before it, but that’s a low bar to clear.

Instead, this is a greenwashed take on what Cadillac’s SUV has always done: be an aspirational purchase for millions of fans, a place of respect and admiration for all occupants, and exist as both a noun and a verb in pop culture. Making the Escalade go EV won’t change the mission; it will only add more fans to its gasoline-fueled base.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: Consumerism, greenwashing, and the American EV appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Perhaps my headline is a bit misleading: The Bronco is neither a zebra nor a tiger. It is a cow, a cash cow of the highest order. Ford’s decision to tweak the T6 truck platform to give Jeep’s Wrangler a legit competitor was brilliant and long overdue. Dearborn hit another home run by extending the Bronco brand into the C2 platform via the Bronco Sport soft-roader presented here. Sure, it’s not “the real” Bronco, but it is precisely what the market demands: mall crawling and high(er) speed family hauling.

The Bronco Sport’s styling and off-road upgrades are still true(ish) to the Bronco name, but then Ford threw us another bone: a set of throwback decals and interior trim taking us back to a simpler time. Then the company gave the vehicle the name it so truly deserves: Free Wheeling.

The Bronco Sport Free Wheeling proves Ford is focused. The company is no longer fearing its great escape from passenger-car mediocrity; as it is clear that Dearborn’s crew has no interest in fighting Toyota and Honda for sedanlette scraps. Why bother, when it is far more profitable to be a maverick and take a path that others can’t possibly travel?

C2 platform jokes aside, Ford is indeed capitalizing on the trim levels that made the company so special. (It’s about time, considering how leveraged the Dodge brand is to trims like Demon, Scat Pack, etc.) The 1970s Free Wheeling package is both obscure and tragically neglected, just like other limited production whoppers from the era like Swinger (Dodge Dart), Palm Beach (Buick LeSabre), and Talisman (Cadillac Fleetwood). In 2023’s sea of globalized mediocrity, new interpretations of these retro names and their bolder trimmings are welcome dashes of uniqueness.

Naming conventions aside, let’s get back to the Bronco Sport’s color gradient stripes. These beauties are actually a staple of 1970s graphic design, a multi-disciplinary trade applicable to any industry. Even the U.S. government made a big deal about graphic design; you can see excellent examples of the era on this Instagram account. Graphic designers working for government entities and corporations usually reduce complex themes and mission statements into a simple image, one that is easily to process and remember. Your favorite might be the NASA “worm” logo, which also made its triumphant return just a few years back.

Color gradients were a smaller part of this ’70s trend, commercializing a design theme normally reserved for hoity-toity modern art circles. I’d like to think this mass adoption tickled one Mr. Josef Albers a delightful shade of pink. Or perhaps the noted color theorist felt the joy in shades of red mixed with increasing amounts of white?

No matter, the Free Wheeling color gradient stripes on Ford trucks/vans/Pinto wagons offered the requisite amount of fun for buyers in the 1970s who were looking for a brighter, more cheerful vehicle to present themselves to the world. Perhaps the color gradient trim played well with many Americans’ notion of embracing their own need for freedom in the 1970s—or perhaps that theory goes a bridge too far, even in automotive design and branding.

However you skin it, spicing up cars with graphics was a big deal in the 1970s. Every Detroit automaker needed to sell more sizzle and less steak. Screaming chickens on Firebirds are the best example of the breed, but the designers knew that making 5-mph bumpers, pillared hardtops, and plastic-y interiors sexy wasn’t gonna be easy on any car. But they made it work: Check out the seventh-generation Thunderbird’s sales if you don’t believe me.

But it is not a stretch to suggest that today’s younger car buyers feel the same state of malaise as referenced by Jimmy Carter, so perhaps a bright collection of decals and interior fabrics are absolutely needed for the 2024 model year.

If so, history repeats itself. Those who are attuned to the cyclical nature of human existence can capitalize on that knowledge, and the good people behind the branding of the Ford Bronco are hopefully enjoying the multi-colored fruits of their labor. That said, pushing a retro agenda in a design studio can only go so far, as Josef Albers was likely right when he said: “Traditionally art is to create and not to revive. To revive: leave that to the historians, who are looking backward.”

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: A Bronco cannot change its stripes appeared first on Hagerty Media.

We may never know why Satoshi Wada made the formerly staid, static bumper of the Audi A6 into the gaping maw that changed the world in 2004. But from there on out, oversized grilles—with real-estate ratios bordering on prewar standards—became commonplace. Yet unlike yesteryear’s frontal speed holes, the faces of today’s automobiles are so large and toothy that disturbing amounts of teeth are non-functional.

It’s a shame, but better aerodynamics merits smaller grille openings than most designers would wish. It’s not the designer’s fault that vehicles are as tall and bloated as they are today, but a designer’s workaround is a grill veneer, one with all the honesty of the fake wood present in a Chevy Nova Concours. No, really—take a close look at all (most?) modern grilles and you’ll see how much of it is a solid casting of black plastic.

While we can’t blame Audi for the trend of fake teeth, oversized grille faces are now the predominant component that ensures every car has a recognizable, palatable, and marketable face. On the current (2023 model year) Hyundai Santa Fe, there are 20-something block-off plates that turn the grille into the sort of non-functional real estate normally accomplished by a painted fascia. That painted part once provided a logical transition to headlight assemblies at each corner. Without it, the Santa Fe’s headlights turn into puffy beaver cheeks adjacent to that toothy, partially fake smile.

It’s all very organic and logical, and we’ve seen this far too many times in our daily commutes. There’s no hate in my assessment: The 2023 Santa Fe’s face shows a logical evolution from Audi’s rounded, organic, gaping maw into something worthy of a mid-level CUV. Grilles as faces have been pushed to a delightfully logical extreme, but it’s so disingenuous on many modern machines.

Enter a new look with a familiar name. The 2024 Hyundai Santa Fe eschews our current trend of faking smiles and illogical headlights, bringing an honest face into the extremely profitable market of jacked up station wagons crossover utility vehicles. Instead of trying to make a face with a bold grille and catchy lighting pods, we are treated to a democratization of facial features via layers upon layers of modernist shapes.

That last sentence includes a lot of words that might fall flat. If so, consider this: It is clear that a mainstream Hyundai vehicle is officially adopting the 8-bit school of design first seen on the Ioniq 5. And 8-bit styling has strong roots in modern architecture from almost a century ago, as I can’t remember how many times I’ve associated the graphics in an Atari 2600 video game with that of modern architecture. (I’m looking at you, Atari Adventure versus any Brutalist building on a college campus.)

The Modernist tones continue at the side and rear of the new SUV, as the Santa Fe is now embracing the machinery that brings it to life. (And, perhaps, also embracing the buildings that house the design studios where the model originated?)

No matter, the influence of the revolutionary Ioniq 5 means the Santa Fe now looks less like a copy of a Land Rover. Sure, the roof pillars give off a Discovery vibe, but suggesting the Ioniq-infused Santa Fe is ripping off whole chunks of prestigious English DNA is like suggesting the 1986 Ford Taurus photocopied the 1982 Audi 5000 . . . neglecting the fact that Ford made its own wild-looking jellybean in the 1982 Ford Sierra. Don’t fall for that particular Pitfall.

Sigh. Sometimes a bad pun is needed to make a Modernist point: Going blocky with 8-bit design is a winning move in our contemporary world, either as Gen-X pop culture nostalgia or for a CUV that looks like nothing in its price bracket. The Santa Fe absolutely stands on its own four wheels, even if the jamming of the front wheel-arch contours into the front doors is rather tacky. There are layers upon layers of beauty and purpose in this new design, provided you find beauty in other Modernist designs.

The Santa Fe does for suburban families what Unité d’habitation did for living spaces in European city centers. That said, comparing the transportation needs of an American middle-class family in 2023 to the housing shortage created after WWII is a bit disingenuous. Modernism paved the way for lifting people out of poverty, serving as a guiding light for more housing in our growing, densifying cities. Applying this notion to cars may seem unorthodox, but modern CUVs certainly reach skyward—much like an apartment complex.

Let’s see more of the Sante Fe’s “blockiness” in other vehicles, and reject organic faces with fake smiling grilles. Pointless contours must be replaced with functional, logical blocks of painted panels, eye-catching LED chips, and purposeful areas of negative space. We don’t need fake teeth to make a shiny, happy, recognizable face. We should embrace the modernist principle of functionality, found in the original Ford Explorer, Jeep Cherokee, the Squarebody Chevy Suburbans, and those iconic Land Rovers.

A happy face may be nice on a “bug-eye”Austin Healey Sprite or on an animated NC Miata, but adding modernist construction to the 2024 Santa Fe makes it much more appealing as a utilitarian product. There’s a chance this architectural appeal could translate into success on a larger scale than that of the long-forgotten Ford Flex.

Who knows, a (growing?) family of architecturally pleasant automobiles could indeed carve out a profitable piece of the pie. So join me in saying goodbye to the organic face of modern cars, and get excited for a return to modernism. Or do the opposite, if you’re feeling contrarian, and get one of the big-grilled crossovers before their memorable faces disappear from new car showrooms . . . because they are likely facing extinction. 

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: A new Sante Fe and the depreciation of “face” value appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Fred writes:

This is the second time I’ve written you; the first was when you were at that other place. Anyway, I’ve noticed another automotive styling feature worth discussing, and perhaps you have some thoughts: I’ve been seeing cars with factory two-tone paint jobs, often a black roof over a white body. Will this become a trend?

Might it become more than black and white? Are we in for a return to ’50s paint schemes?

Sajeev answers:

Aside from the usual, bespoke creations for the top-tier demographic, we are absolutely not returning to 1950s levels of multiple-toned paint schemes. Cars are too damn expensive to make these days, and adding features is a balancing act: An automaker must consider sales volume and profitability. The market is too price-sensitive and competitive to alter that balance, and two-tone paint is the equivalent of dropping a lead weight on a balance beam scale . . . well, on a scale perfectly balanced with the features mandated by the government and the features demanded by consumers.

It’s all fine and dandy for cars made in Maybachian volumes, like the mulberry-creme concoction I configured above. Profit margins on these vehicles are so insane that automakers can indeed stop an assembly line to do a bit more body prep for a two-tone paint job. But most companies do the aforementioned balancing act with airbags, power-assist this and that, turbocharged engines, cameras/radar sight thingies, six-plus-speed transmissions, giant wheels, big disc brakes, soft-touch vinyls, in-car entertainment systems, etc. All those features are legit threats to profit margins. But some lower-cost, outlier vehicles will always exist.

Take the delightful little Mini Cooper. The vehicle is designed to ensure that loyalty to Mini’s brand remains unquestionably rabid, as owners are encouraged to customize their cars with factory tweaks. It’s like adding flair to your uniform. Better yet, nobody bats an eye at the mini-uscule (sorry) amount of vehicle you get for the Camry-like price.

Genuine two-tone outliers, sadly, are just that. A better choice for beancounters, supply-chain analysts, and product planners is to differentiate areas on a vehicle with plastic trim in a contrasting color. The “XC,” or Cross Country, Volvos and the Chevy Spark ACTIV suggest companies can capitalize on the bigger, taller, more profitable SUV craze with different trim, different springs, and a snazzy name. Thanks to component logistics worthy of comparisons to Amazon, lean-manufacturing methodologies, and modern assembly-line technology, slapping on different parts at the factory is pretty easy and cost-effective.

Sadly these advancements haven’t trickled down to the labor-intensive act of applying two paint colors to a car’s body. Much like Uber still needs people behind the wheel to be anything resembling a going concern in the foreseeable future, most automakers still need people in the paint shop.

The Nissan Juke—now, only for sale outside the states—proves the point. Nissan recently added four paint shops that are two-tone friendly as part of a facility upgrade in the United Kingdom. That same article suggests “30 percent of customers” opt for a two-tone Juke, so the demand mandated the need for Jukes to be “masked by hand” as the video above suggests. But the Juke isn’t an entry-level vehicle, and it is such a niche product that Nissan quit selling it in the U.S. after 2017.

Two-toning a car is still too much work to support a widespread resurgence of the trend. Vehicles that get the treatment will be limited to those black-roofed examples mentioned by Fred. Granted, there is plenty of crazy body surfacing on modern vehicles that could be masked off and sprayed a different color, but there’s only one place to do it quickly—and cost-effectively, of course.

The roof usually has logical beginning and ending points at every pillar, as witnessed by the angular stopping points on a modern Jeep Grand Wagoneer. Try to do the same with angry slashes and soft bubbling along the body side, and you’ll have a truly bizarre-looking two-tone vehicle, one that would prove to be lot poison at dealerships across the country. Sure, you could two-tone a Dodge Challenger or Chevy Truck with modest effort and reasonable success, but any vehicle with a rounded fascia, complex bumper design, etc. makes the transition point between colors very challenging.

More to the point, an extra color isn’t gonna “move the metal” like a heated steering wheel will, and there’s only so much cost you can add before a substitute good looks more appealing. Consider the notion of a Ford Escape with two shades on its bubbly CUV body, likely an $800–$1000 option if it were to come to fruition. But odds are that the boosted price of a two-tone Escape would be too close to the sticker of a single-tone Ford Bronco Sport; the baby Bronco is roughly $1200 more than its more urbanite sibling.

It takes a special type of person to insist on a two-tone paint job. I’d like to think I know that two-tone feeling, as restoring Project Valentino to its proper shades of gold and chocolate was very, very expensive. The price was painful back then, but the end result still makes me pause, enjoy, and relax as I walk by it—a great feeling.

Any car can be two-toned easily in the aftermarket thanks to vinyl wrapping, so go ahead and let your spirit be free, without the confines of a multinational corporation’s bottom line. It’s only money, right?

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: Is two-tone paint coming back? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Car-design press releases are generally a cornucopia of stylistic filler words designed to delight the soul and fog the mind, but Mercedes’ release on the Vision One-Eleven was a bit much, even for me. I mean, it was over 9000 words. How on earth can a press release discussing an homage to a 1970s minimalist design get away with this? All we truly needed were six:

Look at our reimagined orange wedge!

Or maybe seven:

ZOMG look at our reimagined orange wedge!

But no, Mercedes instead told us about the many ways it is “creating iconic luxury.” Its take on Bruno Sacco’s delightful C-111 concept car from 1970 was the main event; everything else was mostly filler.

I take issue with this approach: Anything related to the C-111 deserves a standalone press release, as the original orange doorstop was a gullwing doored, mid-engined delight powered by either a Wankel rotary, a diesel, or a turbocharged V-8 engine. It truly stole our hearts. Now it’s back, sort of.

The 1970s was a long time ago and, well, things have improved significantly since. Enter the Vision One-Eleven, a name that uses absolutely more letters and words to evoke the minimalism provided by the C-111. No wonder the press release was so long. Even the captions on the manufacturer-provided photography came with a word salad on the side.

No matter, the biggest change from retro C111 to modern Vision One-Eleven is the elimination of the traditional upright greenhouse. The pillars are there, somewhere, but the feel is that of a melted cab that slides across the entire wheelbase. The silhouette would make a cab-forward Dodge Intrepid blush with jealousy.

The insane level of cabin space is thanks to an electric powertrain utilizing a YASA axial-flux motor and a “liquid-cooled cylindrical-cell battery with Formula-1 inspired cell chemistry.” That said, Mercedes provided no hard numbers in this absolute unit of a press release. The motor’s packaging benefits likely make for a concept car with prestigious, Mercedes SL–worthy amounts of space.

The C-111’s interior wasn’t the star of that particular show, but the Vision One-Eleven’s silver/orange/white interior might actually overshadow the exterior. The pixelated lights and dashboard technology are a delightful homage to the era of Giorgio Moroder–infused disco, though Hyundai kinda beat Benz to the punch with recent 8-bit styling statements. No matter, interiors are far more important these days, as showing off some killer app within a dashboard is seemingly mandatory. Gorden Wagener, chief design officer, had his own thoughts on the Vision’s radical exterior and interior styling:

Our all-electric vision show car is the modern-day interpretation of the C 111, which was avant-garde at the time. The element of surprise comes from its exceptionally clean, purist and, at the same time, extremely muscular proportions. This iconic clarity is also reflected in the interior. The equally sensual but minimalist design language stands for ICONIC LUXURY by Mercedes-Benz.

The paragraph has merit, but I stand by my ZOMG look at our reimagined orange wedge comment—it accomplishes the same thing with more impact. It’s a shame that we didn’t get to learn about the (presumably radical) electric motor and battery technology, as it likely influenced the exterior and interior design. Hopefully there will be more information on the Vision One-Eleven in the future . . .

. . . Because any Mercedes-Benz with gullwing doors, orange paint, and a front fascia with pursed lips deserves to be more than just a chapter in a novel about luxury design. This right here is a standalone beauty.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: Does Benz’s retro-futuristic Vision require so many words? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

So many famous automobiles bloat as they age. Not the RX-7. By its third (1993–95, or FD) generation, the Mazda was still a hard-edged, lightweight sports car, wearing a body that had grown just big enough to accommodate a twin-turbo-infused powertrain and near-luxury NVH engineering. More to the point, the RX-7’s newfound size ensured buyers paid a premium every time the taxman arrived in Japan. In the United States, the FD did something amazing: It impressed Americans hungry for power and prestige while keeping the spirit of previous RX-7s intact.

So let’s run this iconic sports car, another example of Mazda’s bubble-economy designs, over the vellum.

Hindsight can be troublesome: The rounded cutlines for the FD’s hood/lights/fenders/bumper really look like those of the C5 (1997–2004) Corvette. (The resemblance is so obvious that John Carfaro likely averts his gaze any time an FD rolls by.) That said, the C5 makes the FD RX-7 even more important to America’s car culture.

The FD’s is a beautiful shape, with a face that is relatable to Miata loyalists. . . and a perfect source of Corvette DNA.

This is the track-oriented “R1” model, visually separated from tamer RX-7s by the larger front splitter. (And a swank rear spoiler out back.) The R1’s extra “visual weight” up front makes the FD’s fascia a bit more muscular, and further differentiates the fascia’s contouring from that of the most minimalist Miata. It’s kinda like underlining words in a term paper.

Without it? The RX-7’s extra width, modest added length, and ever-so-slight haunches in the hood (above the wheel arches) would be harder to distinguish at a casual glance.

Apparently, that little divot in the bumper is meant to evoke the two rotors inside the FD’s Wankel engine. It’s a nice touch, and keeps your eyes from focusing on the gap between the R1’s two-piece splitter.

The bumper’s divot least tries to avert your gaze from that crack. But when new, the splitter was cheaper to repair; if you bashed-in just one corner, you didn’t need to replace the whole assembly.

While this signal light looks similar to that of the original (NA generation) Miata, it is a completely different shape. It’s also mounted on a bumper that’s longer and more “mature” looking than that on the baby Mazda roadster.

The R1s have an extra oil cooler, lending symmetry to the lower fascia.

The R1’s front splitter also routes air to the brakes. While not as well designed as a modern splitter, which would integrate proper ducting, at least it funnels air to the correct general area for a car with this level of performance.

Back up top, note how the hood’s gentle curves only make ripples in the reflection of the clouds.

This could be a shot of the C5 Corvette, except surfacing of the Chevrolet is more aggressive. A Corvette designer would make those power lines bend harder into the car’s contours.

The Miata DNA is absolutely present, but the smoother contouring, organic cut lines, longer snout, and unique lighting pods make the FD RX-7 worthy of its premium asking price.

Note how the bumper curves outward in the center and how the bumper-to-fender cutline was also implemented in the C5 Corvette.

The level of customization over the Miata is clear when the headlights emerge. These are not a universal sealed-beam design, nor are they a recognizable shape, though they look a good bit like the rectangles present on a Chevy work van.

Had they been implemented on a universal scale, these stunning half-round/half-square headlights would have dressed up countless cars from this era. The slick plastic frame Mazda designed around this lamp is no slouch either.

Black modesty panels behind the headlight emerge when nighttime illumination is needed.

Mazda’s emblem representing “dimensions of wings, sun, and a circle of light” was originally a bit more angular. Then the clay modelers treated it to the same amount of surfacing given to the FD’s organic body. The logo kinda-sorta looks like the Khanda, but any parallel with religious iconography is generally discouraged in design studios. Perhaps that’s why Mazda’s website doesn’t mention this short-lived corporate logo?

The R1’s front strut tower brace is both functional and a representation of product design from the era. The 1990s were chock-full of global, regional, and local businesses putting their brands inside ovals. Among car-design geeks, Toyota’s three-ellipse version is probably the most memorable.

While the front of the FD’s hood has parallels to that of the C5 Corvette, the contouring on the rear of the Mazda reveals significantly fewer parallels.

While a sports car with a 0.31 coefficient of drag isn’t likely to set the world on fire, the FD is a small car with modest frontal area. The footprint extracts the most performance out of that turbocharged Wankel motor.

The previous generation (FC) RX-7 had a top-mounted intercooler with a hastily added hood blister, but the FD was designed with turbocharging from the get-go. Its short, steeply angled nose packages both a large radiator and an intercooler.

Much like the C4 Corvette, the FD uses a steeply angled radiator to lower its hood height—by a whopping 2.8 inches over the FC. The dramatic effect of the subsequent thinning of real estate above the wheels cannot be understated.

It’s hard to put into words the sleekness present here.

The simplistic, spine-in-spoke design of the FD’s 16-inch wheels works well with the body’s organic curves. Perhaps, in addition to the reducing weight, the hard carve-out for the hub keeps the wheels (and the rest of the car, by extension) from looking too soft and whimsical?

The FD clearly embraces the dash-to-axle ratio of rear-wheel-drive flagship vehicles, a configuration that allows plenty of space for an air extractor. This is another area from which Chevrolet drew inspiration, but Mazda’s execution makes the long dash-to-axle much smaller, lower, and less of a defining element in the fender.

Yes, this is a functional bit of kit: Air from the front bumper goes around the wheel arch and exits out this aperture. Nice.

Cab-backward designs usually have less space for black plastic trim at the cowl and provide a delightful way to minimize “ugly” space for wipers and HVAC components, while yielding more real estate for a longer hood.

Much like the wheel hub’s hard carveout, these utilitarian elements in the cowl are shockingly angular on such an organic body.

Impossibly thin A-pillars make all the difference in a sports car. The increasing thickness of A-pillars is a key reason why modern examples of the breed look clumsy and “slow” compared to their predecessors.

The body is so impossibly low-slung body (mostly) because of that tiny cowl. With such little need for extra size or height, the fender remains uninterrupted by the requirements of a hood (think modern Supra) or complex cutlines for tall doors and overly thick A-pillars.

The door’s shark fin draws attention to itself with an embossed triangle. It feels unnecessary on such a curvy body, unlike the wheel hub’s strong statement of negative area.

The large amount of glass and the thinness of the radically curved pillars ensure this tiny cabin doesn’t feel claustrophobic. There is very little space on the door frame for practical upright contours; the majority of this section is reserved for the A-pillar’s rake.

From this angle, however, the window looks significantly flatter. This shifting of perception is precisely why car designs must be refined in a 3D space; 2D renderings can never fully convey the drama of walking around a well-surfaced design. More to the point, the interior’s radically organic design often flows beautifully with the exterior lines, as seen here.

The lack of a door-mounted door handle further accentuates the speed present in the door’s cutline. Aside from the cut’s interference with the fender scoop’s lower blister, this is a flawless implementation.

That’s one heckuva oddly shaped gasket to mount the belt line trim against the body and door handle. Not a bad thing—it’s impressive.

The intersection of beltline, roof trim, and door cutline is a bit “slow” and awkward. Considering all the visual speed present in the cutline of the lower door, it would have been nice to see the door cutline continue to the outer contour of the black roof trim.

Doing so would make the door cutline move with the same fluidity as the cutline for the hatchback, which flows over the FD’s taut body muscles. That’s the perk of placing door handles inside the daylight opening; they open up so much visual room on the painted body surfaces.

Suggesting the FD has a taut, muscular body is no overstatement. The FD has no need for the crazy amounts of surfacing present on modern cars with tall cowls: a few gentle curves across the body’s cross-section is all that is needed to make this modest-sized sports car a visual stunner.

See how the building’s reflection warps in the middle of the roof? That ripple in the sheetmetal supposedly improved the FD’s aerodynamics. Unlike the radical “double bubble” of the 1996 Dodge Viper GTS, the bump did not improve headroom for the Mazdas’s passengers.

Much as the front end gives C5 Corvette vibes, the FD’s strong B-pillar, curvy hatchback glass, and the R1-specific spoiler suggest a miniature 1993 Trans Am. Except both designs were (probably) created independently, and the Mazda is significantly smaller and less swollen than the Pontiac.

A quick look behind the rear wheel and a fancy aluminum suspension control arm awaits. These parts weren’t cheap, even if it isn’t as radical as the exposed bits found on the NSX.

It’s probably no coincidence that these large rear rotors have “FD” stamped in them.

Much like the front ones, the FD’s rear overhangs are modest, making the body look as if it is shrink-wrapped over the wheelbase.

The strong shoulder line (curve, actually) present in the doors deliciously extends into the quarter panel.

Again, the 1993 Firebird references arise. But, unlike that car, the FD is so small that the gas filler door and the side marker light are very close to each other. The lack of a continuous bumper shelf provides another differentiating factor: On the Mazda, there’s an expensively contoured quarter panel running from top to bottom.

How contoured? Note the sky’s reflection on the bumper’s horizontal surface, and how it bleeds into that fancy quarter panel.

While it may not scream “minimalist” like some Italian Mazda doorstop from the 1970s, the FD is an organic implementation of design with the same level of restraint. Sure, there are expressive curves. But they spread long and wide across elements of the low-slung body and long wheelbase.

The R1’s spoiler gives extra purpose to the otherwise “soft” contours of the quarter panel and backlight.

The R1 spoiler has a visually exciting claw-foot design with the inner “nails” sticking further forward than the outer ones. The irregular pattern wonderfully complements the FD’s radical lack of straight lines elsewhere.

Well, no good design can exist without any straight line. From here you can see that the curvaceous hatchback still has a straight cutline for some amount of visual tension. Imagine this body with a modern (i.e. hidden) radio antenna; the change would only add to the curvaceous nature of the FD’s body. There’s a shockingly wonderful interplay between straight lines and soft curves, a juxtaposition illustrated best by the hatchback and the R1 rear spoiler.

Indeed, the quarter panel even has muscular ripples in a normally overlooked place. The reflections from the parking lot would look far more accurate if this were a flat panel.

The fuel door, aside from being uncomfortably close to the wheel arch by today’s standards, is close to a perfect circle. The shape remains at this level of perfection from any vantage point (unlike the door frame above).

There’s probably no better example of the FD’s organic design than the rear side-marker lights. Surprisingly, this red, amoeba-like creature is affixed to the body with exposed screws, in stark contrast to the hardware-free look of the front light.

The sheer volume of upward trajectory from the lower quarter panel to the rear bumper is stunning to behold. Not only does it continue the FD’s curvy demeanor, it also ensures the body remains tight and taut.

The RX-7 embodies the notion of lightweight performance above all else, clearly nothing like the golf-friendly raison d’être of, ahem, future Corvettes.

This hatchback musta cost big bucks—making a sheet of glass continue the inward trajectory of the B-pillar/door is no small feat.

But you need glass with that much contouring to work with the insane level of curvature on the spoiler, bumper, and rear deck. Take the rear light bar, for example . . . looks pretty flat from this angle, no?

Yeah, definitely not. The light bar might as well be the sleek little Continental kit from a 1993 Lincoln Mark VIII, and the R1 spoiler capitalizes on its curvature. It’s all just so perfect.

Then there’s the rear bumper, bending the sky’s reflection in a huge arc from corner to corner.

The taillights bend inward at the corners (note the building’s reflection) and subtly extend the deck lid at the middle of the car’s rear.

The inside of the R1 spoiler continues the organic curvature, looking here like a cavern.

All these curves meant that conventional (i.e. linear) badge placement would look static and slow. The “Mazda” badge works with the lower end of the tail light, and the “RX-7” badge extends upward and inward . . . just like the light assembly itself as it dances across the rear deck.

Like everything from the Acura NSX to the Ferrari Testarossa, the FD worked hard to bury its red light behind a sea of black trim and a clear plastic shroud. This arrangement would become a stark contrast to the upcoming Altezza craze, something to which the RX-8, which replaced the RX-7, was not immune.

I cannot tell you how difficult it was to get a shot of the CHMSL in this blackout assembly. But there it is, ready to attack your retinas when needed.

The amber light is a bit easier to spot at a quick glance, only because it’s a lighter color than red. This level of concealment took some effort.

Note the shadows between the bumper and the Mazda emblem: The vertical element of the rear fascia is also heavily contoured. Adding to the impact are the door-lock bezels—they are bezeled, letting the body surfacing speak far more boldly.

Unlike the side markers, the rear reflectors/back up light is far less amoeba-like. But like the front signal light, each still needs one screw for attachment. Bizarre.

The bumper has an ever-so-gentle curve, preparation for a flat spot for the license plate.

While the period-correct aftermarket exhaust is a bit much in terms of styling, it both accentuates the level of negative area present in the rear bumper and ensures a healthier Wankel engine. (Oh, and it sounds awesome.)

Not only does the rear bumper aggressively push skyward (in the side view), the black plastic insert curves downward as it transitions to the center, becoming more like a chin on a human face. Wow.

The center of the bumper looks like it extends two inches past its start on the quarter panel—just another reason why the FD is one seriously complex design. But complexity is relative, because the FD  doesn’t scream in your face. This RX-7 is the antithesis of something insane like a McLaren Senna, even if both designs are similarly complex. It’s clear that Mazda designers worked overtime to ensure the styling was just as effortlessly complex as the high-revving Wankel engine under the skin. I walked away from this episode of Vellum Venom with even more respect for this vehicle.

Thank you for reading—I hope you have a lovely day.

Special thanks to Toby for providing this vehicle for evaluation.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom: 1993 Mazda RX-7 (FD) appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Toyota recalls 96K Corolla Cross models for faulty airbags

Intake: Toyota Motor North America has announced a recall for about 96,000 units of its Corolla Cross compact crossover SUV for a front passenger airbag that might not deploy. The recall covers non-hybrid models from model years 2022 and 2023. Toyota recommended that owners not allow anyone to sit in the front passenger seat until an affected vehicle is inspected and the repair is completed. According to a statement from Toyota, the faulty airbag stems from a manufacturing error in the instrument panel. A Toyota spokesperson declined to comment on whether there have been any reported injuries, accidents, or deaths related to the issue. Vehicle owners will be notified by late July, according to Toyota, and the fix will involve a dealer inspecting and replacing the instrument panel if necessary.

Exhaust: Oh boy, more airbag issues. Because of the faulty airbag, the affected Corolla Cross models might not meet a very basic federal safety standard. The bit about declining to mention whether any injuries, accidents, or deaths are related to this issue gives us pause; normally that’s one of the first things an automaker makes clear when they announce a recall. If you own one of the affected models, please don’t let anyone ride shotgun until you get it fixed. — Nathan Petroelje

Scout hires key designer from Stellantis

Intake: Stellantis interior design chief Chris Benjamin has joined Scout Motors to lead design for the EV-focused Volkswagen brand that will specialize in utility vehicles and trucks, according to Automotive News. Benjamin becomes the chief design officer for Scout, which plans to begin vehicle production at a plant near Columbia, S.C., by the end of 2026. The brand said the first retail sales of its electric pickups and SUVs will start soon after.

Exhaust: “Chris’ work is prolific. For nearly 25 years, he’s brought to life vehicles that stand out on the road,” Scout CEO Scott Keogh said in a statement. “His thumbprints are all over many of the most beloved off-road vehicles in the market today. I’m confident that Chris will build on that experience as he defines the next chapter of design for Scout and electric utility vehicles.” — Steven Cole Smith

The ultimate Range Rover Sport gives good vibrations

Intake: If the rumble of its 626-hp 4.4-liter turbocharged V-8 engine isn’t enough, then owners of the 2024 Range Rover Sport SV can fire up “Body and Soul” front seats that are tuned in to the car’s 1,430-watt, 29-speaker Meridian Signature sound system. Artificial Intelligence-optimized software controls seatback transducers for what Land Rover calls “a multi-dimensional audio experience with wellness benefits.”

For more traditional seat-of-the-pants excitement the BMW-sourced eight-cylinder will power the SV to 60 mph from rest in just 3.6 seconds, with no letting up until 180 mph. It’s more than just a point-and-shoot SUV, however, with a 6D Dynamics active suspension system comprising pitch control, height-adjustable air springs, and interlinked hydraulic dampers which do away with the need for anti-roll bars. In the bends the SV achieves a “near-level body stance,” says Land Rover, while grip and comfort levels are also increased. New subframe and suspension links are fitted, and a revised steering rack has the fastest ratio of any car to wear the Range Rover badge. The SV rides lower than the regular Sport, even on optional, industry-first, 23-inch carbon fiber wheels, which are said to save 20 lbs per corner. Carbon ceramic brakes are also available for the first time on a Rangie. Externally the SV is distinguished by a new bumper with wider air intakes and a smattering of carbon detailing. Inside, the car can be completely customized, of course, and is offered with the brand’s new Ultrafabrics PU leather alternative.

Exhaust: Now fitted with the same motor as the latest BMW X5 M and X6 M, the Range Rover Sport really does live up to its name and might even give the updated Porsche Cayenne a run for its money. — Nik Berg

Alfa Romeo Tonale has a 33-mpg electric range

Intake: The plug-in hybrid Alfa Romeo Tonale has completed final EPA testing that shows an electric range of 33 miles and MPGe rating of 77. Total range of the Alfa Romeo Tonale with a full battery charge is 360 miles. Combined fuel economy is 29 MPG. “We are happy to announce the official EPA electric range of 33 miles and 77 MPGe for the Alfa Romeo Tonale, which will allow many of our customers to drive their daily commutes without tapping the fuel tank,” said Larry Dominique, SVP, Head of Alfa Romeo North America. “The Alfa Romeo Tonale represents the beginning of our transformation to greater electrification while staying true to the performance characteristics our customers expect from the brand.”

Exhaust: The Tonale’s performance is bolstered by a 15.5-kWh lithium-ion battery that drives a 90-kW electric motor on the rear axle with 184 lb.-ft. of torque from 0 rpm. Total output, says Alfa, is a best-in-class 285 horsepower and 347 lb-ft of torque with the 180-horse, 1.3-liter turbocharged four-cylinder gasoline engine. The 2024 Tonale is shipping to dealerships now, with a starting price for the Sprint model set at $44,590 including a $1595 destination charge. — Steven Cole Smith

Honda announces new SCL500, a middle-weight do-it-all machine with retro flair

Intake: Honda just announced the new SCL500 model being added to its already diverse motorcycle lineup. This new machine borrows the engine of the Rebel 500—and a lot of the chassis too—with a dose of vintage styling to make for a welcoming bike to riders of all skill levels. The long flat seat and high exhaust pipes call back to the original Scramblers of the 1960s. Honda is also saying that a robust factory accessories catalog will allow buyers to make the SCL500 their own without resorting to aftermarket parts, and with the MSRP set at just $6799, it is easy to see buyers opting for a few new parts right off the showroom floor.

Exhaust: Did the motorcycle market need another mid-displacement scrambler-style motorcycle? Probably not, but Honda’s reputation sells bikes and this parallel twin is approachable for new riders and has enough ground clearance that exploring beyond paved roads is possible. That’s a lot of utility and capability for the price.  — Kyle Smith 

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Corolla Cross airbag recall, Scout poaches key Stellantis designer, Ultimate Range Rover Sport appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Bigger isn’t necessarily better, just ask the foodies that realized the sweet side effects of droughts in California—the less water available for plants in a farmer’s field, the smaller the size of fruits harvested. And there’s a correlation to your tastebuds, as they experience an undiluted flavor experience with every (smaller) bite. Turns out that there’s a lot of water in fruits: which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but we might be sacrificing an experience because of it.

Of course, I’m not here to talk about fruit. Instead, make note that the 2024 Toyota Tacoma was leaked on their website, and it looks like a smaller, sweeter version of DNA present in the full size Tundra. The image was snagged by jaxon12turner on the Tacoma 4G forum, and this appears to be a TRD Pro version, complete with a skid plate, a wider track, fender flares, and the Pro’s signature light bar mounted in the grille. It’s big and bold, but with none of the water weight collecting in the Tundra’s swollen tissue.

While 2D photography is never a substitute for an in-person analysis, the Tacoma makes the Tundra struggle with its bulk. The Tacoma’s vertical grilles below the headlights are (probably) far shorter, and its smaller front fascia allows the TRD Pro bumper and grille to look meaner, more performance-oriented. More to the point, the Tacoma sure looks like its body is wrapped tightly (less loosely?) around its haunches.

Too bad both Toyotas have a hood that rests above the belt line, which is generally terrible for forward visibility. (And child safety.) But one of these TRD Pro’s looks ready to tear up a rallycross, while the other looks content with cheering in the bleachers.

The Tundra’s macho grille is definitely unique, but it gives off steroidal vibes. And steroid water retention isn’t just a problem for human beings. Surfacing is one of the toughest things to get right once a vehicle’s hard points are set in stone, and the Tundra’s sheer size makes it tough to look assertive atop all that bloat. In contrast, this leaked Tacoma photo looks effortless, and very comfortable in its smaller skin.

Yes, full size trucks can do more because of their size. Plus they aren’t painful to purchase, as they have economies of scale working in their favor over smaller trucks. And if you tow with your truck, the Tundra’s superior chassis, brakes, powertrain, cooling, etc. makes all that overdone styling seem relevant. While older trucks are more like the new Tacoma, never in their wildest dreams could they tow like a modern full sizer. Ever.

So if you tow a massive trailer, the Tundra’s look might go very, very well with your needs. But the smaller, sweeter, and more elegantly surfaced Tacoma speaks in a design language familiar to truck owners of decades past. And I suspect the Tacoma will be quite the looker in real life, even with fleet spec SR trimmings.

Will the perks of a smaller truck convince people to ditch their full sizers for the classic proportions of yesteryear’s pickups? Probably not, but there’s a glimmer of hope in this singular photo of one seriously aggressive midsizer.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: Surfacing, size, and sweetness appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Good artists copy, great artists steal” is a quote widely attributed to Pablo Picasso, most notably by Steve Jobs in 1996. It’s a delicious irony that although there is no concrete evidence that Picasso ever said it, the saying itself has altered over the years.

Author W.H. Davenport Adams wrote of Tennyson in The Gentlemen’s Magazine in 1892 that “great poets imitate and improve, whereas small ones steal and spoil.” The composer Igor Stravinsky said “a good composer does not imitate, he steals.” In 1974 author William Faulkner reportedly observed that “immature artists copy, great artists steal.”

Whatever the origin of the axiom, it’s not meant to be a trite comment on the nature of creativity.

Rather, the best creative works build upon what has gone before, repackage and reformulate it into something new and relevant.

Herman Melville was obsessed with Shakespeare, using the tragic characters of King Lear and Macbeth as inspiration for Ahab, as well as assimilating much of the bard’s construction of language when he wrote Moby Dick. That novel became the main inspiration for Nicholas Meyer when he wrote the script for 1982’s Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, even going as far as placing a copy of the book in one shot to make the parallels explicit.

Armchair design critics love pointing out that much of Jony Ive’s work for Apple was rather more directly inspired by the work of Dieter Rams at Braun. However, even Steve Jobs admitted his company was not above reusing great ideas, and Rams literally wrote the book on modern industrial design, although the iPod scroll-wheel interface reputedly came from a Bang & Olufsen phone.

How do we learn? We learn by copying and understanding. How do we understand something? By pulling it apart, looking at the inner workings, and seeing how all the constituent pieces fit together. It makes no difference if it’s a concerto or a Camaro; only by looking at the how and the why can we carry those ideas forward and improve them.

When I was first starting out as a student of car design, one of our first lessons was to find a rendering we liked online and attempt to replicate it. By really studying someone else’s image and trying to work out how that artist represented highlights, shadows, and reflections, we could take our first steps in developing our own techniques and visual style.

Today, even as professionals in a studio, we use photos of existing vehicles or another render as an underlay. Why struggle getting the proportions correct for a muscle car, for example, when you can get your eye in using someone else’s work as a guide? I’m constantly telling my students that using an underlay is perfectly acceptable working practice, but it goes against their innocent ideas that everything they do should be completely original.

I recently had a student quietly reveal to me that they had two brilliant concepts they were keeping under their hat—no one had thought of these designs before. Imagine the look on their face when I gently explained I had seen similar ideas in the past and that it was very difficult to conceive of something truly original.

(Not to sound too egotistical, but one of the selfish reasons I love teaching is I do enjoy being the smartest person in the room.)

Nonetheless, we all have to start somewhere. When Kiichiro Toyoda decided to switch from producing looms to building cars in 1935, his first effort (the AA) was an almost carbon-copy of the DeSoto version of the Chrysler Airflow, presumably because the Airflow looked like the future at the time.

Because the Japanese economy wasn’t ready for passenger cars, Toyota switched its attention to trucks, basing its 1.5-ton G1 on similarly sized trucks from Ford and GM. After the war, Toyota chose to work with German engineers rather than with American or British companies, so its next attempt at a passenger car, the SA, was basically a front-engine, suicide-door version of the Beetle.

It’s unclear how much the first Nissan (née Datsun) was a copy of the diminutive Austin 7, but it was certainly extremely close.

When Honda decided to move from motorcycles to passenger cars in 1963, it took direct influence from small, cheap British roadsters of the day and built the S500. As the Japanese domestic car industry grew in stature and confidence, it began to copy American designs. The second-generation Toyota Crown from 1962 borrowed its look from the Ford Falcon. Later Crowns would lean heavily into the American aesthetic: bold grilles, strong use of chrome, and slightly squared-off volumes with a touch of the baroque.

Leveraging Japan’s talent for miniaturization, the first-generation Celicas were pocket-sized muscle-car clones. Shamelessly aping both the Camaro and the liftback Mustang, some versions even had three-bar vertical taillights. This wasn’t just a calculated attempt to appeal to the American market—Honda designers were learning from the day’s most influential car designs.

When the Japanese economy was heading towards its “bubble” period and its car manufacturers wanted to build world-beating sports cars, they turned their attention back towards Europe. The glass-backed RX7 in its first two generations took inspiration from the Porsche 924. When it came to the MX5, Mazda even had a Lotus Elan in the studio, so intent was it on nailing the character (if not the breakdowns) of the quintessential British roadster.

Japan is a country with a rich artistic and industrial design heritage; Sony was Apple before Apple existed. As such, it’s always surprised me that Japanese manufacturers have struggled to have any truly stand-out designs of their own, now that they’ve grown out of their copying-and-learning period. There are exceptions, of course—I’ve talked about how much I like and admire the Lexus LC 500—but think about your personal Japanese favorite or any of the JDM classics and more likely than not it’ll be a domestic version of something else.

When the Acura NSX came out I remember one particularly sniffy magazine review saying, “It’s not a Ferrari though, is it?” I don’t remember those same magazines criticizing the MX5 for not being an Elan. Even cars like the WRX or Mitsubishi Evo were venerated for their capabilities rather than their appearances.

The same pattern has been repeated with a more recent entrant into the global car business: China. But in an attempt to catch up, its designers are somewhat short-cutting the learning-and-understanding part of the process.

The Chinese are notorious for not simply taking inspiration from other products but for plagiarizing designs wholesale. The original Daewoo Matiz was derived from a rejected Italdesign concept for a new Fiat 500. Chery (no prizes for guessing where the name came from) liked it so much in 2003 they released the QQ, a blatant copy. GM, which by this time owned Daewoo Automotive, got hold of one and reportedly built a pair of drivable half-breed cars by combining parts from both a Matiz and a QQ.

Jaguar Land Rover eventually won a case in a Beijing court in 2019 over the Landwind X7, an ersatz Evoque clone. There’s been plenty of others; the Zotye SR7 was an Audi Q3 and the SR9 a Porsche Macan.

We shouldn’t let our amusement at these knock-offs obscure the facts of what’s really happening. China is attempting a crash course in how to design and build cars suitable for worldwide consumption.

When the South Koreans were starting out, Hyundai enlisted the help of Italian design firm Giugiaro to design its first domestic car, the Pony, in 1982. Rather amusingly, given the terrible state of the British car industry at the time, Hyundai then enlisted British help for the vehicle’s engineering. Hyundai’s second car, also designed by Giugiaro, was the Stellar, based on the European Ford Cortina.

Kia, in which Hyundai would come to own a majority stake after the 1997 Asian financial crisis, initially built Peugeots and Fiats under license, before rebadging Ford and Mazda models. Recognizing that design was crucial to their aspirations in Europe, in 2006 Kia hired Peter Schreyer to overhaul their rather neutral, nondescript range of vehicles inspired by their neighbors to the east. Taking the idea of “tiger economies” quite literally, he came up with the distinctive tiger-nose motif for the brand.

In stark contrast to the Japanese (and latterly Chinese), the Koreans haven’t really copied anyone; instead, they’ve hired in experienced design leadership, something I suspect would be anathema to Japanese pride.

I’ve read more than a few opinions recently that Kia and Hyundai are currently creating some of the best-designed cars available. I’m not so sure.

Certainly the Ioniq 5 and Ioniq 6 are getting people into a lather over their distinct appearances. The Ioniq 5 is a conventional but oversized hatchback volume covered in pixels and disjointed surfacing—it’s all novelty, and a little bit overdone for my taste. The Ioniq 6 is a streamliner with the same pixel pox and a tail that looks trodden on.

I’ve lamented previously about the pernicious effect of the ’80s aesthetic, but I’m slowly making my peace with the fact that like it or not, that’s where the popular taste is currently. Also, South Korea is a technologically advanced country, so it’s not entirely unexpected that electronics plays a big part in how its cars look.

What about the U.K., in so many ways a cultural magpie? Ford and GM designs, as we have discussed before, were heavily influenced throughout the ’60s and ’70s by the cross-Atlantic pollination of designers from Detroit. British Leyland, on the other hand, worked closely with Italians. Pininfarina had a hand in a number of Austins but wasn’t above plagiarizing itself—witness the similarities between the Austin Cambridge and Peugeot 404, something the studio repeated in the ’80s with the design of the Peugeot 405 and Alfa Romeo 164.

Another Italian, Giovanni Michelotti, worked extensively with Triumph, developing themes for sporting saloons he reused at BMW for the Neue Klasse cars. My favorite Aston Martin, the original V8 Vantage was designed by William Towns, who admitted borrowing heavily from the Mustang.

Each took something from somewhere else, and, in the best cases, made it their own. Britain learned from Europe and America, combining finesse and flash. America, emerging from the chrome-laden excess of the ’50s, looked to Europe to create some of the United States’ greatest-ever designs in the ’60s. Japan, recognizing its design leadership, remixed America’s greatest hits in the ’70s.

When Japan wanted to make sports cars in the ’80s, it looked to the place that did them best—Europe. Korea took a slightly more enlightened approach. Instead of taking the tried-and-tested classes, they hired a personal tutor, and it’s arguably paid dividends in their current design confidence.

It took roughly thirty years or so for these domestic industries to really come of age in the car-making business—to fully understand how the design of a car could reflect the tastes and desires of customers while offering them an emotional and usable product they really wanted, rather than needed, to own.

In America and Europe, this maturity point occurred around the time of the war, reflecting those countries’ head starts. Japan, starting just after the end of hostilities, got going by the ’70s. South Korea appears to be having its time in the sun now after starting in the ’80s, although part of me can’t help but feel we’re seeing something similar to the Japanese bubble, and there will be a retrenchment—especially if the EV revolution turns out to be anything but. The Chinese are attempting to take a short cut by copying everyone.

Time will tell if they will succeed or not, but one thing is certain: Companies that haven’t taken car design seriously in the past—like Dyson and its ill-fated car—have been doomed to fail.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vision Thing: The art of the steal appeared first on Hagerty Media.

In our road test of the 2022 Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio, we suggested this machine “doesn’t chase numbers so much as it delivers a unique experience.” Which is a nice way of saying the BMW M3 we also tested was a more impressive performer on track, if fractions of seconds matter to you.

But park the cars nose to nose and time stands still: Then, only one warms the cockles of your heart.

While I have begrudging levels of respect for the M3’s styling as complement to its Germanic engineering excellence, the Italian Alfa is a pure romance of form. A visual caress of sculptural elements masquerading as a performance sedan. There can only be one winner, but let’s see why the Giulia Quadrifoglio was the top dog.

Italian cars are typecast as gorgeous works of art, but everything from the functionally stunning Fiat Panda to this Alfa Romeo Giulia looks outstanding relative to its competition from any other country, stereotype or no. And I can’t stop making connections to this car’s front fascia to that of the Lancia Aurelia B24: The modest scudetto (grille) of each machine is perfectly situated amongst all the other relevant design features present on the front clip. Let’s zoom in and see.

Alfa does “bump a cutline to accentuate a badge” better than any other automaker. That’s because its badge works like plate tectonics, causing a 3-D bump in the fascia.

The bump is less obvious when looking at it head-on, which goes to show why examining car designs in a 3-D environment (i.e. the real world) will always be superior. (But you should still be reading this digital, 2-D sheet of Vellum Venom.)

Just like the BMW M3, the Alfa hides a big bumper behind its grille. Unlike the Bimmer, the Alfa’s is tiny, making for an aperture that easily hides the solid black reinforcement.

This might be my favorite angle, as there may not be a front fascia this dynamic yet wholly logical. It could be a deep sea creation of Mother Nature, to be honest.

Aside from the Alfa’s height (a common problem with cars today, thanks to safety concerns) as witnessed in the tall, flat, and painted surface that resembles a bumper, the front end looks like a fantastic tribute to the voluptuous fenders of yesteryear’s Italian masterpieces. Of course, that flat area looks like a bumper because it is; it lines up with the black bar behind the grille.

Imagine how lean, low, and attractive this face could be if it didn’t need that bumper behind the grille (and the flat portion of the front fascia). Or at least, if it could do with less bumper height.

Even the proximity sensors, normally an afterthought, are elegantly integrated into the teeth of Alfa’s grille. Their aim transitions elegantly from vertical to, um, whatever angle the sensor needs to do its job, with a rippling plastic surround. The insert is a fantastic distraction compared to the annoying lumps and carveouts housing the digital eyeballs of its competition.

Here’s a better shot of the shelf, the unfortunate byproduct of legislation that requires cars to be a little bit taller to cause less severe injury to pedestrians in the case of an impact. At least Alfa doubled down on the shelf’s presence with taut contouring that works well with the curvy grilles and headlights. Ditto on the big sensor for driver assistance: It is shaped a bit like the grille’s teeth. (Rather than just an ugly box.)

Speaking of curves, the bumper has a lot of them, and they all play well together. And do a fantastic job hiding the functional radiators behind the scenes.

The secondary cooling slot likely could have been integrated into larger holes below, but this is a far sweeter implementation, as it removes visual heft from the tall, painted surface.

Carbon-fiber splitters haven’t been this subtle, elegant, yet wholly outstanding in a long time.

Sadly, all these sleek and sexy elements do indeed have to live on a tall face. Cost of doing business, don’t ya know?

The headlights are pretty enough. But there’s something lacking compared to the level of detail, the depth and surfacing present in the M3’s crystal orb lights.

The hard transition from the organic body around the lights to the upright bumper assembly isn’t quite as elegant as the same section on the M3. That’s mostly because the Alfa’s cutline from bumper to fender begins in the middle of the light, and not at the end.

And that cutline makes no sense with the one above the headlight.

But, as the headlight tapers into the grille, you see just how important it is for designers to spend countless hours to surface a panel for maximum effect. Well, maximum in a truly subtle manner!

The hood vents are a combination of gills (below) and grilles (honeycomb, above) that ensures both safety, for the components underneath, and cohesiveness, with the grille’s texture.

And those vents naturally, beautifully, integrate into the bulges that rise above the hood’s depressed lower section.

The elegant surfacing is one of the best reasons to abandon the finest designs of BMW’s M-series, as those cars clearly abandon the sensibilities present in the Alfa’s sleek and aggressive lines. Very long lines at that, which keep things flowing from one panel to the next.

Shame about the cutlines, but the lack of front overhang is absolutely appropriate for a car with this level of performance.

The Quadrifoglio’s unique five-leaf clover wheels are a fantastic element of branding DNA for Alfa Romeo.

Sadly, these flagship wheels lack the deep-well, expensive casting/machining effort present in the M3 rims from the same angle.

A flagship performer without red brake calipers? Nice.

The dash-to-axle is on par with BMW’s gold standard for rear-wheel-drive-biased architecture.

Too bad the fender vent, complete with occasionally solid honeycomb texturing, looks cheap compared to the M3’s multifaceted, fender-mounted cooling spear.

Speaking of spears, the carbon-fiber-infused ground effects along the rocker panels are just as subtle as the front splitter.

Because of the aforementioned height, make note of the extra surfacing on these tall side panels. They reveal nothing as overdone as the M3’s equivalent panels, but even the fender vent has a “spear” coming from the door and intersecting with its lower hemisphere.

Like a prancing horse on a Ferrari, this badge puts the four-leaf clover in Quadrifoglio. But there’s a problem, as this badge can’t live at the top of the fender, proudly perching like that yellow shield on a Ferrari.

Again, this is a tall sports sedan with a series of misleading creases to make it look smaller and sportier than it truly is. One can argue that Alfa did a better job than BMW here, but beauty is a tough nut to crack when cowls need to be this tall.

The plastic-covered cowl is pretty tidy, at least. But it meets the red fender in a more downmarket fashion relative to the M3’s sunken, hidden design.

It’s fantastic to see more and more cars reverting back to sideview mirrors bolted to the area closer to the A-pillar and not to the painted door surface itself. This practice visually speeds everything up; otherwise, the mirror’s stalk looks like a freestanding pillar on an otherwise “speedy” body.

There’s far less surfacing here, relative to the same area on the M3. And that’s a great thing, because at some point a painter must know when to stop painting.

The same applies to the logically round shape of the sideview mirror. Perhaps the M3’s pointy airfoil mirror assembly is quieter at 100+ mph, but that’s a sacrifice I can live with.

The tall, clean, and elegant forms from the front fascia are not in vain; the side view is similarly sleek and flowing. Never hurts to be laid atop a vehicle with rear-wheel-drive-oriented proportioning, too.

Rounded elements in a B-pillar are generally a horrible idea (unless you’re making the Nissan Cube) but I have a feeling that the talented Alfa folks behind this design coulda rounded these blacked-out covers just a smidge and gotten away with it. And the change woulda worked, considering all the curves present elsewhere in the Guilia.

All cars have about the same amount of tumblehome these days, which I attribute to the need for head-curtain airbags, but the door’s voluptuous cross-section makes the Alfa feel like it has more taper, top-to-bottom.

The door cutline doesn’t flow terribly well with the wheel arch behind it nor with the vent window above. That said, the opening’s edge is still a taut, muscular, and exciting work of automotive packaging.

That vent window has elements of the Hofmeister kink, but the Giulia integrates them in a more respectful manner than the M3, which uses fake plastic extensions.

It’s unfortunate the flattened-out wheel-arch contour isn’t met with a sympathetic curve from the door cutline, but at least the rocker panel’s carbon-fiber insert remains understated even at its coda.

While the lack of rear overhang is expected and encouraged, the ratio of taillight to rear bumper is skewed too heavily to the latter. The imbalance makes the Alfa look like a child with chubby cheeks; in comparison, the aggressive “duck face” taper of the M3’s rear bumper gives it a chiseled, more aggressive appearance.

There was nothing terribly wrong with the M3’s square fuel-filler door, even though it was bent to match the body’s surfacing. But there’s something so much better about a round door for a round gas-filler neck, and a smooth body panel for it to reside on without excessive contouring.

The Giulia’s properly muscular quarter-panel creates a shoulder line worthy of the performance beneath.

The seam between roof and quarter panel is usually covered by a plastic rail. Not having it could be considered cheap, but I see its absence as a pure expression of a different era in body construction.

The rounded, organic forms found upstream are complemented by a rounded rear window and a tapered trunk cutline. Compared to the unyielding box forms in the M3, this is another pleasant throwback of the Giulia to less austere times.

Luckily the window isn’t as rounded as that of the 1996 Ford Taurus, which took ovoid shapes to a logical extreme … that nobody asked for.

The rear three-quarter view shows a nice mix of hard bends and soft contouring, especially at the hip-shaped bend above the rear door handle. Exhausts, diffusers and spoilers ensure you know this isn’t a $419/month lease special (yes, I googled it) on a baseline Giulia.

Like most modern sedans, the hard bend at the bumper’s corner is probably there to clean up airflow at the rear. Its seemingly arbitrary implementation relative to the taillight’s internal design and the bumper cutline is a bit unfortunate.

A panel gap this size is disappointing at darn near any price point, but the same twin-winged, carbon fiber’d rear spoiler design also seen on the M3 is fun to behold.

Emblems denoting a specific model are regularly finished in chrome like this, but considering the charcoal wheels and all the carbon fiber? The high-shine just seems out of place …

… especially considering how your eyes want to focus on the trunk contouring made specifically for the round, chromed Alfa Romeo emblem in the center. It’s a good look and could use less distraction from the name-specific emblems, at least on an assertive Quadrifoglio model.

This particular blend of taillight, trunk grab handle, backup camera, and negative area for the license plate looks too much like the rear of the VW Jetta. While the Giulia is far more muscular, the section of taillight that bolts to the decklid needs to look more distinctive. The Alfa predates the VW, but life isn’t fair: Sometimes, a cheaper vehicle rips off your design and prints it off for the masses.

As we go down the bumper, make note of just how aggressive that hard bend is, and how it matches nothing else on the body. Why? Aerodynamics.

If only the bumper’s contouring could work as well as this flare’s integration with the black diffuser assembly. The curves and hard bends sing in perfect harmony.

Even the honeycomb grille’s border and the standalone red reflectors look like they were used as reference points for the rest of the diffuser.

And no good diffuser for a premium sporting sedan is complete without adding a couple of strakes for high-speed functionality.

While it may look like a sexy Jetta, the Giulia has the requisite aerodynamic hardware to keep the family-car references at bay. Even the base model is far more muscular and taut and a mere VW product, while the negative area used for the license plate does a fantastic job thinning out the mass generated by the tall posterior.

It’s all very classically logical, especially compared to the duckface contouring of the M3’s posterior. Everything is in its right place, even if the thick decklid and massive bumper make me long for the days of smaller, shorter performance sedans. But the E39-chassis M5 is never coming back, so let’s instead revel in the fact that the high watermark of performance sedan design didn’t leave us; it just moved to Italy.

Thank you for reading—I hope you have a lovely day.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom: 2022 Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s an old cliché that all great art must come from suffering. The myth of the tortured genius has probably been around since prehistoric man first daubed on cave walls, while onlookers pondered what exactly the artist was trying to say. Personal and professional trauma doesn’t merely produce great work; it adds a layer of meaning and complexity to our understanding of the art.

And it helps place the work in context. The band Fleetwood Mac wrote Rumours amid intrapersonal conflict between members who could barely stand to be in the same room as each other. Walt Disney, stung by a breakdown in his working relationship with Universal Pictures, created Mickey Mouse in secret out of spite.

For an example closer to my own heart, Nine Inch Nails gave us the seminal Downward Spiral, an abrasive, semi-autobiographical album about the downfall of a man, reflecting Trent Reznor’s struggles with depression and drug addiction.

(Your humble author has experienced more than his fair share of personal traumas, but I would never be so pretentious as to describe my work here or anywhere else as art. You, of course, are free to do otherwise.)

The debate about the inherent tension between art, design, and commerce is probably worth discussing in this column at some point in the future. Putting Warhol aside for now, a reasonable position to consider is the notion that, in the realm of consumer products, good design is properly considered as art.

Although design is an iterative, quantitative process with measurable objectives, there is an emotional component to boot. That artistic part is influenced as much by external circumstances and necessity as it is by the emotional state of the people creating it.

A designer, like the artist or any creative person, is a product of their lived experiences and their relationship with the world around them. Probably the most traumatic and world-altering event is conflict: John Milton wrote Paradise Lost after losing his wife, his daughter, and his eyesight. But he was mostly influenced by the English Civil War. War might never change, but it changes everything around it.

Prior to the Second World War, the aerodynamic “streamlining” of consumer products had been the purview of critical-thinking industrial designers like Norman Bel Geddes and Raymond Loewy, who each attempted to bring a more scientific approach to the design of the American automobile.

While Bel Geddes and Loewy had some success transposing the streamlined look to consumer products as a result of the art deco movement, streamlining as a directive was dismissed by Detroit after the failure of the Chrysler Airflow. The pure teardrop shape envisioned by Bel Geddes, Loewy, and the aerodynamicists wasn’t really suitable for a passenger car due to enclosed wheels and susceptibility to crosswinds.

It’s probably worth taking a brief pause to talk about the Airflow.

Although the aerodynamic science as understood at the time was reasonably sound, the execution was miles off. Ostensibly a unibody vehicle, in which the frame is integrated with the body, the Airflow utilized an elaborate but obsolete method of construction, one favored by low-volume, build-to-order luxury coachbuilders of the era: using small “filler” panels between larger body components, such as fenders, hood, and headlights. The Airflow may have had an advanced package with a roomy interior, but for a volume-focused company like Chrysler, it was incredibly time-consuming and expensive to build.

Compare the side profile of the 1934 Airflow to the superficially similar yet staggeringly more beautiful 1935 Lincoln Zephyr: Never was my point about car design being an act of nuance more starkly illustrated.

The Airflow was a disaster and only stayed in production for three years. Other advanced cars have failed in the marketplace by being too far ahead of public taste, but the Airflow’s problem wasn’t that it was too futuristic; it was simply too ugly. The breathtaking Zephyr, sketched by Tom Tjaarda and carried through to production by Eugene “Bob” Gregorie, was actually more aerodynamic than the Airflow and stayed in production until 1942.

Car design as a discipline was still in its infancy when the Second World War broke out. As factories transitioned to producing the arsenal of democracy, the government restricted car manufacturers from working on civilian vehicles. However, another unforeseen factor impacted the ability of American car designers to create new vehicles: They were cut off from their influences in Europe. Unable to work on new cars, the various design departments nonetheless began exploring ideas for the eventual resumption of car production when the war ended.

Edsel Ford, in contrast to his utilitarian father Henry, was an aesthete and connoisseur of the arts. He favored a more delicate and lighter appearance in cars, and encouraged Gregorie to explore ideas in this vein in preparation for the postwar Ford and Mercury lineup, hoping to introduce a more European-influenced look when the war was over.

Edsel’s intention was to have a tighter skinned car, with sculpted sides and pronounced but integrated fenders juxtaposed with finessed detailing. But Edsel passed away in 1943, and with him any chance of a postwar Ford that was visually lighter. Together with chief of sales Jack Davis, Gregorie had the idea of two full-bodied Fords, the larger of which would eventually become the ’49 Mercury.

At GM, Harley Earl naturally had his own way of doing things. He wasn’t one for artistic (or even scientific) theory and steered away from the controversy surrounding the Airflow. Becoming obsessed with the then-secret Lockheed P38, he began to encourage his designers to sketch full bodies with enclosed wheels—a typical Earl synthesis of ideas.

Bill Mitchell had left GM to join the Navy during the war and on his return he saw that these bulky but smooth GM cars had progressed a long way—but nobody working under Earl liked them. Mitchell described one Cadillac as looking like a turtle.

The upturned bathtub look that both Ford and GM were considering didn’t prevail. Earl had one of his characteristically explosive changes of heart. Ever with his finger on the pulse, he recognized the bulbous prop-driven P38 had rapidly become obsolete, replaced by something much sleeker and faster: the Lockheed P-80 Shooting Star, America’s first jet fighter.

Over at Ford, things were upended just as quickly when the firm caught sight of the first genuine postwar American car, the 1947 Studebaker.

Studebaker was in a unique position to capitalize on its competitors’ shakeups. Its design work was handled by an outside agency which was free to work on projects outside of the Department of Defense. That firm was Loewy Associates, and the ever contrarian Raymond Loewy had a lot to say about what he considered to be the failings of American car design. He envisioned a slimmer, lighter car free of what he called “spinach and schmaltz.”

Perhaps tiring of his outspokenness, in 1944 Studebaker executives deliberately supplied Loewy and his team with incorrect package dimensions, while instructing his second in command, Virgil Exner, to design the ’47 Studebaker in secret. Unsurprisingly, Exner’s was the design that made production, but Loewy’s ideas did directly and indirectly impact what Ford and GM were doing.

Ford purchased a Studebaker and pulled it apart. Working with the rest of Loewy’s team, Ford used it as a template for the smaller ’49 Ford. (The larger Ford had by this time morphed into the ’49 Mercury.) Earl also bought one of the Studebakers into the studio and incorporated some of its ideas into the ’49 Cadillac—the more integrated trunk and through fender line, while still retaining plenty of Earl’s trademark glitz and flair.

It seems appropriate that this tale of design subterfuge took place in wartime. Loewy was not a traditional “car guy”—something that would probably earn him scorn from the likes of Earl and Mitchell. (Although, as we have discussed before, Mitchell was extremely European in his outlook, just like Loewy). The irony is that Loewy, who went on to become one of the foremost American industrial designers, was heralded by the likes of the Museum of Modern Art for wanting to change the direction of American car design just as it was heading into one of its most expressive, expansive, and influential periods: the 1950s.

During my time in the studio, it was an unwritten rule we didn’t use any military vehicles as mood images or inspiration, and that we didn’t render up our ideas in a military setting. There were extremely sensitive reasons for this, but they don’t negate the fact that designers, like artists, always do their best work when circumstances are at their most challenging. Trent Reznor likely didn’t know what was coming his way when he rented 10050 Cielo Drive to record Downward Spiral, but the success of the final product clearly proves the point.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vision Thing: The art of war appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Hagerty’s delightfully, insightfully perceptive editor-at-large Sam Smith put his trained hands on this BMW M3 shortly before I found a quiet, unadorned section of GingerMan Raceway—where our staff was holding a track test—for Vellum Venom–ing. I am only bringing him up to thank him for the perfect summation of my design analysis:

“Have you ever had an old friend go off and make a bunch of new friends, then become what those new friends seem to want?”

Friends forever? That’s a question with a dicey answer. Let’s examine the M3 that Sam Smith sampled, right after he ripped it around GingerMan. Embrace the bug splatters: Automotive journalism gets messy at times.

Believe it or not, this is still the M3 we all know and love; it just went to a college that had a larger endowment fund than yours did. Perhaps it needs to scream its assertiveness amongst a sea of dual-motor Tesla Model 3s that blandly put down comparable 0-60 numbers with soulless precision.

Clearly someone’s got something to say, and the days of M-series understatement are long, looooong gone.

But did BMW really have to throw away decades of understated assertion for such overzealousness?

If you squint really, really hard, this M3’s bumper and headlight arrangement can look like a more angular, more muscular versions of the E46 (2000–2006) M3’s schnoz. That insane grille looks more normal if you let your eyes glaze over to the point that its integral blackout bumper-panel blends into the lower fascia.

But the bumper panel doesn’t blend in, as BMW made a point to extend the grilles far south of the bumper’s crash point. We’re now in a modern era that caters to a generation who could care less about the E30 (1986 to 1991) M3’s subtle body kit. Today’s audience might even enjoy BMW’s hat-tip to the bumper/lower grille treatment of cars like the 1973 Olds Cutlass.

It’s understandable and almost acceptable, as I am not necessarily a hater of today’s gaping-maw design. Faces can’t stay the same in our society; design stagnation only works for Tesla and modern Mopar muscle. Speaking of, the M3’s twin power-domed hood looks much like that of the 2010 Dodge Charger SXT. As a follower of mine on Instagram notes:

“That’s a dope looking Dodge Charger ”

See that line above the hood’s cutline? The one that makes a slight shadow over the hood? It is the beginning of the M3’s next problem: a tall cowl that requires such a large face and the requisite monstrous grille.

But we need not concentrate on the M3’s big face and tall cowl just yet, because from here, the front looks just as low-slung as that of the Toyota GR86 or Subaru BRZ. The sleek, fast, and somewhat angry headlights look marvelous on this long hood.

Considering LED technology is cheaper than incandescent on places like eBay and Amazon, perhaps BMW had no need to advertise itself here. The technology isn’t the selling point; it’s the level of detail in the execution. Better yet, let the complex, plasti-crystal lenses do the talking.

Because the LED-infused stuff behind these clear lenses? They are gorgeous in a sci-fi movie-set kinda way.

Alas, we must step back and remind ourselves those lights don’t exist in a vacuum. There’s a busy bumper, and BMW’s twin grilles emerging from dual power bulges now resemble lungs instead of kidneys. A damn shame for traditionalists.

That said, note the bumper’s delicious inward taper. It keeps the front end from looking flabby—from multiple viewpoints, too. The air curtains at the corner and the cooling ducts to the right are aggressively chiseled to remind everyone this ain’t no Tesla (or lease-special 330i).

There’s a hint of “exposed fan blade” imagery from the world of aircraft in these finned air-routing panels. The interplay between painted plastic and exposed carbon fiber keeps this from looking cheap or tacky.

There’s a certain gravitas lent to the car by these huge carbon-fiber ducts; it’s only logical that an M3 that requires such aggressive cooling would perform like no M-series before it.

The bumper’s middle section shows a similar attention to detail, as the massive “lung” grilles have strong bumper contouring to ensure they aren’t stylistic afterthoughts. The bevels and muscular bends make each feel like a concrete reinforcement to the facade of a utilitarian building, like a powerplant.

But still, the bumper’s middle section has to protect the car in a frontal collision. The grille’s texture suffers from the need to perform a necessary task.

Even so, it’s truly shameful to see how poorly the parking sensors were integrated into the functional crash element of the bumper. Pimples really have no place on a car as serious as this.

Just in case you forgot what you’re buying, there’s an M3 badge that awkwardly rests atop the massive grille’s demure horizontal slat.

As much as I encourage creativity in the (otherwise conservative) world of commercial car design, adding flared nostrils to a BMW product seems so counterintuitive to the brand’s identity. Or at least, what the brand used to stand for.

I still find something to like in the M3’s massive nose, as the grilles do inject an element of utilitarian functionality to the body. They read like an HVAC contractor doing the tango with an architect. More to the point, the M3 looks expensive, eye-catching, and immensely functional—just like the Inside Out building in London.

Despite that argument, no amount of inside-out HVAC functionality and sculptural integrations into a massive snout can mask the offensiveness of these openings.

That grille is just way too over-the-top for a body with contrasting elements in so many other places. Remember that hood contour I previously mentioned? See where it goes? That’s the main problem here.

Again, the M3 has many sleek design features, as the short overhangs also look rather sporty with fast lines on the hood and headlights. Even the bumper’s cooling vents complement the headlights; from a side view, the fascia gives the appearance of an assertive undersea creature.

Thanks to the functional, solid bumper components within the grilles, one can imagine the M3 with a normal set of kidneys in lieu of these monstrous lungs. But would any one talk about this car if they did? Is all PR still good PR?

BMW, like most high-end carmakers, always spends the coin to make complex wheel castings. Machining that hub musta cost a pretty penny, and the seamless integration of the classic M-series emblem in one of the spokes is one of the (many) reasons why so many love this brand, warts and all.

I remember remarking that the E46 M3’s air extractor was a bit over the top for a fender; now, these things have to look like something on an airplane. A tall vehicle needs to style its massive vertical surfaces, though, and that flying boomerang ain’t a half bad way to do it.

Sure, it was twenty paragraphs ago, but that hood crease is now a representation of just how tall and ungainly the M3’s modern cowl truly is for a sedan. A cowl this tall (and the pedestrian-friendly space between it and the engine) almost sits parallel to the hood from this angle. The latest Honda Accord commits this same sin at this exact vantage point.

Step back, however, and reap the benefits of designers who endlessly hone a product, especially a luxury one: The surfacing ensures that your eyes “pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” drawing them away from that erect cowl to fixate on the fast lines laid atop it.

You don’t notice just how aggressively contoured the rocker panels are until you squat down and witness the inward taper between the front wheel and the front door. Another necessary element in surfacing an insanely tall body, I guess!

Note the three fender creases: one for the door, one for the top, and one transition to help the tall cowl elegantly translate into the downward slope for the front end. One day we’ll re-introduce lower cowls with no need for such nonsense. One can hope.

Much like the expensive wheel castings, these carbon-fiber mirrors look proper for an M-series BMW. Mounting them to the A-pillar avoids DLO FAIL, too.

The mirror appears to have a pointed fairing for extra visual sleekness. Or, more likely, for NVH control at high speed.

Step back and admire the elongated dash-to-axle ratio, the hallmark of a rear-wheel-drive platform and also a hallmark of the BMW 3-series.

The rocker panels push back out toward the rear wheel, and there’s a nice character line above to bring some excitement to these tall doors.

When focusing on the cabin’s center section, note the door cutline, as it incorporates both gentle and aggressive bends. The cutline is also a witness to the complex body surfacing on the 3-series doors.

No such complex contouring is present on the actual B-pillars; instead there’s a strong, smooth, and laser-straight line. Thank goodness for that.

While the current G20 generation (the chassis introduced in 2018) body is rather large for the 3-series lineage, the wheelbase between the B-pillar and the rear axle is somewhat modest. As is the rear overhang. Well, by modern car standards, at least.

The 3’s dogleg gets even more contrived thanks to a straight cutline in the door against the “curved plateau” found in all modern automotive wheel arches. There’s not enough space between these disparate elements to let each visually breathe (so to speak).

A character line bisecting the door handles has been a 3 Series hallmark since the E46 generation, and the two elements have sported a distinct correlation since the E30. Nice to see some traditions haven’t gone out of style.

The Hofmeister kink has been a BMW signature for decades. Now, it is a function-less piece of black plastic that isn’t even integral to the window design. What a shameful implementation of DLO FAIL.

The details may disappoint, but there’s still something about an expertly sculpted M3 silhouette. The C-pillar and quarter panel look positively muscular in the light of day. And with M3 levels of wheel diameter for that intense stance? Still works for me.

I’ll say it again: Ruining a perfect daylight opening with that awful Hofmeister kink extension is a shame. But note how it’s not just a “Hofmeister shaped” panel; it has bevels to add aggression. This isn’t a kink, it’s an arrowhead.

The subtlety of the E36’s stamped metal frame around said kink is a long forgotten memory, but at least the 2022 car’s body side looks muscular enough to go with that steroid-infused front end.

Carbon-fiber roof panels likely have a modest performance benefit in this top-heavy era of curtain airbags and hyper-reinforced roof pillars. Function aside, the contouring on this one is a delight to behold.

The aforementioned contouring lines up with the CHMSL’s external frame.

These fender flares look like tumors, but the subtle C-pillar crease elegantly slides down the quarter panel. The latter is only slightly more pronounced than it is on the E39 M5.

The hard bend between the taillight and the horizontal has a sculptural element, removing bulk to make a more elegant transition for such a tall posterior.

The hard bend bisecting the door handles runs to the tip of the taillight, while the sculptural lopping of metal above the taillight is also executed below it.

BMW even lopped the center section of the decklid spoiler. Like, awesome.

There’s a shocking amount of “stair stepping” from top to bottom, as this M3’s spoiler-tipped rear probably stands far taller than the E30 M3’s, even with that car’s fixed wing.

I know it’s just my bias as a Lincoln-Mercury fanboi, but so many manufacturers make Continental kit homages in their decklids these days.

The top of the taillight’s red section is actually parallel to the ground, adding to the aforementioned stair-step effect.

Note the height of the smoked lens. There’s a pretty significant drop from the decklid to the ground below, so that step is greatly appreciated.

The red light is almost an interim bumper at this point, making a significant break in the vertical drop of the M3’s body.

Below the light are wavy, sculptural elements and a hard inward bend that likely helps you find the base of the decklid by touch. The rear bumper, much like the rocker panels, sucks inward to reduce visual weight.

The M3’s cornucopia of bumper contouring is just as radical as that controversial front fascia. But unlike the front, it successfully differentiates the M-series from its pedestrian counterparts without offending the purist’s sensibilities.

Rear reflectors are hidden behind the hard edge of the side-to-rear transition. It’s a slick execution, both literally (aerodynamic benefit to hard transitions in this location) and figuratively (aesthetics).

Oh, and note the lower contouring in how it matches the rocker panels just a few feet away.

The overwrought bumper diffuser elements make sense given the M3’s modern mission. Problem is, they give a designer leeway to turn the Hofmeister kink into a complementary arrowhead. Such integration is usually cohesive and great appreciated, but it feels wrong if you have any connection to M-series vehicles of yesteryear.

Rear diffusers have merit, and a brilliantly finished carbon-fiber affair is eye catching, functional, and expected at this price point. ($90,095 as-tested, in case you were wondering.)

Perhaps the M3’s bumper is doing the duck face, the “pucker up for a kiss” expression that plagued social media for so many years. But there’s a flaw in its complexion, as parking sensors never integrate as well as we’d like on complex surfaces.

Stairs, stairs everywhere. That said, it’s actually a good look, as it eliminates the traditional bumper shelf and shrinks this huge fascia. The problem is that such manipulation was needed in the first place.

A pursed-lip “duck face” looks pretty fantastic with quad pipes finishing off the look. All points on the M3’s jutting rear bumper lead to a vanishing point many, many feet in front of it.

There’s a certain old school DTM race car look about the M3’s rear. The car’s ready for a fight, and let’s face it, this sucker still performs when you push it to the limit.

Perhaps its my affinity to the E39 M5’s LeMans Blue paint and caramel interior, but there’s something about a modern BMW finished in blue, sporting a carbon-fiber roof, and three contrast-colored headrests that instantly triggers my excitement for the M-series brand.

Even with the duck face, that is still an ungainly rear bumper. Considering the risk BMW took up front with the lung-shaped grilles, it’s surprising the designers chose modest tweaks at the rear to hide all the bulk.

I am not Sam Smith, but driving this M3 is a strange mix of pure joy with rough jolts of unnecessary aggression. The seats are a bit firm (even by BMW standards) and the suspension is surprisingly jarring at times.

That agreement between visual aesthetic and behind-the-wheel experience is precisely why it’s hard to flat-out dislike the styling. BMW absolutely, unequivocally designed the M3 to look how it feels.

Perhaps I like the M3’s styling for being so true to the car underneath. That preference is a sin I can live with, even if I want to slap myself for saying it. Perhaps I can earn atonement in the next Vellum Venom, and there’s a true beauty in our future …

Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a lovely day.

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Vellum Venom: 2022 BMW M3 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s no secret that I’m very over pop culture’s continued efforts to eat its own tail. Movies, music, fashion, design; nothing has been able to exist for the last twenty years or so without referencing the past. The current era of postmodernism has given this cultural stagnation an intellectual rigor it doesn’t deserve.

Would the Hyundai N Vision 74 concept have hit as hard without the overt ’80s influences? I doubt it. It’s a handsome thing, but strip away the pixels, turbofan wheels, and radical drivetrain and it’s utterly conventional. Hyundai had no choice, as it is a relatively young company with no visual heritage nor iconic models to call its own (unless you’re a big Pony or Excel fan). Without a Mustang or a 911 in the ranks, Hyundai opted to tap into the synthwave zeitgeist as a shortcut to relevance.

Here’s my whole problem with this approach (you knew I had one): It only remains relevant as long as those influences do. Once the buying public moves on from this particular, backward-looking cultural and aesthetic predilection, these designs are going to be more dated than neon leisure wear.

Good design is shaped by the time in which it exists, but it is not beholden to it. Off the top of my head, the late ’60s Mitchell-era Cadillacs, the early ’70s “fuselage body” Mopars, or the NSU Ro80 are timeless in their appeal; they don’t rely on trendiness for design credibility.

Which is how I recently managed to get into a gentle online imbroglio with a design critic. This gentleman wrote a piece suggesting that one of the only true measures of a car’s design success was its pop-culture relevance. Wait, what?

So instead of creating a vehicle that fulfills a customer’s needs with both logic and aesthetic appeal, I should have been trying to style something for the next James Bond film? (That’s a bit of an inside joke, as this kinda did sorta not quite happen, but I’m not going any further considering the statute of limitations on such matters.)

To be fair, the author in question does attempt to separate pop-culture relevance by association from pop-culture success. I feel he is getting into semantics to shore up a shaky premise, but let’s start at the beginning. The first line of the article states “car design is no science.” Well, I have a bachelors of art and a masters of art; the clue is right there in the titles.

“To try and measure its success is a task so fraught with limitations, the result cannot be anything but pseudo-scientific,” the piece continues. Except, of course, that artistic endeavors can be deemed good/bad in the same manner as its scientific counterparts: by the judgment and opinions of qualified peers. It’s problematic to suggest that only car designs achieving cultural relevance are truly successful.

This mistakenly conflates two different characteristics: popular and good. There are plenty of cars that are great, iconic even, but are they good designs? Not necessarily. We can talk about their form, proportions, visual features, and their time and place in history, but does it all come together in a way that transcends and offers something new, different, or enduring?

Certain things become popular because they appeal to a great number of people, but is there something else of merit they offer? For example, I was as disappointed when 9-1-1 Lone Star disappeared from British TV schedules as much as the next Rob Lowe fan, but high-brow television it wasn’t. It’s simply a well-constructed, entertainingly fun show that I enjoyed watching, but let’s not pretend it’s Sir Alec Guinness in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.

Our erstwhile design critic used the Silver Birch Aston Martin DB5 to support his argument that if the car wasn’t driven by the most famous employee of His Majesty’s Secret Service it wouldn’t be so desirable. There’s one small problem with this: The ostensibly similar DB4, which enjoys no cultural reference points whatsoever, is only slightly less valuable. In the case of the Zagato-bodied versions, the gap is even thinner.

He also cites the Pontiac Aztek as having achieved pop-culture relevance, by association. Apart from Radwood-style irony, few are truly celebrating the Aztek. If it were earnestly lauded, we’d being seeing cherished examples setting fire to the marketplace.)

This brings up a question: Can we have discussions about the design of the Aston and the Pontiac that’s separate from their iconography? Absolutely, as both were deliberate, considered pieces of product placement by the series’ producers. It said something about the fictional characters who drove them—a subliminal trick of “show, don’t tell” to the audience. Screen infamy has no bearing whatsoever in any serious debate about their merits as pieces of automotive design.

Let’s flip this asinine argument around for a moment. Could we say with a straight face that a 1982 Firebird would not be worthy of our attention were it not for Knight Rider?

Let’s see: Downsized and lightened for the third generation, the Firebird represented a quantum leap of what had gone before in terms of engineering, technology, and appearance. Consider the wrap over rear tailgate glass. Imagine the engineering and financial challenges of getting that into production in the early ’80s: The Porsche 924 pioneered this in 1976, but that car was much shallower in profile. And Pontiac made it work in far higher numbers, for much less money. The rake of the windshield was 62 degrees, far steeper than anything GM had previously attempted. This created a body with a drag coefficient of 0.32, a full four years before the revolutionary 1986 Ford Taurus.

Sure, the quality wasn’t great, and the packaging was a bit suspect (no glove compartment, à la pre-facelift 986-generation Porsche Boxster). Yet the third-generation Firebird didn’t need Glen A. Larson to become a proper American classic. Did he help sell a few? Undoubtedly, as Pontiac was in a bit of a sales slump at the time. But there’s no wondering why Universal Studios executives recognized immediately that the Firebird was perfect for its new Friday night action-adventure series about a high-tech crime-fighting car and his human partner.

Alas, let us return to the article that set me off on this diatribe. The author ridicules turn-of-the century remakes (Fiat 500, New Beetle, fifth-generation Mustang, and BMW-era Mini) for exploiting pop culture appeal in the form of retro design. One could argue that the original versions of these cars had almost all been immortalized onscreen in one way or another. (I’m struggling to think of a starring role for the 500, but there’s always Herbie, Bullitt, and The Italian Job.) But that is not the argument being made here. Instead, these retro designs are being criticized for not staying true to their original design brief, which completely fails to take into account how the market had moved on in the intervening years. Was VW really going to build a rear-engine Beetle in the late 1990s, rather than share a convenient platform with the front-drive Golf?

Knight Rider and car-centered shows like it were the result of happenstance, not foresight. The Dukes of Hazzard producers chose the ’69 Dodge Charger because when the show premiered in 1979 the cars were cheap and plentiful. It didn’t matter that they wrecked three per episode, because the cars were worth nothing and no one wanted them. Michael Mann loved Ferraris so much he didn’t want to subject a real one to the trials of filming Miami Vice, so he used a Daytona replica. This upset the Old Man in Modena so much he sued, but he eventually backed down and agreed to provide two Testarossas for the rest of the series.

Pick any one of your favorite shows from the period, and the choice of car purely comes down to expedience and the demands of churning out 22 episodes of network television on a weekly basis.

No one could have foreseen a future in which these shows turned into digitally archived (and easily retrieved!) memories—or, more to the point, a future in which this vintage media would be forced into ubiquity by a cohort of creative taste makers who never experienced them first-hand. I enjoyed these car-based action adventure shows as much as any eight-year-old at the time; they were my introduction to cool and exotic American cars I didn’t see on British roads. But if I go to a car show now as an adult and see a Ghostbusters Ecto-1 or a Robocop Taurus, I think they’re a bit naff. I’d rather see the unadorned original and judge it on its merits as a car, rather than a prop.

Which is why I can’t stand this style of pseudo-academic essaying. It reflects everything which in my view is wrong concerning discussions about design these days. At worst, it’s intellectual gatekeeping. Being a good communicator about design also means being a good salesman and explaining things in a clear, coherent way. (What I try to do here. If my head retreats too far into my turtleneck, I trust that you will let me know.)

Let’s be honest, the best hero car from an ’80s TV show was the Coyote X (a.k.a McLaren M6GT) from Hardcastle and McCormick. Anybody got a line on one?

***

Adrian Clarke is a professional car designer, earning a degree in automotive design from Coventry University and a masters in vehicle design from the Royal College of Art in London. He worked for several years at a major European OEM, and in the ’90s his daily driver in London was a 1979 Ford Thunderbird.

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it.

The post Vision Thing: Pop-culture relevance does not guarantee good design appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Kids these days, am I right? Things that once required trips to the library, letters to physical locations, and long-distance phone calls now require only the right search engine and a handful of beneficial websites.

Case in point, I wanted to be a car designer well before a computer told me about marketable skills or the college degrees available to put a kid like me into a design studio. Information about the trade from my school’s career center was nonexistent.

Now we can take an introductory course in automobile design from the comfort of our own homes? For free?

Yes.

I would have killed for what we have today, because “in my day” we played with a hoop and a stick after school. And we liked it!

But we should be far more thankful than jealous. Why? The days of forced ignorance are long gone, thanks in part to the Petersen Automotive Museum and Yellowbrick. This dynamic duo now offers an introductory course in car design for artists and enthusiasts of all ages.

This is an introduction, not a deep dive: Nobody claims this online coursework is a legitimate substitute for classroom instruction at a four-year college.

So let’s dip our toes into the industry with Yellowbrick’s Auto Design and Sketching. This three-part, online course is yours once you click on this link and provide an email address.

Three modules await you. The first focuses on what makes car design such a unique career and covers core design principles, needed skills, industry trends, and a little bit of history.

The second module provides individual vehicle profiles to put it all into perspective. While the DeLorean DMC-12, Lamborghini Gallardo, 2005 Ford Mustang, and Tesla Model S aren’t necessarily everyone’s cup of tea, each is an example of how we design/sell/market/admire cars and car design in the modern age.

The third module is the meat and potatoes of the course, as we get an overview into sketching a vehicle from a faculty member at Pasadena, California’s ArtCenter College of Design. One of the hardest things is to make circles and ellipses with precision, but they are mandatory learning in this field. (Best to pause the course and practice these shapes offline.) The course goes further to show drawing in perspective, including a simple classic car (Model T) and modern cars.

You can finish the class in a couple hours, but allowing for extra practice time between courses ensures that the serious student will take much longer to complete it.

After taking the course myself, I reached out to Justin Wolske, director at Yellowbrick, for a few follow-up questions and concerns. The latter pertained to errors in the quiz portion of the second module, mistakes which should be resolved by the time you participate in the program. His prompt attention to my concerns was refreshing, and his candid feedback about Yellowbrick’s Auto Design and Sketching program was enlightening.

Online learning platforms like Coursera are tailored to traditional careers with expected educational methods for career advancement, but Justin notes that Yellowbrick is unique in its focus on the creative arts, which it believes “have typically been neglected in the online space.” The company partners with institutions familiar to creatives, including NYU, Parsons School of Design, and the Fashion Institute of Technology. Yellowbrick prides itself on the quality of its instruction, and the car-design superstars you see in this program certainly prove the point.

I asked Wolske why Yellowbrick partnered with the Petersen Museum, he said the two have a previous relationship, but the stars hadn’t lined up until now. Justin said that Petersen and Omaze (a for-profit charity) decided “they wanted to make the discipline of auto design more accessible to their patrons, and all young people.” Clearly an online partner with experience in teaching creative subjects was needed. And it had to be free, as Justin put it:

“Auto design is not an inexpensive study or career path, and many talented young people have been locked out from the early steps of the career path due to finances. We wanted to undercut that trend.”

I asked who was their intended audience for this course, and Wolske said the initial target was males aged 18 to 25. But Yellowbrick is seeing “substantial activity from younger audiences, and some surprising signup data from women.”

The traditional Yellowbrick audience trends a little older (late 20s to early 30s), skews to women of color, and is mostly composed of those who have some connection to higher education. So the business model works, and it clearly helps lower the cost of an education with a creative institution. Well, at least in theory.

In reality, I wanted to see where Yellowbrick positions this course relative to four-year degrees in industrial or transportation design. Justin reminded me that “the first step is letting people know that this field exists.” True to that! Yellowbrick knows that many enthusiasts “can’t even conceive that they can do this for a living,” so Justin treats this course as a start to something more significant.

Both Justin and Yellowbrick hope that users “take those skills to more advanced online learning, an official four-year program, and ultimately a career in the field of auto design.”

Well, fair enough. As previously mentioned, I would have killed for this knowledge when I was younger. Or not, but after experiencing Auto Design and Sketchingfor myself over the 2022 Christmas break, I clearly would have lost my sophomoric mind if this course were available in my childhood.

When asked about a follow-up course, Justin mentioned that Yellowbrick is “already speaking with Petersen about future courses.” And they are listening to our feedback, which is likely to have a significant benefit to users in the future.

Bottom line, give the course a try. Unless you’ve already graduated with a four-year industrial design degree, you’re almost guaranteed to learn something from it. You have absolutely nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it.

The post Learn to sketch cars like the pros for free—and online appeared first on Hagerty Media.

2024 Mustang GT VIN 001 to be auctioned for diabetes research

Intake: Ford has announced that it will auction off the first 2024 Mustang GT, VIN 001, this Saturday evening, January 28, at Barrett-Jackson’s Scottsdale, Arizona sale. All proceeds from the sale will go to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF), a global type 1 diabetes research and advocacy organization. The seventh-gen Mustang GT is hardly the first VIN 001 Mustang to be sold at public auction: the first Shelby GT500, the first Mustang Mach 1, and the first Mustang Bullitt each crossed Barrett-Jackson’s block. The 2024 Mustang GT features a mildly revised version of Ford’s 5.0-liter Coyote V-8 that can produce up to 486 hp and 418 lb-ft of torque when you option the Active Valve dual exhaust that is part of the performance pack. That upgrade also nets a Torsen limited-slip rear diff, a strut-tower brace, MagneRide active suspension, larger brake discs, wider rear wheels and tires, and a new electronic parking brake that will help make novices into better drifters. The choice of transmission—manual or automatic—is yours, as are paint color and alloy wheel design.  The winner of the auction will get to option their Mustang GT however they want, choosing from a host of other options (including the performance pack mentioned above).

Exhaust: Good on Ford for using the first of this hotly anticipated model as a force for good. If past VIN 001 sales are any indication, this auction will likely bring big money. — Nathan Petroelje

Acura on pole for Rolex 24 at Daytona

Intake: Defending Rolex 24 at Daytona and series champion Acura and Meyer Shank Racing got their 2023 IMSA WeatherTech SportsCar Championship season off to a strong start Sunday. Driver Tom Blomqvist put together a frantic last-lap “flyer” in qualifying aboard his Acura ARX-06 to claim the pole for next weekend’s 61st running of the 24-hour race at Florida’s Daytona International Speedway. The team had been the fastest all week in practice, but when a red flag came out to stop qualifying for Nick Tandy’s crash in his Porsche, Blomqvist was sitting in seventh. When qualifying resumed, there was only time for one lap, and on cold tires, Blomqvist wrestled the Acura to the lead position. The qualifying session capped a weekend of full-field IMSA WeatherTech SportsCar Championship testing, known as “The Roar Before the 24,” and set the grid for the 61-car field that will be running next weekend. The other Porsche, driven by Felipe Nasr, was second, followed by Ricky Taylor in the Wayne Taylor Racing with Andretti Autosport Acura.

Exhaust: It was an exciting qualifying session, held on a very windy day whose weather was blamed for a couple of crashes. This is the first formal outing anywhere for the new hybrid “GTP”-class car, with Acura, Porsche, Cadillac, and BMW fielding entries. Next weekend’s Rolex 24 should be a history-making event as the top eight GTP cars were separated by only 0.815 seconds. — Steven Cole Smith

Volkswagen design chief ousted over retro designs, replaced by Bentley design head

Intake: Volkswagen is replacing its design chief, Jozef Kabaň, with Bentley’s design head, Andreas Mindt, according to company sources, says Automotive News Europe. Mindt’s successor at Bentley will be Tobias Suehlmann, who currently heads exterior design at the VW Group’s ultraluxury brand. Suehlmann joined Bentley in October 2021, having previously worked at Bugatti, Aston Martin, McLaren, and VW brand. VW brand’s new CEO, Thomas Schaefer, reportedly, has been unimpressed with some of Kabaň’s designs.

Exhaust: Interesting. In our minds, VW design has been pretty good under Kabaň—look no further than the retro-tastic ID. Buzz electric van—but Mindt is certainly a talented man. Kabaň is being retained by Volkswagen brand and will take up another position within the company. — SCS

Six-wheeled Porsche 944 is just the pickup you need on a Monday morning

Intake: A Porsche specialist in Germany spent 26 years building a unique workhorse out of a 944 and now the six-wheeled special could be yours. As its name suggests, 914-Boxergarage in Karlsbad, Germany, specializes in the 914, a model for which founder Deniz Kunze fell in the early 1980s. In 1995, however, he began work on a shop truck based on the front-engined 944. Over 2500 man-hours and more than two decades later, the world’s only six-wheeled 944 pickup was completed. This most peculiar Porsche is powered by an overhauled three-liter, four-cylinder engine from the later 968 model, and one of the rear axles is driven using the 968’s transaxle gearbox. The second axle, meanwhile, was lifted from an Audi 200 Turbo. KW coilover suspension is installed and it rolls on 17-inch BBS alloy wheels. The load bed is 80 inches in length and features oak floorboards, while the interior has been retrimmed in black leather with contrasting stitching to match the Continental Orange paintwork. The truck is road legal, having passed Germany’s tough TÜV standards, and is offered for sale at €175,000, or $190,700.

Exhaust: Who’d have thought that such a strange setup for a pickup would actually work? It’s a testament not only to Kunze’s imagination but also to his craftsmanship that the final result looks so awesome. Should you fancy something a little more conventional, Kunze also offers a”Black Forest Edition” of the 914, complete with a 2.4-liter, 160-hp motor, uprated suspension, and full interior do-over for around $80,000. — Nik Berg

Geely to turn London’s black cabs into electric car manufacturer

Intake: China’s Geely is planning a big investment to turn the maker of London’s iconic black taxis into a high-volume, all-electric brand with a range of commercial and passenger vehicles, executives at the unit told Reuters. London Electric Vehicle Company (LEVC) also aims to expand its suite of services, which include “cars arranging their own maintenance.” LEVC and Geely will seek to attract other investors to their zero-emission portfolio and would look to partner with other carmakers to develop new technology.

Exhaust: The U.K. seems to be a tad behind on electric-car adoption, and LEVC’s mission change will likely help bring some technology to the region. “We need to make sure the U.K. environment as a whole is competitive and has its position on the world stage,” said LEVC managing director Chris Allen. — SCS

Why are gas prices on the rise again? Blame China

Intake: The price for a gallon of gasoline hit a national average of $3.415 on Sunday, compared to $3.300 a week ago. One year ago, it was $3.328. In a recent press release, AAA spokesman Mark Jenkins says that China: “… is having a direct impact on what we pay at the pump. During the past two weeks, oil prices have made strong gains on the belief that fuel demand will ramp up as China reopens its economy. China is the largest oil importer in the world, and since oil is a globally traded commodity, global fluctuations in supply and demand have a direct effect on local prices, just as they always have.”

Exhaust: The good news, if you can call it that: “Retail prices appear to have mostly adjusted to the recent oil price gains. Where gas prices go from here will be contingent on what happens in the oil market this week,” Jenkins says. — SCS

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it.

The post Mustang 001 auctioned for charity, Acura on pole for Rolex 24, Porsche six-wheel 944 pickup appeared first on Hagerty Media.

This series has always been about elevating discussions about car design for all, specifically in a space more public than most car design websites. Along the way I’ve used words that aren’t exactly common knowledge, and I’ve even made my own two-word phrase that encapsulates an otherwise complicated design disappointment.

I do my best to avoid car-design jargon, but that only goes so far. Clearly, the time has come to create a glossary of terms used here in the Vellum Venom column.

But this ain’t no rehash of what you see on Wikipedia, as these are the terms I’ve referenced in Vellum Venom on a somewhat regular basis. Many are germane to design students and scholars, but this glossary aims to be a more casual collection of words that come to mind when I walk around a vehicle. One final point: This is a living document that will be amended as feedback requires.

Feel free to ask for more terms in the comments section! (Last updated: 03/08/24, added Light Signature) 

A

A-line: The line that creates the top half of a vehicle’s silhouette, regularly seen in “teaser” photos released by OEMs looking for a little promotion of a future product.

A-pillar: When looking at a side view, the first roof pillar that helps frame the windshield. More info here.

Accommodation curve: When looking into an interior from the side, the arc in a seat’s back that ensures a comfortable distance between the chair and the pedals as the occupant moves the seat moves up or down.

Aerodynamics: The study of how air moves and influences a car’s performance, as a whole or at the component level.

Air curtains: Aerodynamic trick to reduce drag by directing air around the front wheels, often providing a marginal benefit to fuel economy.

Air extractor: A hole in the body that relieves pressure from the engine, passenger, or cargo compartments. They can be on the hood, fender, quarter panel, and internal structure (like those trunk flaps behind bumpers).

Air foil: The cross-sectional shape of a wing.

Aperture: An opening on a vehicle’s body. May be as small as a cooling duct or as big as the holes covered by doors/deck lid/hood.

Approach angle: The maximum angle a vehicle can climb without damaging the front bumper or front suspension.

Art and Science: Marketing term for Cadillac’s angular design language, first seen on the 2002 CTS sedan.

Art Deco: A style of visual arts originating in France in the early 1900s that influenced cars like the Talbot-Lago.

Asymmetry: A lack of a mirror image when examining the front or rear of a design from its centerline. See Land Rover Discovery.

Axle: A line that starts from a wheel’s centerline and runs “through” the vehicle to the wheel on the opposite side.

B

B-pillar: The second pillar of a roof, when moving backward from a vehicle’s nose, after the A-pillar.

Badge: An identifying trim piece used to promote a vehicle’s make, model, or trim level.

Badge Engineering: A vehicle created from another template, but executed so poorly as to bring scorn upon itself for its lack of uniqueness.

Backlight: The back glass of a vehicle’s greenhouse.

Baroque: A 17th century art movement characterized by ornate and excessive ornamentation. Used to describe design elements of luxury cars from multiple time periods.

Bauhaus: A German arts and crafts school founded in 1919 by Walter Gropius, famous for concepts that became the foundation for Industrial Design.

Belt line: A horizontal line that separates a vehicle’s lower body from the side windows (see greenhouse).

Benchmarking: Line drawings of a concept placed over a vehicle chosen to be the concept’s template for size and proportion.

Bevel: A hard-angled cut that adds slope to a component. See 1980s Lincoln Town Car.

Boat tail: rear end designs created to evoke the style of a boat’s stern. Examples include the fantail design of the Rolls Royce Boat Tail or the pointed transom of a 1971 Buick Riviera.

Brand character (DNA): The visual building blocks of a design that signify a unique automotive brand. (See Hofmeister Kink.)

Brougham: body style with a roofless driver’s compartment, dating back to the horse carriage days. Cars of the malaise era turned the configuration into an upscale trim level for sedans by adding neoclassic items like landau tops, coach lights, and rococo ornamentation.

Brutalism: A minimalist post war architectural style dominated by the unfettered shapes made possible by formed concrete construction, often referenced with 1970s wedge design in automobiles and retro 8-bit Minecraft design.

Bulkhead: A panel that separates a vehicle’s engine, passenger, and cargo compartments into distinct spaces.

Bumper: a horizontal crash structure mounted at each end of a vehicle, often covered by an aerodynamic/stylized plastic cover since the advent of plastic technology mid-1980s.

Bumper shelf: A bumper design that creates a horizontal shelf sticking out from the rest of the body. The shelf often extends around the sides, on vehicles focusing on practicality and durability.

Buttress: A solid panel that supports another design element, for visual or structural purposes (or both). See the Jaguar XJS.

C

C-pillar: The third roof pillar, and the final one for conventional sedan and coupe body configurations. Learn more here.

Center High-Mount Stoplight (CHMSL): The third brake light set higher than those situated within the vehicle’s light assemblies at each corner at the rear.

Cab-backward design: Styling notion to push the passenger compartment (cab) further away from a front-mounted engine. Stronger cab-backward designs are regularly seen as more prestigious than weaker implementations.

Cab-forward design: The opposite of cab backward, affording more passenger space at the expense of engine access, and commonly associated with dedicated fleet vehicles (vans, cab-over trucks) and the Chrysler LH platform.

Cant rail: The portion of the roof that connects the A, B, C, and D pillars (when applicable) to each other.

Catwalk: see shoulder line.

Centerline: A line that runs through the center of something, used as an aid to create a symmetric design at the front or back of a vehicle.

Center of gravity: The point in space where all of the vehicle’s mass is located from a theoretical standpoint. (Thank you Don Sherman!)

Chamfer: A bevel designed to connect two disparate surfaces.

Character line: A line stamped into a panel to add visual interest or improve structural rigidity (or both).

Cheater panel: an opaque panel used to implement DLO FAIL.

Clamshell: A portal (normally a hood) that opens in the same manner as a clam, thereby drastically altering the shape of a traditional fender. See Kia Soul.

Coach light: Ornamental light normally placed on the B- or C-pillars of a roof.

Color gradient: A set of colors arranged in a specific order of progression, usually pertaining to external graphics or interior materials.

Contrast: A visual difference in the appearance of distinct elements in a design. Adding more or less contrast changes the impact of a design.

Core Support: structural assembly behind the header panel, primarily used to house the radiator and to connect the two fenders together.

Cornering light: lighting system to aid in turning, illuminating when the turn signal is activated (generally old cars) or with input from the steering sensor (generally newer cars).

Coupe: body style comprising of a three-box design with two doors, an aggressively sloped C-pillar, and a significant number of unique body panels relative to a sedan platform with the same DNA from the same manufacturer.

Coupe SUV: a two or three-box design sport utility vehicle with an aggressively sloped D-pillar, pioneered by 2008 BMW X6 Sports Activity Coupe.

Cowl: The base of the windshield, and a flashpoint of significant cost and functionality for modern car design.

Crown: The highest part of a design element, most obviously seen in the Continental kit of a stamped decklid.

Cut line: Any break in the body used to separate unique features like doors, hoods, trunks, bumpers, and fascias. Sometimes it’s even used as a feature to draw attention to an emblem!

D

DLO FAIL: A lament for the proliferation of opaque plastic panels in lieu of glass, visually cheating the shape of a vehicle’s greenhouse. More info here.

DNA: see brand character.

Dagmar: a front bumper design from the 1950s with two bullet shaped appendages, crudely named after a female TV personality of the era.

Dash-to-axle [ratio]: The distance between the centerline of the front wheel and the bottom of the windshield. More info here.

Dashboard: Originally defined as the lower part of the firewall (see Curved Dash Olds) but is now vernacular for the instrument panel in a vehicle’s cabin.

Daylight Opening (DLO): The glass area of a vehicle’s greenhouse as seen from the side. More info here.

Daytime Running Lights: low intensity, front-mounted lights that increase visibility during the day, when the headlights aren’t needed. Originated in Nordic countries where ambient light is less intense, and snow can mask the presence of oncoming traffic.

Dead Cat Hole: A morbid reference to a suspension’s jounce room, and the space between the top of a car’s tire and the wheel arch. American cars were previously known for significantly taller spaces to aid in snow chain installation, also making it easier for cats to seek shelter in the winter.

Deck lid: The horizontal plane of a conventional trunk on a sedan or coupe.

Deflector: See fairing.

Departure angle: The maximum angle a vehicle can descend without damaging the rear bumper or exhaust.

Design study: a concept rendering or 3-D model (or full scale concept car) meant as research to answer a particular question. Can be for cosmetic, branding, or functional reasons. See the Mercedes-Benz ESF 05 safety vehicle.

Dogleg: The part of the quarter panel behind the rear doors of a four-door vehicle, its relationship to the door and the rear wheel arch makes it resemble a dog’s hind legs.

Dog’s eye view: Photography term used to show what a vehicle looks like from a low vantage point.

Down-the-road Graphic (DRG): Recognizable front-end styling, intended to help market/promote a vehicle’s brand via visual recognition. Ex. BMW’s kidney grilles.

Downforce: The weight of air (and gravity) that pushes down on the front or rear of a vehicle at speed.

Diffuser: An aerodynamic panel at the bottom rear of a vehicle, designed to draw air out of from underneath to increase downforce.

Drag: The force of air pushing against a vehicle at speed. NASA calculates this by taking the “drag coefficient times the density (of the air), times half of the velocity squared, times the reference area (frontal area).”

Drag coefficient: A unitless number calculated to determine the resistance of a vehicle at speed. More info here.

Ducktail: A short, upright spoiler popularized by the Porsche 911.

Dutchman panel: the filler panel between the backlight and the deck lid on older cars. Commonly referenced in vintage Mopar circles when addressing rust repairs, but likely originated from other industries.

E

8-bit design: Retro design implementing pixels in a style befitting digital creations of the 1980s. See Minecraft video games, and the Hyundai Ioniq 5.

Emblem: see badge.

Easter egg: an element of a vehicle’s brand character that’s hidden in an obscure but not impossible to find place for the end user. Term was popularized by the secret screen found in the Adventure game for the Atari 2600, but automotive Easter eggs go back to the time when a Ford Engineer stamped the word “Hi” into the firewall of the 1965 Ford Galaxie.

End plates: usually seen at each corner of a wing, these keep air moving in the correct direction across the panel, and prevent crosswinds from interfering with this engineered airflow.

Ergonomics: the study of designing a vehicle around the person’s needs to reduce stress, most frequently described in terms of the driver’s access points on an instrument panel.

F

Fairing: a part that is added to a vehicle (or a vehicle accessory, like roof racks) to reduce aerodynamic drag or deflect wind.

Facade: architectural term for the face of a building, but can be used to describe customer-facing elements of automobile design.

Fascia: the facade of either the front or rear of a vehicle.

Fast back: an elongated C-pillar that shortens the length of the deck lid relative to other body styles available for the same car. See the 1966 Ford Mustang.

Fender: when viewed from the side, the body panel that normally covers the space between the front bumper and the front door.

Firewall: see bulkhead.

Flash: excess plastic material that forms on the surface of a plastic part. Usually associated with cheaper vehicles where cost cutting is encouraged.

Flying Buttress: an angled support beam (not a solid panel), as seen in the Ford GT. Also see Notre-Dame de Paris.

Foil: a teardrop shape (usually) attached to a body panel to smooth out airflow, generally seen in or near lighting pods that wrap around a body.

Frontal Area: the area inside the shadow that’s made when shining a light at the front of a vehicle.

Frenching: derived from custom car culture, this process integrates a vehicle’s design element within the body, often sinking it into the body as if it was being dropped into a liquid. Most often seen with traditional radio antennas, but applied to any design that emulates this act.

Front Body Hinge Pillar (FBHP): the structural sheetmetal below the A-pillar.

G

Gaping Maw: oversized grilles and cooling ducts that dominate a front fascia. Generally used as a pejorative, as it allows for the addition of non-functional blackout panels popularized by the 2004 Audi A4 and A6.

Greenhouse: the upper part of a vehicle’s body that houses the glass, and resembles a greenhouse for growing plants indoors.

Grille: a protective screen between the outside air and the radiators mounted in the header panel. Can be ornamental to the point of rococo or simply minimalist.

Globalization: in terms of car design, a business concept stressing interchangeability of platforms and parts across the globe. See the Chevrolet Spark ACTIV.

Ground Effects: functional extensions added to the rocker panels to generate downforce via low pressure between the chassis and the ground, often complemented with downforce added by front and rear wings.

H

H-point: the point of a seated human’s hip in car, when viewed at the side of an interior space.

Halo vehicle: marketing term for a vehicle (or model) with styling and performance that improves the perception of the entire brand. Examples include the Dodge Viper’s grille (and how it percolated across the range).

Hammerhead: Term for the front end styling of Toyota vehicles from the 2020s, most notably the pointed nose with hammer-like wings above the headlights seen on the 2023 Toyota Prius.

Hard point: location on a body that cannot be changed as per the functional requirements of the vehicle.

Hardtop: a solid roof that’s either removable on a convertible/roadster body (see Mazda Miata), lacks a B-pillar on a fixed roof body style, or folds into cargo area (see Ford Skyliner or Mercedes-Benz SLK).

Hatchback: a two-box design with rear access via a lift-up access door. See the Porsche 928.

Haunches: taken from a four-legged animal’s hindquarters, but translated into the forms of an automobile around the front or rear wheel arches. See three-quarter view.

Header panel: structural assembly mounted above the front bumper, housing the headlights, grille, and often a front fascia.

Heckblende: German word that explains filler panels visually connecting the left and right taillight to make a full-length taillight. Often aftermarket for vintage vehicles, but also see the Porsche Taycan.

Hip: see shoulder line.

Hockey stick: a unique curve to the quarter window (where it meets the base of the C-pillar) on Saab products.

Hofmeister Kink: a unique bend on a quarter window (where it meets the base of the C-pillar) on BMW products.

Hooper Coachwork: English coachbuilder known for dramatically downward sloping beltlines of pre-war Rolls Royce vehicles. Style has been reintroduced to newer generations thanks to the 1980 Cadillac Seville and the 2004 Mercedes CLS.

Horizon line: the line that separates the earth from the sky.

Horse Collar: see core support.

I

Impact structure: Crush space needed in a body for safety purposes, often related to front and rear overhangs seen in side view.

Industrial Design (ID): The field of study that centers around designing consumer products on a large scale, a subset of Product Design. Learn more from the IDSA.

Instrument Panel: The component mounted on a vehicle’s cowl, housing instrumentation, audio, HVAC, storage, and modern accoutrements like touch-screen navigation systems. Now commonly (yet somewhat incorrectly) referred to as a dashboard.

K

Kammback: body design featuring a downward sloping roofline and rear deck that abruptly ends with a vertical panel (or near vertical). Proven to reduce aerodynamic drag by its namesake, Wunibald Kamm.

L

Laminar airflow: Streamlined flow whereby all air particles move at the same speed and direction.

Landau: body style with a folding canvas roof, dating back to the horse carriage days. Cars of the malaise era replicated this look with non-functional padded fabric upholstered over the roof’s B and C pillars and called them “landau tops.”

Landau Bar: functional support for the folding frame of a landau roof, shaped like the f-hole of a violin.

Lift: The force acting to pull a vehicle off the ground at speed, either at the front or rear axle.

Liftback: see hatchback.

Light Signature: lighting elements that are a hallmark of a brand, much like brand character.

Long hood, Short deck: style of vehicle proportioning that extends the dash-to-axle and shortens the rear deck to give a vehicle a more upscale appearance in its volume. Likely created in earnest with the 1939 Lincoln Continental, but popularized in North America with the introduction of the 1965 Mustang and the “Pony Car” genre.

M

Malaise Era: Time period of automobile design from approximately 1973 to 1983, marked by the rudimentary application of computer aided technology, plastic components, and a significant reduction in both emissions and performance. It’s most notable for neoclassic styling trends masking the innovations. The demise of this era began with the wraparound bumpers, wind tunnel influenced styling, and impressive power output of vehicles like the 1982 Ford Mustang GT.

Marker light: An amber-colored light that does not flash and only exists for identification purposes.

Mid Cycle Refresh: A facelift done to a interior or exterior design closer to the end of a product’s lifecycle (Pontiac Aztek aside), usually constituting little more than new fascias, fenders, hoods, lights and bumpers. Interior changes include new dashboards and seat cover designs, but sometimes more aggressive changes like roof pillars can be implemented.

Minimalism: A style of visual arts traced back to Japanese traditional notions, in which fewer elements make a design more valuable.

Modernism: A style of visual arts from the late 19th century that prioritizes the craftsmanship and style originating from changes found in the Industrial Age.

Moulding: (Also spelled as molding.) A protective or decorative trimming, most commonly seen as flexible strips placed along a vehicle’s sides.

N

NVH: Field of study aimed at reducing a vehicle’s Noise, Vibration, and Harshness characteristics, involving both engineers and designers.

NACA duct: named after the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics, a uniquely-shaped air inlet that provided the benefit of a minimal amount of drag. More info here.

Negative space: The area of a body that’s intentionally left empty. These can be functional (to improve aerodynamics, cooling) or ornamental (to reduce visual weight)

Neoclassic: Styling elements from the pre-WWI era but interpreted for contemporary times. See rococo and Zimmer Motor Cars.

New Edge: Design language from Ford in the mid-1990s, most readily seen in the 1998 Ford Focus.

O

One-box design: When viewed from the side, a vehicle that incorporates passengers, cargo, and powertrain spaces within a single box.

Opera window: A decorative window added to the C-pillar. Primarily for rear seat occupant comfort, but can help reduce blind spots from larger C-pillars.

Overhang: The part of the body that resides outside of a vehicle’s wheelbase.

P

Package Tray: The horizontal shelf between the rear seat and the backlight of a sedan or coupe. No longer used to store cargo for occupants, but often holds computer processors and cabin audio systems.

Parking light: See marker light.

Pedestrian-friendly design: Originating from legislation in Europe that mandated a vehicle’s front end is shaped for pedestrian safety, and that hood height is tall enough to provide adequate space between a human body and the engine upon impact.

Perspective: The visualization of a 3-D form on a 2-D surface, with the assumption of a correct representation of all elements in the design.

Pillar: A vertical post that holds the roof above the body of a vehicle.

Portholes: A round opening into which windows or cooling vents are implemented into the body.

Power Bulge: A hood with a prodigious swell (often symmetric, and utilizing the centerline) to give the visual impression of a powerful engine underneath.

Product Design: The field of study that broadly covers the creation of a product for a business to sell. See Industrial Design for its application to automobiles.

Profile view: The side view of a vehicle.

Projector lens: A headlight assembly design that uses a focusing lens similar to that of the human eye.

Proportions: The interaction between individual styling elements either with the basic shape of a vehicle or amongst other elements in a smaller space. (Think headlight assemblies.) More info here.

Q

Quarter panel: When viewed from the side, the part of that body that fills the gap between the rear doors and the rear bumper.

Quarter window: Glass mounted at the trailing edge of the DLO, either in the C-pillar or in the rear door. Can be functional for cabin ventilation, or fixed to help window mechanisms in rear doors clear the body’s dog leg.

R

Rake: The angle, measured from horizontal, of a design element when viewed from the side, most notably seen in windscreens and A and C pillars.

Reflector lens: Headlight design incorporating a complex reflector behind the light bulb to focus light into a beam.

Rendering: A concept that’s been created in 2D or 3D, most often done in a digital format.

Relief: To design a component with a stamped in stylistic feature (high relief), or carve out to create that design (low relief).

Retro: A historical callback to vehicle design of the past, especially within the same brand as the vehicle in question.

Retrofuturism: A style of visual arts that depicts the future with elements of the past. Designer J. Mays applied this to the VW New Beetle, Audi TT, Ford Thunderbird, and others.

Rocker panel: The part of the body that’s below the doors.

Rococo: Art movement from the late Baroque period, often used as a pejorative for an overstyled element.

Roof Header: see cant rail.

Running Lights: see Daytime Running Lights.

S

Sacco Planks: Horizontally-ribbed side cladding on 1980s Mercedes-Benz cars, named after design chief Bruno Sacco. They were part of his horizontal homogeneity concept, and wildly replicated by Detroit automakers for their European-influenced offerings at the time.

Sectional view: The shape of an object when a portion is cut out for easier visualization.

Sedan: body style comprising of a three-box design with two or four doors, whereby both configurations share a large number of body panels. Two door sedans are generally more upright and spacious than their coupe counterparts.

Shark Fin: located at the leading edge of the front door and framed by the A-pillar, this triangular panel has been used to mount side-view mirrors (outside) and audio system tweeters (inside) since the 1970s.

Shoulder line: A curve or bend below the beltline that provides visual separation on par with the way that broad shoulders separate an arm from the body. See 2000 Volvo S60 (below).

Signal light: A light that both flashes to indicate turning and softly illuminates like a marker light.

Splitter: A front valance that splits air and pushing the higher pressure air over the car to increase downforce at speed.

Spoiler: A barrier mounted on the rear deck with the purpose of directing air up and away from the car, reducing lift and preventing the turbulence that occurs when high and low pressure air interact behind the car. Not to be confused with a wing.

Strakes: vertical slats mounted to a horizontal panel to route air as desired. See diffuser.

Streamline: The act of lowering the resistance of a design to aerodynamic drag by removing superfluous elements.

Streamline Moderne: A style of visual arts that “streamlined” Art Deco designs to make them more aerodynamic. See the Cord 810/812.

Surface tension: taken from nature’s act of allowing a liquid surface at rest to shrink into the minimum surface area possible, like a drop of water that’s perfectly round. The car design application is for sheetmetal that replicates the water droplet’s level of tension in a panel that looks perfectly taut with no slack to give in any direction.

Surfacing: The act of contouring a flat piece of sheetmetal for visual or functional enhancement (or both). Popularized by Chris Bangle’s flame surfacing during his tenure at BMW, it’s also a refinement process by virtual (computer assisted design) or physical (clay model) means.

Swage line: See character line.

Symmetry: A mirror image of lines facing each other when comparing the left and the right side of an object relative to its centerline.

T

Tail fin: a mid-century American automotive homage to an airplane’s vertical stabilizer, which provided stability for planes but was ornamental on vehicles of the era (and pioneered by the 1948 Cadillac).

Tea Tray: Front-mounted wing elevated to the point it looks like a serving tray, popularized by the March 711.

Texture: The look and feel of a surface, usually pertaining to unpainted trim on SUVs and off-road vehicles.

Three-box design: When viewed from the side, a vehicle that houses passengers, cargo and the powertrain in individual boxes spaces within a single box. See the Ford Crown Victoria sedan.

Three-quarter view: Vantage point that’s halfway between the profile and the front (or rear) of the vehicle.

Tiger Nose: Unique grille design of Kia vehicles starting in the 2010s, helping improve awareness and prestige of the Kia brand.

Transportation Design: A field of study within the guidelines of Industrial Design that focuses on the automobile as a single product (not individual components).

Tumblehome: A nautical design term applied to show the inward tapering of a greenhouse from the beltline to the top, when viewed from the front or rear of the vehicle.

Turbulent airflow: Inconsistent speeds and directions in an airflow, the opposite of laminar airflow.

Two-box design: When viewed from the side, a vehicle that incorporates passengers and cargo in a singular box, with the powertrain in another box. See the Range Rover.

U

Underbody: Bottom of the vehicle, whose design is crucial to increasing aerodynamics, lowering NVH, and optimizing packaging guidelines.

Unibody: Chassis type that integrates both the structural frame and the body into a single, unitized, design.

V

Valance: Bumper extension that routes air like an air dam, but generally better integrated into a vehicle’s overall front end design.

Vanishing point: A point out in space where seemingly parallel or unrelated lines on a car would converge, if extended past the body.

Vent window: Moving glass panes attached to the front doors to aid in air circulation inside the cabin. Called Ventipane by General Motors and seen more often on older cars, but modern examples like the 2005 Aston Martin Vantage V8 and the 2013 Ford Fusion are fixed.

Venturi Effect: An increase in speed when air is forced through a smaller space, with the result of lower air pressure for more downforce. See the rear section of the Ford GT.

Visual weight: The force of an element within a vehicle that ultimately catches the viewer’s eye, thus altering the balance of a design. See the deck lid of the Continental Mark IV.

Volumes: The basic shape of a vehicle, the outline of the body work when seen from the side. More info here.

Vortex: Airflow pattern where the air rotates around its centerline.

Vortex generators: Small aerodynamic design feature that creates a vortex, when used in a series can reduce drag on a body panel or wing.

W

Wedge: When looking at the side view, the overall rake of the A-line from front to rear. Most vehicles have a taller rear, making a positive slope to the wedge.

Wedge design: Minimalist styling originating from Italian design studios of the 1970s, featuring literal wedge shapes. See the Lancia Stratos HF Zero.

Whaletail: A long, wide, upturned rear spoiler popularized by the Porsche 911.

Wheel Arch: When viewed from the side, the external body line (curve) that frames the vehicle’s wheel well.

Wheel well: The area of the body housing a vehicle’s wheel, often lined with plastic, with or without enhancements like air curtains.

Wheelbase: Measurement of the space between the axles of a vehicle. More info here.

Wing: Often located significantly higher above the deck lid than a spoiler, it deflects air upward to increase downforce. See the McLaren Senna.

The post Vellum Venom: A glossary of automotive design terms appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The E39-chassis BMW 5-series was built from 1995 to 2004. I became a fan of the car during my first ride in a late-1990s 540i Sport, but that condition blew up into full fanboi adoration after test-driving a Sterling Gray E39 M5 at a dealer in 2003. Love for this platform isn’t rare in these parts: This site’s editorial director, Eric Weiner, once called that model of M5 “the elite-level sport sedan on planet Earth from 2000–2003.”

Regardless of spec, every E39 manages to hit a sweet spot of size and engineering quality from the Munich brand’s glory days. Even given the car’s slightly overboosted steering, the 1998–2003 M5 still feels like the perfect sports sedan, almost 20 years after the last one left the line.

While I rarely need a cup holder in a car like this, I know how bread gets buttered in America: The Big Gulp grew to 44 ounces in 1986. Even with a decade to brace for that drink’s impact, the Germans gave the E39 shallow and flimsy cup holders, woefully inadequate. Most aftermarket alternatives were mediocre at best.

For many years, the “big cup” solution came from a company called TEC. That part requires modification of the factory center-console storage partition. I demonstrated one on YouTube (above) before photographing the car it came from for my Vellum Venom column. (My passionate on-camera delivery and professional videography are clearly worth of big influencer ad dollars. Please tell your friends.)

TEC’s work was ingenious and durable, but the part has since been discontinued. Used examples tend to sell for outrageous cash. Luckily, a new aftermarket company has entered the scene. Australia’s Trick Bits now offers a cup holder built from modern production methods. More to the point, it is worthy of the brilliantly engineered E39.

The Trick Bits cup holder works much like its aftermarket predecessor, living in the BMW’s console storage nook as its home. Said nook utilizes a roll-top cover, like an antique desk, for a clean look. To install the TB part, you remove that cover. The roll top’s guiding rails become the cup holder’s mounting rails, which prompts a question: Why mess with perfection when you can leverage it?

At publication time, the Trick Bits cup holder goes for $35.90 on Amazon or eBay, with a price break for volume purchase. It provides fantastic bang for the buck and is far more functional for large or tall cups than any E39-fitting alternative, whether current production or vintage.

Installation is straightforward. The factory part pops out of the console with a few strategic finger pulls.

As the above images suggest, it takes a few more presses and pulls to disassemble the BMW part. At that point, you should do a test-fit, on the bench, trying the Trick Bits piece in the factory part. If you don’t “learn” the install process before final assembly, the console’s lack of space and visibility will ensure frustration.

That’s all you need to know from me—this YouTube video from Trick Bits explains everything else. (A video is worth at least 1000 words here, at least in my book!)

My test vehicle for my TB install was an E39 M5 with an awful pair of aftermarket metal cup holders in the front footwells. Those pieces were an interference fit between the carpet and the console, and they look about as terrible as a “universal fit” aftermarket part can. Especially within this M5’s decadent caramel-leather interior. Off to the metal scrap pile they go, their fate sealed by just one test fit of my Mod Pizza plastic cup into the Trick Bits part.

The TB cup holder is far more functional, and it installs in straightforward and precise German fashion. But what blew me away is how it acts like a loaner jacket at a fancy restaurant: It dresses up any cup deemed worthy to sit in a car built in the “good old days” of BMW design and quality.

The end result is so impressive that I suspect Trick Bits could sell it for double the price. The company’s work even inspired me to OEM-plus the M5 in question with a set of (cheap aftermarket knock-off) folding cupholders for the rear seat.

I lost two cupholders in the front when I ditched those metal footwell affairs, but I gained two in the rear seat. And they certainly look better. (Sure, the comparison is apples to oranges, but at least the math works!)

Bottom line: If you have an E39, you need the Trick Bits part. The value, quality, and styling are great, and the part integrates nicely into one of the finest BMW interiors ever made. And if you don’t have an E39 yet, what are you waiting for? Get the cup holder—it’s a start!

**

Full disclosure: Trick Bits provided the front cupholder for this story. The rear cup-holder assembly was purchased by the author.

The post Perfecting one of the greatest BMWs by … changing cup holders? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Isn’t strange how the Germans, of all people, have within their language some words which manage to capture something universal that doesn’t translate directly into English? Schadenfreude, for example—the joy experienced in the misfortune of others. I have recently learned that sehnsucht is not just the title of bombastic metal pounders Rammstein’s second studio album, as it means a melancholic yearning or desire for something unattainable.

And that’s something I used to feel regularly thumbing through expensively imported American car magazines in the ’90s.

It’s been said that in our interconnected world, anything is available from anywhere for a price with just a few taps. Really? I’ve yet to find a U.K. supply of the hazelnut coffee creamer I enjoyed in America, and I can’t find a replacement aerial (that’s an antenna, for you stateside readers. —Ed.) for the Mondial either, so I’m not sure that’s totally true. And what’s true for me also applies to you.

Thanks to the 25-year import rule, no amount of money will make any of these design picks legal to drive in the United States. Your U.K.-based author, however, can go to a specialist importer today and, for £69,950 (ahem, $84K) drive home in a 2021 Ford Bronco Outer Banks.

Alpine A110 (2017–present)

Any decent French mid-range vehicle from the last fifty years or so will have certain attributes. Chic design, a lusty torque curve, and well-damped, long-travel suspension. When the Citroën Berlingo van first appeared at the courier company I was working for in the late ’90s, the lucky drivers who got one marveled at its ability to keep up with much hotter machinery on a bumpy British B road, riding the turbodiesel torque between third and fourth gears.

Jean Rédélé had been making go-faster Renaults for years and rallying them with a not-inconsiderable degree of success. In conjunction with famed Italian designer Giovanni Michelotti, the pair utilized the then-revolutionary material of glass-reinforced plastic (GRP, a.k.a. fiberglass) to come up with a series of small berlinette (coupes) culminating in the original A110 of 1963. This lightweight yet immensely strong car proved to be a formidable rally weapon; after Renault acquired the company in 1971, it won the inaugural World Rally Championship in 1973.

There were later models, the A310 and 610 (which morphed into the ’80s GTA, a kind of French 911) but it’s the original A110 from which the new one takes inspiration. Launched in 2018 and just tweaked for 2022, the first thing you notice upon seeing one in the metal is just how compact it is. A handy 7 inches shorter and 600 pounds lighter than a Cayman, the modern A110 is tiny.

But don’t think this is a compromised widowmaker like an Alfa 4C. Coupling that traditional French loping ride with a boosty 1.8-liter four-cylinder engine swiped from the Megane RS, turned 90 degrees, and stuffed behind the seats, the Alpine pours itself down the road. Think “French Lotus” with better luggage accommodation—it’s like a Boxster/Cayman with front and rear trunks.

Better yet, the Alpine is sensational to look at, with proportions that are muscular but not aggressive and with wonderful detailing. The spotlights are an object lesson in how to integrate additional illumination, and the subtle Tricolore badges inside and out are a nice touch of French pride. The 21st century A110 captures the spirit of the original car without being beholden to it. It’s priced sensibly at £51K—about $61K, but worth noting that the first number is an out-the-door price including taxes. If I were to have one of these, I’d even forgo my traditional black for that beautiful Alpine Blue, a color for which car the looks tailor-made.

I would advise you to get the base version, as it does without the carbon-fiber aero bits with which the spicier versions are afflicted. If it’s good enough for Gordon Murray, it’s good enough for you and me. But I suspect the reason you can’t buy one in the first place is because Renault itself has no dealership presence stateside. (Homologation nonsense isn’t the issue, because the Alpine is also available in Japan and Australia.)

Jeep Avenger (2023)

Now we’re getting in mirror-universe territory: Europe getting a Jeep that’s not available in the U.S.? More earth shattering than that, that Jeep is electric-only (for now—we’ll come back to this point).

Since the YJ Wrangler and XJ Cherokee spearheaded about the only successful European invasion of a U.S. brand nearly thirty years ago, Jeep has slowly but surely become a sort of semi-premium, slightly upmarket brand. Limited availability and heritage to die for has kept prices firm. Since recovering from the disastrous Cerberus years, Jeep has quietly but consistently turned out some handsome and credible vehicles. Now part of the bewildering Stellantis empire (which still sounds like an abandoned NASA white-paper project), Jeep has got its hands on Euro-specific platforms (courtesy of Peugeot/Citroën) and the first fruit of this intercontinental marriage is the Avenger.

Confession time: I have a soft spot for the Renegade, even though the D pillar is not quite right (it needs to angle forward a bit more, I think) but its compact size and cheeky ruggedness are fun, and we need more of that. The Avenger is about 6 inches shorter than the Renegade, sitting it squarely in the Euro B (in the states, the sub-compact) class.

What I like about the Avenger is how it keeps the modern Jeep design cues and applies them to an even smaller vehicle without becoming an overwrought mess. It has the seven-bar grille, the X-graphic taillights, and pronounced wheel arches, but each element is used in a way that’s appropriate for the Avenger’s smaller size. Designers made an effort to push the wheels to the corners so the vehicle has half-decent approach and departure angles. I particularly like the daytime running lights, which feel like a successful update of what Jeep tried on the pre-facelift KL Renegade.

Jeep is claiming a range of at least 250 miles for the Avenger, which feels optimistic for a 54-kWh battery. But internal-combustion (ICE) versions have been spotted testing. This sequence is known as design protection or, to the layman, as “hedging your bets.” For now, an EV is a non-starter for people without home or at-work charging options, so the inclusion of an ICE model is a prudent move.

Suzuki Jimny

If Suzuki can build a new body-on-frame, solid-axle SUV, why couldn’t Jaguar Land Rover do the same for the 2020 Defender, cried the internet? A couple of good reasons. Suzuki is a much bigger company than JLR, which isn’t even in the top 20 OEMs worldwide. The second-generation Samurai was in production for 18 years, and the third-gen Jimny for 24. When you’re building a car for that long, you don’t need as much margin.

Customers who actually need real off-road ability know weight and size are the enemy. The Jimny is one of those cars whose design is an explicit function of its purpose. A totally honest and unpretentious car ready for work and play. There’s hardly any attempt to smooth off the rough edges of its capability in the name of comfort.

The flat body side and clamshell bonnet call back to the earlier SJ Samurai, but this latest Jimny is not really a retro design as I’ve seen it described elsewhere. It’s simple, functional, and modern without leaning into the cuteness factor that affects some Kei cars. It looks tough and capable without being overly aggressive. Back in the late ’80s and early nineties the SJ and its Vitara (Chevy Tracker) sibling became something of an inner-city fashion accessory, and the new one has done the same for the rural set. There’s a least two living in the frightfully well-to-do rural town where I live (along with at two Alpine A110s I see regularly).

Suzuki has managed the same own goal as Ford did with the Maverick, as both manufacturers massively underestimated demand. They simply could not build the vehicles fast enough. But Suzuki had an even bigger problem.

The Jimny’s bluff shape and draggy drivetrain meant the truck ran afoul of European emissions regulations, causing it to be withdrawn from the market in 2020 after only two years on sale. The solution, reintroduced for 2022, was to yank out the cramped rear seats and install a cargo partition. In the eyes of the law, these changes turned the Jimny into a commercial vehicle, which doesn’t have to meet the same emissions standards.

The Jimny’s list price is about £20K ($24K) but try finding one for that. Like the Maverick, delivery-mileage examples are going for a significant premium and are still in short supply, proving that a vehicle that nails a specific use-case will always be popular.

Dacia Duster

Dacia is a Romanian company that got its start in 1966 by buying up old Renault tooling and selling obsolete Renault 8s and 12s domestically under license. Since 1999 it’s been part of the Renault empire proper, though it remains Romania-based, selling around 500K vehicles annually.

Slotting into the unpretentious, value-for-money market occupied by Škoda (before the Czech company’s portfolio began getting expensive), the first Dusters appeared in the U.K. in 2012 in Whirlpool White with steel wheels and unpainted polypropylene front and rear bumpers for the eye-catching price of £8995 (a little under $11K).

Buyers walked into Dacia showrooms in droves and promptly walked out wondering where the touchscreen and automatic transmission were. Realizing it had gone a bit too minimalist in its approach to options, Dacia soon revised the Duster with trim uplifts and additional equipment.

Want to tell whether company is gaining self-confidence? Watch when it goes through a rebranding exercise. Dacia has just updated the Duster for 2022 and, in a world in which mundane items are seemingly increasing in price by the day, the Duster is still a motoring bargain, starting at £16K ($19K). How did the company do it?

Economies of scale help. The Duster is sold all over the developed and developing world (sometimes as a Nissan or a Renault) to the tune of well over 200,000 units a year. It’s based on an old Renault platform, long since paid off. But take a closer look at the exterior. Notice how the doors are a one-piece stamping with no trim that rolls up to meet the roof. This lowers the part count on the door and saves a separate cant rail and A-pillar stamping.

Tarting up cars from the developing world for Western markets is fraught with risk. The infamous Ford EcoSport took TWO thorough reengineering jobs and was still sub-par. Renault’s genius with the Duster was bringing it to the market as a Dacia, thus managing expectation. If the Duster flopped, the mothership wouldn’t be affected.

The Duster is not the most sophisticated device on the road, but it’s not pitched as such. Rather it’s a competent, well thought-out, and cleverly designed car that shows parsimony doesn’t have to mean misery.

Honorable mention: Peugeot 208

It’s only taken it twenty-odd years, but Peugeot finally has a baby hatch to rival the Gallic flair of the seminal, Pininfarina-designed 205 (see below). Any attempt to replicate this ’90s classic was doomed to fail and so it proved. The 206 and 207 were bulbous and piscine in their appearance, and the first-generation 208, with its weird C-shaped taillights, not much better. But the current 208 recaptures some of the 205’s charm and lightness of touch as much as is possible in a modern car.

Presenting a contemporary update on the trademark 205 C-pillar shape with a striking down-the-road graphic, it smooths the faceted, perfume-bottle look of the SUVs in Peugeot’s range to produce a more rounded, homogenous form.

It’s definitely a grower not a shower—another car I wasn’t totally sold on until I started seeing it on the road. Sadly there’s no GTi these days (blame emissions regulations, again) and the interior carries on another French tradition by being stylish but slightly odd.

In another demonstration of what can be done with a common platform, the 208 shares its under-garments with the Jeep Avenger.

Honorable mention: Honda e

From willfully French to “it couldn’t come from anywhere but Japan.” The Honda e does away with Japanese busyness and cluttered design for a simple, smooth, but technology-led look that contains hints of humanoid robot in its front and rear graphics. Available only as a rear-wheel-drive electric vehicle, the Honda leverages this layout to provide a turning circle worthy of a London black cab, making it perfect for the city-center assault course.

Another technology highlight is the camera mirror system. At first look it appears like a design solution in search of a problem, but in reality, the apparatus works very well and provides a benefit in both aero and reduction in wind noise.

The e might be small car, but like a lot of EVs, it’s not a cheap one. Where other OEMs have concentrated on range, Honda has gone in the opposite direction and designed for a premium experience. Although the interior rivals a Best Buy for sheer number of screens, the important stuff like HVAC and stereo retain hard controls. The range admittedly isn’t great, but this aesthetic could work just as well on the next Fit or Civic.

U.S.-market outliers like pickup trucks and muscle cars aside, there is nowhere near as much market differentiation across the world as there used to be. Increased development costs and coalescing tastes have seen to that. I’ve focused on specific cars that are not available in the U.S., rather than the sort of trim and model variations that forums like to argue over. Think of it as my revenge for your chucking our tea in Boston harbor all those years ago.

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it.

The post Vision Thing: Feel the Sehnsucht appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I’ve had the privilege of writing Vision Thing for you for a little while now, and although we’ve covered a lot of ground in car design, there’s much still uncovered. It occurred to me the other day when I was showering: I haven’t really given you an insight into which cars I think have a really standout design—and why.

(You never know when these thoughts are going to hit you; this why you should always carry a notebook. Probably not into the shower, though.)

This time of the year, there are a lot of list articles about, and I’m not one to leave a bandwagon un-jumped on for my readers’ sakes. I know I’ve mentioned a few tangentially both above and below the line, but I will now wheel my own opinions out into the harsh glare of the studio strip lights for a design critique session.

What follows then, is a brief list of standouts currently (or soon to be) available to buy, each of which should make a sizable dent in your kid’s college fund. If you’re thinking about any of these and need an excuse to take to the finance committee, tell them a professional said each is a future design classic.

Lexus LC 500

Sometimes a manufacturer struggles with a design language for years, trying to make it work over several different models, before finally the right canvas comes along and it all suddenly makes sense.

Cadillac tried for years with its Art & Science philosophy before finally nailing it on the 2013 ATS. The concept version of the Lexus LC, the LF-LC, showed us in 2012 what its L-finesse language was going to look like—swooping surfaces that twisted in all directions, a massive spindle grille.

It was fabulous.

Unfortunately, the first production Lexus sporting L-finesse clothes was not a big grand tourer but an urban crossover, the NX, which looked like it had been rolled down the stairs. The same story repeated itself with subsequent product releases, but when we got the LC 500 in 2017, it all came together (again) magnificently.

The height of the cowl above the bottom of the side daylight opening (DLO) is much higher than normal, but this allows the metal in front of the door mirror to roll smoothly to the horizontal to meet the hood. It lends the whole car an F1-style forward rake. The dimensions temper the aggressiveness.

Even the trademark spindle grille works in this application. Searingly modern and unmistakably Japanese, it looks like nothing else on the road.

The LC 500 feels like the kind of car Jaguar should be making if it had the daring. But to call the LC a Japanese Jaguar is to sell it short: Gaydon would never be this bold.

The LC 500 is probably my favorite new car on sale, if you’re stuck for something to get your favorite auto-design writer for Christmas.

Ford Maverick

At first, I didn’t totally get the Maverick, a small truck that wasn’t really all that rugged. There were plenty of options for pickup buyers already, although not at this price point.

Then it dawned on me. The Maverick is a direct replacement for the Focus. It’s even built off the same platform. A pickup for the non-traditional pickup buyer.

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Eschewing the overt brashness that characterizes basically every other open-backed vehicle on the market, the Maverick is a handsome vehicle with crisp detailing and surfacing that will take you to work without turning your spine to cookie crumbs, and be ready to get mucky on the weekend.

Arguably the Maverick’s best feature is that eye-catching MSRP: $23,690, as of this writing, for a 2023 model. You need a component catalog the size of Ford’s coupled with its economies of scale to get down that low. The strategy is clever as opposed to ruthless and cost-cut. There’s nothing you don’t really need—the base model even comes with old-fashioned steelies. When these become more widely available the aftermarket is going to wild with them, 3-D printers a-whirring.

A sensible, economical, good-looking, and practical commuter vehicle that happens to be a pickup? America, your 1980 Fiat Panda has arrived.

Toyota Prius

Okay. Hands up on who saw this coming? I certainly didn’t.

Toyota stunned everyone when it showed us the 2024 Prius in November. For four generations the Prius has been a worthy but polarizing car, bought by people who took conservation very seriously and wanted everyone to know it. A slightly unnecessary, aerodynamic hunch leant it the appearance of an oversized computer mouse. It was hardly the last word in style. Until now.

The whole part-electric powertrain deal no longer being a novelty (nearly every car on this list is available as a hybrid in one form or another), Toyota has wisely shed the yurts and yoghurt vibe and given us a Prius that no longer trades on economy but on looks. It’s like seeing the server you smiled at in Whole Foods dressed to kill in a swanky downtown cocktail bar.

Squints hard. Prius, is that you?

It’s a much lower, wedgier car for 2024. The high point of the roof has been pulled right back to the rear passenger compartment, which in this or any segment is unheard of. This allows the cant rail to dive seamlessly into the A-pillar.

Volume has been added into the hood at the center line, and the abrupt cut-off tail of previous versions toned down considerably. This no longer feels like a car that places economy above all other considerations, and in sign of growing design confidence, Toyota have cheekily referenced the Ferrari SF90 front headlight graphic.

Surprised? I dropped my wheatgrass smoothie.

Lincoln Navigator

About a year ago my Range Rover Sport slipped into my life. About a day later, off it went into my heart. I bonded with it in a way I never did with my previous daily, an Audi TT.

“Designers are all style over function,” my ass!

Even though mine is a 2011, the Range Rover still has a regal on-road presence and is full of thoughtful touches (and one or two infuriating ones, such as no rear-passenger compartment lighting!). It simply goes about its business quietly and competently. No, I don’t take it off-road, but have you seen the state of the nation’s tarmac recently? I’ll take that day-to-day isolation, thanks.

Ford has not been averse to lifting Range Rover design cues for its bigger SUVs in the past, but with the Navigator, released in 2018 and refreshed last year, Lincoln has a model that can go head-to-head with Gaydon’s best. Look hard enough, and you can see a little modern Range Rover in the Navigator’s body-side surfacing—that’s a compliment, not a demerit. This is domestic luxury that need apologize to no one.

To get a measure of how good the Navigator is, consider that Jeep had a free field goal with the new Grand Wagoneer—and missed it by miles. The Navigator’s wrap-around glazing DLO looks classy, all of a piece and fittingly expensive. The Wagoneer’s body-colored pillars, the exact opposite.

Decorated with just the right amount of chrome, the Navigator exudes American class and authority without going over the top, something that hasn’t always been true of high-end domestic cars in the past. I actually saw a photo of a Navigator in central London recently (probably a diplomat’s car) and you know what? It didn’t look out of place one bit.

As designers we have to accept that customers like SUVs and these days they are willing to trade the last couple of mpg to drive them. To that end, the Navigator doesn’t have a V-8. These cars will continue to exist, so we must make them as safe and fuel-efficient as possible. That they generate good profit margins and support American jobs is something to be celebrated as well.

Ferrari 296 GTB

So we finally got the V-6 baby Ferrari that’s been rumored for who knows how many years. Except it’s not really a baby at all, slotting somewhere into the middle of Maranello’s ever more-confusing range. No matter. The 296 is simply the best-looking Ferrari in an absolute age. It is gorgeous.

That’s not something that can be said of many recent efforts from chief designer Flavio Manzoni. Although generally good in profile and proportion, his vehicles have been extremely complex in the detailing. Surfaces desecrated with nicks and cuts, awkward lamp graphics, and, in the case of the rather plain Roma, the best car Aston Martin never made. Ferrari’s been twisting the marque in knots to create ever more-special editions and even now an SUV.

This is important. Ferrari’s rivals at McLaren have been hampered by spinning a range of indeterminate models off of the essentially the same kit of parts; the carbon-fiber cell and the 3.8-liter twin turbo V-8. Maranello shouldn’t have this problem, given the range of engines and layouts at its disposal: You should know straight away if you’re looking at the mid-engined, entry-level V-8 one, the front-engined, V-12 GT one, whatever the range topper is, and so on. Recently, that hasn’t been the case for Ferrari. At a car show in the fall, a designer friend and I were standing behind an SF90 wondering if we’d got the model designation right.

The 296GTB is a refreshing return to a classically beautiful aesthetic that belies the technical complexity beneath. The nose has one wide, mesh-filled opening, flanked by two smaller air curtains on each side and a smaller, lower central one. It’s simple without being simplistic, an attitude which is very hard to get right. The hips’ air vents are models of restraint, impressive given what the airflow requirements of this thing must be. Rather than punch more holes in the rear body work or increase the size of the rear lights, the rear fog and reflectors are brilliantly and subtly incorporated into the upward surface of the diffuser.

Minimalist without being minimal, this is one of those cars that can only be ruined by the inevitable go-faster version with tacked-on aero kit. What was I saying about that Lexus?

Honorable mentions: Land Rover Defender

It’s been with us for three years. Was it what we expecting? The evergreen original combined Blake’s Satanic mills with British sheer bloody-mindedness. We were never going to get a newer version of that. The workhorse role it was designed for has long since been taken over by base model pickups and ATVs, so how to keep this most beloved nameplate relevant?

By creating a frighteningly modern-looking, tough, capable SUV that, in lower trims at least (get the steel wheels!), maintains some of the class transcendence that characterized the original. The Defender looks like nothing else on the road and shows up the Ineos Grenadier up for the fool’s errand it is.

Honorable mentions: Alfa Romeo Giulia

I would have put the Mazda6 here, because it remains for me the blueprint for a mid-market sporting saloon, but that body is now ten years old. (It’s also no longer available domestically.)

When I first saw the Giulia, my reaction was Alfa Romeo should have had the Mazda in Alfa Centro Stile as inspiration instead of whatever they did use. But if ever a car looked better in the flesh than photos, the Giulia is it.

Just refreshed for 2022, it was famously crash-designed and developed by a dedicated tiger team after Sergio ordered a do-over. Little wonder that initial cars had teething problems. But it’s one of those cars that makes pause and smile every time I see one out on the road. Tautly organic, faintly muscular, and delicately detailed, the Giulia makes its German rivals look decidedly ordinary.

I purposely didn’t mention the Dodge Challenger in this list, because if you’ve kept up with my columns, you’ll know my feelings for that particular slice of Mopar design brilliance. Truth is, there are a lot of decent-looking vehicles available for sale right now. Not everything needs to be a design revolution or market disruptor—sometimes getting the basics right, and being solidly handsome, well-marketed, and ably developed is enough.

Hopefully these will give you some inspiration for the January sales (if such a thing will happen in today’s weird new-car market). If not, next time, I’ll tease you with some of my design choices that you can’t buy.

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it.

The post Vision Thing: The best-designed vehicles on the market today appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The cubic arts (as it were) pioneered by Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque may be enjoying renaissance thanks to the rebirth of retro 8-bit graphic design, witnessed in the popularity of Minecraft. The game has inspired countless people for countless reasons. Perhaps it inspired me to borrow a Hyundai Ioniq 5 for a week and drive it to the architectural mecca known as Columbus, Indiana, and write a snazzy little piece about the intersections of automotive design and architecture.

To put building and car design into words and photos was both challenging and enriching. Columbus’ public library was a great place to get the creative ball rolling. Under cover of a waffle-like, 8-bit grid of poured concrete, I made something that you certainly must read.

Except not yet, as we must first rake this particular electric Hyundai over our vellum.

I once said that the Ioniq 5 was the byproduct of Pablo Picasso watching Robocop and saying, “I can make a car out of that!”

The jarring angles, cubist elements masquerading as automotive components, and metal-toned accents certainly evoke a particular law-enforcement official from Detroit’s dystopian future. (And I’d buy that for a dollar!)

But this is a compliment, unlike that time I suggested the 2012 Cadillac CTS coupe is what happens when an AMC AMX gets beaten by Pablo Picasso’s ugly stick.

To wit, the Ioniq 5’s Down the Road Graphic (DRG) is delightful at dusk (parking lights, bumper lights) and when charging (the center indicator gauge in the bumper) is almost breathtaking.

Indeed, Hyundai truly did its homework, endlessly refining this car’s shapes and elements. The Ioniq 5 is certainly busy, but note how the side of the bumper has a hard line that ends where the hood bulge begins.

The flat nose looks less so, thanks to the two-wedge shape: one in the lighting/charging meter below the headlights and another created by the hood, headlights, and front bumper.

Make no mistake, the Ioniq 5 is as flat-faced as a vehicle can get. The grille feels like architecture, while round elements feel mandated by a corporate mothership unaware of the ramifications of its actions: rounded Hyundai emblems, parking sensors, and cameras hurt the overall theme.

Side note: designers made a unique “five dot” emblem for the Ioniq brand, and it’s found on the steering wheel. The graphic means “H” in Morse code, but Hyundai’s corporate boffins clearly didn’t see the appeal. Instead, the exterior received the traditional “H” oval for maximum recognition.

To be sure, that’s the right move for corporate branding, but the oval H has no place here: even owners are ripping it off, replacing it with something more appropriate for the designer’s initial vision.

Goofy oval badge aside, the strong wedge presented by the Ioniq 5’s bumpers makes the body feel less like a nerdy crossover and more like … a dorky 3-D sandbox video game that’s made AutoCAD into a mainstream experience?

Apart from the airflow-management bubble, the headlights are probably the best example of the Ioniq 5’s pixelated Minecraft experience.

The side marker is positioned within an 8-bit grid, between the low- and high-beam headlights. This is some master-level Lego-building skills.

The 8-bit lighting pods within each headlight have a brick-like texture at their top, with a smooth, Toblerone-like texture on the sides. But one of the coolest things is how the bricks are clear when off, white when on, and amber when serving as a turn signal.

The blend panel between the headlights is also 8-bit bricky (technical term) behind its smoked plastic case, with a bold sphere for a forward-facing camera.

What I wouldn’t give for a square camera lens … if such a thing were possible.

Is it just me or does the high-beam look like a flat-screen TV? It’s these parallel constructions that make the Ioniq 5 such a joy to behold.

While the “grille” is a bit dull and shallow, it works well with the headlights … much like the black rectangle grille present in the original 1975 Hyundai Pony.

It’s always been cool to be understated: Plug the Ioniq 5 in for a recharge and the seemingly pointless black bar on the lower grille gives a flashing light show, ending in five “pixels” to show a full charge.

The light filter within the pixels is also made up of square textures, adding another layer of complexity in something so seemingly basic.

I hope more vehicles dump their fake grilles for sci-fi slashes and slots. They are different, and possibly a tad more aerodynamic to boot.

Again, what I wouldn’t do for square sensors and cameras!

Pardon the dirt accumulated as I commuted in this rig, but also note how splotchy stains produce a unique texture on the iridescent paint used in the lower valance.

The front end’s wedge shape transitions into elegant curves and muscles down the hood.

Much like the Kia Soul before it, this impressive South Korean sports the same clamshell-type hood normally seen on Land Rovers. The benefit is that the hood/fender cutline moves down the fender, which gives a far more expensive appearance from many angles.

Unlike the Soul, the Ioniq 5 has a Mini Cooper–esque slash separating the hood from the cowl. It doesn’t quite match the veracity of the slashes found down the side: If only the hood’s cutline could extend down/back far enough to integrate with the slashes in the doors.

At least the huge slash on the doors has a soulmate in the “transitional” slash found on the side of the front bumper.

As seen in this photo from my essay of Columbus, Indiana, the two slashes (here, bumper and door) sometimes look like a perfect pairing. Depending on your vantage point, they have perfectly parallel lines.

Hyundai’s kaleidoscopic wheel design looks like it was expensive to render, but it hides the integral hub cap rather perfectly. This is an unexpected move from a brand once associated with value above all else.

Combined with the stair-stepped wheel arches, these rims do a fantastic job translating the body’s hard, stabbing lines into round forms needed in a wheel.

There’s a surprising contrast between the angular body lines (mandated in this part of any car) and the cosmetic slashes added elsewhere.

That “Mini Cooper” line has no place on a body this angular, looking more at home on a VW New Beetle. While the Ioniq 5 generally has a nice balance of straight and soft lines, this one fights with every line after the A-pillar.

Oh yeah, that’s indeed a slashy A-pillar. The cowl and hood contours are aggressive, but the horizontal plane at the top of the hood looks a bit clumsy as it nears the pillar.

Tidy, pixelated cowl venting and wiper arms that don’t draw attention to themselves. Nice, but I kinda want some 8-bit homages stamped into the wiper arms, too.

The daylight opening (DLO) does its job properly: A black triangle starts it off, elegantly holding the front glass and the sideview mirror.

The trim piece against the windscreen looks like an afterthought, but odds are it’s necessary to mass-produce the Ioniq 5.

Note the hard edge on the mirror’s skull cap. It’s evocative of the crease in the hood bulge. This is what makes a cohesive design more delightful, less boring.

Speaking of cohesion, the sideview mirror’s repeater lights mimic the 8-bit signal elements in the headlamp assembly. Kind of a shame the headlights lack these clear lens in a black frame type of design.

Power-actuated door handles are such a silly EV cliché, but this Hyundai won’t sell for anywhere near the price of an OG Excel. At least designers put a square relief in the center, and Hyundai Corporate didn’t turn it into a round logo.

The same treatment that makes the lower bumper look cool also helps the door bottom. I like the 1980s metallic interior-design motif … it takes away from the malaise I feel when looking at the average CUV at this price point ($40K–$50K).

The lower’s geometry and iridescent paint is a nice complement to the front/rear door’s aggressive slash.

One-piece glass roofs are par for the course, but it would be nice if some 8-bit graphics were ghosted onto it. Compared to the rest of the Ioniq 5, this spot is a touch boring.

Speaking of boring, don’t all these slashes take away from the fact that this is a ho-hum crossover SUV? The massive wheelbase certainly provides for a fantastic amount of cabin space, cargo space be damned.

Why this crease in the C-pillar exists is beyond me. At least it makes for a fun transition between the sleek pillar and the sculpted hatch.

I am sure that Hyundai’s designers didn’t look at the Dodge Omni/Plymouth Horizon and say, “Wouldn’t that be awesome on our Ioniq 5?” But they shoulda!

The end result is taut sheetmetal, assertive cutlines, and the sporty profile of a hot hatchback from the 1980s.

The clumsy yet somehow perfectly integrated side-marker lens draws your eyes away from all the other cubist elements. This genuinely, truly could be a still-life scene from the likes of Picasso.

Oh my goodness, my kingdom for a square sensor! Or a triangle … or anything but that!

The Omni/Horizon–infused quarter-panel looks just about perfect for a charging door placed at its zenith.

While the hard bend at the end of the quarter panel (i.e. the vertical shadow) makes sense elsewhere along the bodysides, it becomes a bit busy after adding the cutlines for a charging door.

There’s a lot to process from this angle, but it’s still a delicious take on cubism. The rear integrates with the front thanks to a curved panel below the taillights—complete with little black strip—and the slots at each corner of the bumper.

Hatchback spoilers are almost mandatory these days, and this one sports a ton of black paint to mask its massive footprint on the body.

At least Hyundai sliced a fair bit of heft out of the black panel, adding a bit of surface tension to an otherwise bulky component.

The strong center panel inside the spoiler was an unexpected surprise, though its elegant, sculptural form looks a little too integrated—it’s not cubist enough to belong on an Ioniq 5.

The spoiler’s integrated CHMSL (center-high-mount stop light) is less cubist, more of a tribute to geometric abstractionism. Picasso may not adore it, but Mark Rothko would gleefully have a friend stomp on the Ioniq 5’s brake pedal so he could see it illuminate.

The Omni/Horizon analogy really makes sense when zooming up close on the Ioniq 5’s aggressively raked rear hatch. My apologies to Giorgetto Giugiaro, but it’s clear from here that Chrysler’s designers made a better rear-quarter panel than what he penned for the 1975 Hyundai Pony.

The fastback (as it were) hatch really accentuates the hard-nosed, upright lighting pods with 8-bit texturing. It’s fast, unexpected, and yet somehow classically elegant: Is this peak automotive cubism?

Frosted squares give off softer, diffused light for tail-light duty, while the beveled, shiny lights in the center have the clarity to be a proper “OMG STOP” light.

But wow, doesn’t it all just come together like no other lighting assembly ever? Even the hatchback’s cutlines look perfect, as they fully integrate between the frames of the 8-bit pixels.

Much like the Porsche Taycan before it, these full-length taillights are the perfect home for bold lettering affixed across the center panel.

Unlike that high-dollar EV from Germany, the modest South Korean eschews integrated emblems for glued-on, external plastic lettering. The Hyundai oval still has no business here, and unfortunately the black dash below the lights doesn’t replicate the charging status, like it does on the front bumper.

Sure, it’s mostly a rolling tribute to cubism. But the curved hatchback glass fits well with the curved panel below the taillights. And they both give credence to the curvy nature of the same part below the front grille.

These big curves make sense and blend well with the whole package, unlike the Mini Cooper–cutline at the cowl.

The cubist-worthy edging and 8-bit pixelations combine with the soft, gentle curve present in the tailgate to make an absolutely delicious contrast. But seriously, we need square camera lenses!

The top three slots are also red reflectors, an arrangement which suggests the front slots should have been filled with LED accent lighting to follow suit. Well, provided Hyundai could make it road-legal in every country.

That said, the nicely integrated access door for an assembly bolt (or tow hook?) below the slots is also a decent integration.

What’s hilarious, and somewhat unsettling, is how the rear bumper is mostly behind the hatchback’s door.

While the leading edge offers reasonable protection in a rear-end impact, this level of cubism means rear-end impacts will get pricy if the offending party lacks insurance and smacks the tailgate.

Up close, the flat-planed, forward-thrusting rear bumper makes more sense and avoids giving the tailgate the appearance of overbite/buck teeth.

I can’t tell if this panel is an open/closing active aerodynamic tweak or if its job is simply to match the front bumper.

The round sensors make a fair bit of sense with the rounded, downward slope of the polished black insert present in the rear bumper.

Said insert also makes the rear bumper look like part of a Star Wars stormtrooper mask: Another cubist element that sports a fantastic blend of hard edges and soft contours.

From an elevated position? Witness the curved hatch.

From a lower view? Looks almost flat and angular! There’s something delightful when a vehicle’s appearance changes this drastically depending on your height.

Push the charge door on its five little squares (external) and you’ll actuate a little black button inside, next to the Ioniq 5’s charge port. Above the button, which does double-duty as an open and a close button, is a series of squares showing charge level.

The button sharing is ingenious, almost minimalistic in nature; and square charge meters are just what you’d expect from the Ioniq 5.

Everywhere you look, there’s a little bit of surprise and delight in the Ioniq 5’s exterior design. And it is something you can’t fully experience in a test drive, as the interplay between the blend of hard/soft forms only shows its true colors after you’ve witnessed it through the gradations of light available throughout the day.

It’s always different, much like the multiple viewpoints presented in cubism’s finest works. And being this different is wonderful, as both the car and the art do a fine job integrating themselves into any environment.

Thanks for reading—I hope you have a wonderful day.

(And go read the Ioniq 5 + Architecture article, if you haven’t already.)

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it.

The post Vellum Venom: 2022 Hyundai Ioniq 5 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Every year, the Specialty Equipment Market Association, widely known as SEMA, takes over the Las Vegas Convention Center with its showcase of all things automotive aftermarket. The 3.2 million square feet of event space is packed to the brim with multitudes of vendors displaying their wares. Outrageous, fender-flared customs are the canvas.

One builder that stands out from the crowd of cars at SEMA is the Ringbrothers. Riding the pro-touring (highly customized muscle cars with race-car level handling capabilities) wave that started in the early 2010s, the Ringbrothers have gained a reputation for delivering high-dollar, modern takes on American iron. This year, the company displayed four cars at SEMA: “Bully,” a 1972 Chevy K5 Blazer; “Patriarc” a 1969 Mustang Mach I; “Strode,” a’69 Camaro; and “Enyo,” an open-wheeled, F1-inspired 1948 Chevy pickup. The “Enyo” took top honors at the Battle of the Builders—a SEMA Show competition in search of the best modified vehicle.

After looking at a fenderless, center-lock-wheel-equipped farm truck, a reasonable question would be, “Who even comes up with this stuff?”

Meet Gary Ragle. He designed all four of the Ringbrothers’ rides showcased at the 2022 SEMA show.

Ragle is a seasoned industry veteran, with over 20 years of professional automotive design experience. After graduating from the University of Cincinnati’s transportation design program, he spent seven years working at Mitsubishi’s California design studio. He left Mitsubishi around 2009 and started to take freelance design work from local hot-rod shops while looking for new employment. He eventually found short-term gig at Ford’s Dearborn studio, but he became frustrated with the bureaucracy and sheer attrition of the corporate design process. After his contract was up, he decided to move back to Cincinnati and become a full-time freelance hot-rod designer.

I had the pleasure of catching up with Ragle after SEMA, and we delved into—among other things—his process for dreaming up high-end hot-rods, customs, and muscle cars.

***

Chris Stark: What’s does the design process for a typical custom build look like?

Gary Ragle: Typically, the Ringbrothers will have a customer that knows what type of car they want to do, like let’s say a ‘65 Mustang fastback. More often than not, that’s their only requirement. But I’ve built such a good relationship with the Ringbrothers that they don’t feel like they need to hold my hand on every design choice.

After the car is picked out, I start doing typical design process—rough sketches; find something that works a little bit better [and] run it by Ringbrothers; more finished renderings and show those to the customer. From there, I might tweak the design a little depending on their feedback. If Ringbrothers are fabricating a complicated shape, like a hood or a fender or a body shape, we’ve been doing CAD modeling for them. They’ll 3D scan the vehicle and I’ll use that scan to create the part in Alias [a professional CAD program].

All the carbon-fiber body and everything are done from those molds from my data out of Alias. But yeah, that’s how we’ll tackle the muscle car. There may be fenders, hood, lower balance or something like that. Done an Alias along with a number of sketches and renderings, and Ringbrothers will take it from there.

CS: With your muscle-car reimaginings, are you changing the proportions? Are you widening things? What goes into that creative thinking process?

GR: Yeah, it depends on the car, of course. I always tell my customers, “Let’s make changes for improvements. Let’s not make change for the sake of change.” A ‘69 Mustang Fastback is a pretty badass car the way it is. We all like it for a reason, so there’s no need to change what works. It’s about pinpointing those areas like where can it be improved. On some cars, that’s a real challenge because they’re so nice. On other cars, it’s a lot easier because they’re ugly or have some strange proportions. That can be addressed.

For example, there was a blue ‘69 Mustang Fastback, the Ringbrothers just showed at SEMA. The rear quarters were widened, but the front was left alone. If you look at the design of the vehicle originally, that’s almost what it wanted. It had the big, strong rear haunches and shoulders over the rear wheels. It’s almost like you could see [how] the original designers wanted that to be emphasized, whereas the front is a little bit more straightforward and linear and it wasn’t necessary to change. That car was a good example of just finding those areas that needed to be amped up a little bit and leaving everything else alone.

But with the Enyo in particular, that was really design intensive. It was easily two to three times the work of any normal build, like a Mustang.

CS: What went into the Enyo and what made it more challenging than a typical Ringbrothers build?

GR: You’re taking something that was never really meant to be open-wheel and making it open-wheel.

I wanted to have a lot of sidewall on the tires to make it look like an old ’80s Formula 1 car. We had to pick the tires first because that was the only part you can order from a catalog. Everything else was custom. I talked to Mike and Jim Ring [owners of Ringbrothers] and I was like, “Well, we’re trying to do a race car, so I think slicks would be pretty cool.”

They agreed, so I started looking online for the biggest set of tires that I could find for an 18-inch wheel, which happened to be Goodyears. And then the second biggest size available, we just put on the front.

Once we had the tire size established, I mocked everything up in CAD. They had a scan of the original ‘48 Chevy truck cab, and we brought that in, placed it in between the wheels. I had a rough side view sketch at that time and then just started slicing and dicing and moving the cab around.

The width of the vehicle was basically established by the opening in their trailer because wider is better, right? I said, “Okay, well, what’s the maximum width we can do,” and they’re like, “Well, we got to fit it in this trailer.” I was like, “Okay, give me the width of the trailer and I’ll subtract an inch and give you a half-inch clearance on either side.”

CS: That’s hilarious.

GR: Right. Isn’t that awesome? The cab was completely scaled down to look right with that tire size. The top was chopped four inches. It was narrowed down the middle four inches, and six inches of the bottom of the cab were cut off. We had some discussions once it was mocked up about the height of the owner and he was little on the tall side. Even though we lengthened the cab two inches to give him a little bit more leg room, it looks proportional. I don’t think people realized just how much it’s been cut up.

CS: I had no idea. That’s cool that you can make all those changes and still have it look like the original truck. I figured there was some custom work, but I didn’t know it was so extensive.

GR: Yeah, the cab is the only original steel body panel left on it. Everything else, body wise, is carbon fiber. The doors are carbon-fiber, the hood, the grille, the bed. The bedsides were made to look like the old flat metal bedsides, but they’re all carbon-fiber.

CS: Was it a struggle to balance the needs the engineering and the chassis setup with what you were going for aesthetically?

GR: Not so much in this case. It is in any type of OEM setting, or when you’re working for a car company, that’s always the challenge, of course,  designers and engineers. But because I was trying to make it look like a race car and the engineering side of things was no-compromise race car. There was a race-car engineer with a background in IndyCar and Le Mans who laid out the chassis and suspension. I worked with him on all the aerodynamic stuff to make sure it was realistic. We’ve never had it tested per se, but it is all real, functional stuff. The only thing I wanted but didn’t end up on the final car was a super deep offset on the wheels.  That’s not always ideal from a performance standpoint but nixing the wheel specs wasn’t that big of a deal.

CS: Yeah. That’s a big plus side for doing hot rods rather than working with OEMs is not having to worry about crash safety or CAFE standards.

GR: Everything is basically like a concept car. If they can cut it and weld it and the money and the time is there, everything is possible.

CS: I mean, that sounds ideal.

GR: Yeah, it is my favorite thing about doing the hot rods. I miss the blank sheet of paper approach that you to futuristic concepts or advanced production in a studio, but it got very old making warehouse filler. Ninety-nine out of a hundred things that you do at a car company are never going to see the light of day. You pour your heart and soul into it and it gets killed for whatever reason. And then it’s just, “Okay, that model’s going to the warehouse and here’s the next one.”

CS: Were there any other difficulties with the Enyo?

GR: The other thing that made it so involved and such a long process was that it [the build] is almost like a motorcycle. You can’t hide anything. Everything had to be finished and made to a high standard because there was no fenders or hood sides or anything to hide all of the mechanical elements.

CS: What’s your design philosophy?

GR: More aggressive is better. Every time I sit down and sketch something, I just want it to be as badass as possible, personally, and typically, that’s the goal for any type of hot rod too. It’s just supposed to be a loud, hot, tire smoking, badass machine. That probably informs more of my design style or philosophy than anything else when it comes to these cars, just maximum badassery.

CS: With the Ringbrothers in particular, or maybe just any customer build, are you aiming for it to win at SEMA or are you just trying to give the customer the best car you possibly can?

GR: Yeah, usually we just give the customer the best car we can. Sometimes the customer’s goal is to win some award. The Ridler Award at Detroit Autorama is a big one that you have to build and design a car specifically for that award. I’ve been involved in a couple of those cars, and you have to design them with that award in mind if it’s a goal—just because [the judges] are so specific about what they’re looking for. But most of the time, I don’t design for any specific award. The customer is the one paying the bills, so they need to be happy.

CS: You’re known for your muscle car work. Is that typically what you’re into or is that just where the market is?

GR: I’ve made a name for myself when it comes to more design with these modernized muscle cars or pro-touring cars or whatever you want to call it. That’s really hot right now, so most of my clients come to me for that type of work. It’s not to say that’s all that I would do. I tell people, “I’ll do anything with wheels.” That’s where I draw the line. I don’t want to do product design.

When it comes to my own garage, I like more traditional hot rods. I don’t want my personal cars to be trendy because, in 15 years when I actually get one of these things finished, I want it to still be cool.

CS: If one of your clients gave you a blank check and told you to design something cool, what would you pick?

GR: I’ve got a few things in my mind that I’ve sketched over the years. One is a Shelby Cobra. That’s all I can say about it. I don’t want to give anything away of what I’d want to do to it, but that is one that I would like to play around with. And then honestly, if I ever had actual money to do it, my capstone project from back in college. I always thought there was something there and I think that would be a fun car to dive into again, having 20 years experience beyond the point when I did that.

CS: What was your capstone car? I don’t remember seeing that.

GR: It was hot rod inspired, this tandem seat roadster. It had fenders, but more of an open wheel type vibe to it.

CS: Speaking of college projects, do you have any advice for young people trying to get into car design?

GR: I’m pretty old-school, so I would say, “Just do everything you can and just sketch cars, take figure drawing classes, just learn to draw.” You spend almost all of college learning to draw cars properly because it’s so hard to draw a car.. There’s almost no time to learn to design cars. At least with me, I spent those five years learning to draw properly just so I could get the ideas in my head out onto paper. I didn’t learned to design until I was at a car company.

It’s not a big philosophical bit of advice, but your life is going to be easier in college the sooner you can draw better.

CS: Is there anything you have in the works that you can talk about? What’s the next big thing?

GR: That I can talk about?

CS: Yeah.

GR: I’m working on a couple projects for Ringbrothers right now that should be pretty cool. It’s going to be hard to top what we just did.

I also have a customer overseas [for whom] I’m working on a Porsche project. That’s about all I can say about it.

CS: That’s exciting.

GR: Yeah, it’s cool. I’ve never been personally into European cars or vintage Porsches or other vintage European cars. It’s something different than a ‘69 Camaro or a Mustang or one of those typical cars. It’s been fun for me to dig into that.

***

The post How to design an award-winning SEMA build appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s nearly that time of year again. Even before Halloween landed, the lights went up in Coventry and the adverts started to appear on television. My black-clad brethren and I try to hold the line at the end of October but the rapacious tendrils of consumerism take no prisoners.

Maybe you can tell, but I’m not a big fan of Christmas. My holiday survival strategy for the last few years has been to retreat to a friend’s house in Wales, were we all eat ourselves into a food coma and wait for the whole sordid affair to blow over.

Trouble is, I do like getting presents, and I expect you do too. Prompted by a reader to share some of my favorite bits of reading material, what follows are several car design book recommendations to put on your gift list. All of these are from my personal bookshelf, so if I’ve missed something obvious it means I haven’t bought a copy yet. Share such titles in the comments.

H Point: The Fundamentals of Car Design & Packaging (Macey/Wardle, 2nd Edition)

If such a thing as a definitive academic text book for car design exists, this is it. There’s a reason every student at basically every transport design course around the world is handed a copy on day one of their first year. The authors are both tutors at the Art Center in Pasadena, but this is not your typical dry, wordy academic tome.

Designers are visual people. So with the aid of lovely line drawings and simple to understand diagrams, this book looks at all of the engineering, legislative, production, and ergonomic factors a designer needs to consider. Covering everything from concept ideation to market positioning of a production vehicle, the only areas not touched on are aesthetics and styling. The title refers to the “Hip Point”; the height of the driver in relation to the ground plane, to give you some idea of the areas explained. This book is utterly essential for anyone who thinks car design is just about drawing cool cars.

How to Design Cars Like a Pro (Lewin/Borroff)

A terrific “catch all” book that makes a perfect companion to H Point. It looks at the more creative side of vehicle design. Concentrating on the aesthetics and form of exteriors and interiors, there are interviews with leading designers and students (along with examples of their work), chapters on defining what car design actually is, how cars go from concept to production, what makes good design and the challenges of the future.

But it doesn’t neglect the past; design classics and the men who created them are in here as well. And if you want to have a go yourself, there are even sketching and rendering tutorials. It’s a little dated given that it’s twelve years old, but this book gives a good solid overview of the visual basics without getting bogged down in pseudo-intellectual waffle. Don’t let the publication date put you off; along with H Point these two are what you should read before anything else.

Secret Fords Volume 1 & 2 (Steve Saxty)

Going from the how of car design to the why, Steve Saxty is a veteran Ford insider (and Hagerty contributor) who has unprecedented access to the Ford design archives. He had so much material comprising of studio photographs, development sketches and renders as well as interviews with all the principles involved that it took two books to manage it all.

Across both volumes is the inside story of Ford of Europe’s design and product development from the mid-Seventies until the mid-Nineties. Although the focus (ha!) is primarily on Ford Europe, the role of Dearborn in these stories is not neglected. In fact, the strength of these books is the way it paints a picture of the politics and the personalities from all across the Ford empire that influenced design decisions. Among these was a redo of the MkII Focus ordered by J Mays on his arrival, to make it look more like a VW (the company which Mays had worked previously). The sheer depth of previously unseen images contained here is absolutely staggering. The presentation along with some of the commissioned illustrations of unbuilt concepts is a bit garish, but if you’ve ever wanted the inside story view of a car from conception to production, how a design progresses and all the drama that entails, Secret Fords is a must read.

A Century of Automotive Style: 100 Years of American Car Design (Lamm/Holls)

The absolute bible on American car design, from the turn of the century until the early Nineties. Exhaustively researched and written, if you’ve ever wanted to know about the personalities and techniques from the early days of adopting ship building techniques through to the introduction of CAD, this is your book. Chronologically covering all the main domestic manufacturers and coachbuilders, their hits and misses, as well as the emerging trends and external influences, the book weaves people, products and technologies into a thorough and engaging history lesson. It’s very text-heavy, and the majority of the photography is unsurprisingly black and white, but you’ll find information and stories here from the past you won’t find anywhere else. It doesn’t appear to be in print currently, so you’ll have to track down a used copy. But it’s an extremely valuable addition to your bookshelf.

Car Design America/Europe/Asia (Tumminelli)

Now we’re getting slightly more into the realm of glossy coffee table books. Each volume looks at all the major design highlights across the three regions, tracing the visual themes and fashions through the years from the beginning of the war until the time of publication. Lavishly stuffed with lots of color period photographs, the author adds historical context and shows the progression of how the appearance of cars has changed through the years.

This series is basically a pictorial encyclopedia of the evolution of car design, interspersed with important landmark vehicles. The author reaches a little in that he attempts to give form and name to some of the aesthetic movements that feel a bit arbitrary, but these are an extensive and lush books that provide a go to visual reference. It looks like they may be out of print currently, but are absolutely worth tracking down.

Cars: Freedom, Style, Sex, Power, Motion, Colour, Everything (Bayley)

An appropriately excessive title for an excessively sumptuous book: Stephen Bayley is one of those incredibly intelligent and engaging writers that pulls off the rare trick of making the reader feel smarter. A highly regarded design critic and commentator, he can apply cultural and socio-economic context to design in an intelligent but accessible way that is second to none. This is a car book not really about cars. Rather, it celebrates the car as an expression of human ingenuity and creativity—an object to be considered in the same manner as other art forms.

In this book, with albeit subjective perspective, Bayley does exactly that. He selects eighty or so cars that have elevated the discipline of car design: an expert’s greatest hits. Each individual model has been treated to extensive studio photography in black and white, which might seem cliché but places the emphasis on the forms being considered. If you want to expand the way you think about how a car arrives at its final form, this is your book. Bayley’s commentary on the ’59 Cadillac Eldorado: “A pink Cadillac embodies the American concept of luxury and style at mid-century: untethered, unexamined, gross, inimitable, unforgettable and unique”. There’s a few different versions of this kicking about; get the full-size door stopper that has the page size to do the stunning images justice.

Crayon to CAD: A History of Post War Automotive Design in Australia (Berenger)

We often think of car design being a strictly American, European or Asian affair, but of course there is another country with a long and proud history of designing and manufacturing cars: Australia.

This wonderful book brings this often forgotten heritage out into the open. Starting with a brief history, it has chapters explaining in detail the design processes and tools used, the main studios in the country, before going on to tell the story of Australian car design and the unique challenges faced. There’s also an in depth look at how the introduction of new materials and technologies had on the development of components such as lights, wheels, and bumpers. A terrific overview from start to finish of the designer’s role in getting new cars to market.

Car Styling Quarterly

Finally, a bonus treasure hunt for the committed: Car Styling Quarterly was a perfect bound Japanese magazine (the early issues are basically books) that appeared in 1973 and carried on until about 2017. Imagine a designer’s go-to magazine for what’s happening elsewhere and you’ve got the idea. Each issue covered the important recent releases and their design story, mostly in images and sketches, but slotted in contemporary industrial and transport design as well. Much more than a historical curio, these are worth seeking out because, again, they contain images you won’t see elsewhere.

Being Japanese, the layouts and copy can best be described as quirky, but that just adds to their charm. They are bi-lingual with the text printed in English—useful if, like me, your grasp of Japanese is utterly non-existent. Online information is scarce so it’s almost impossible to figure out the contents of each issue, but these are well worth picking up if you stumble upon them either online or out in the wild.

These are all books that I’ve bought over the course of my studies and career. To this day I find them extremely useful. There are a lot more available, but I don’t want to recommend anything I’ve not actually read, and I’m already running out of shelf space. Get these for the holidays and you’ll likely enjoy the December season far more than you would have otherwise!

***

Adrian Clarke is a professional car designer, earning a degree in automotive design from Coventry University and a Masters in Vehicle Design from the Royal College of Art in London. He worked for several years at a major European OEM, and in the ’90s his daily driver in London was a 1979 Ford Thunderbird.

The post Vision Thing: ‘Tis the season for … books about car design? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Across the digital world, most published content is bite-size, designed for quick consumption. Still, deeper stories have a place—to share the breadth of an experience, explore a corner of history, or ponder a question that truly engages the goopy mass between your ears. Pour your beverage of choice and join us for a Great Read. Want more? Have suggestions? Let us know what you think in the comments or by email: editor@hagerty.com

For some, comparing automotive design and architecture is like mixing oil and coolant: two necessary parts of life that should never intersect.

Humankind’s need for impressive buildings, however, parallels its desire for an eye-catching automobile, as both are byproducts of Modernism. Appeal in each is hung on texture, shape, proportioning, and the ambient interplay of light and shadow. At the same time, the relationship between an architect and the needs of a growing city produces the same kind of passion, success, and failure as any automotive styling studio.

Columbus, Indiana, is one of the few American cities to use a modernist aesthetic as both historic foundation and inspiration for future growth. And if there’s one time in history when car designers have the freedom to make an impact at the scale of a growing city, it’s now.

And so began my idea to engage in a sort of cinematic journey through the concept of Modernism, driving a car of similar ideals. But which car?

It had to be an EV. The simple chassis architecture and seemingly endless development funding of an electric vehicle allow for the creation of genuinely new shapes. Teslas are widely popular, but their lines are stuck in the late 2000s. The EV platforms from most other automakers aren’t much better, with their slapped-on light bars and hastily grafted corporate DNA. Only Hyundai looks forward while paying homage to the past.

In this case, “past” means a minimalist wedge—sourced from legendary designer Giorgetto Giugiaro, no less—that helped put the company on the global stage in the 1970s. The Hyundai Pony was never sold in America, but it’s a big deal in Hyundai design circles. And that’s why I chose the Hyundai Ioniq 5 for this trip.

It may seem far-fetched to line up the architectural traditions of a midwestern city with the corporate styling aspirations of a South Korean juggernaut, but spending a week with the car along the progressively modernist streets of Columbus made one thing clear: good things happen when people, planning, and bold aspirations for the future converge.

***

Let’s first discuss our host city, once home to a wealthy industrialist named J. Irwin Miller. The World War II veteran had a penchant for modern design, thanks partly to having studied at Yale. But personal interest blossomed into something special. Miller’s great uncle, William Irwin, co-founded the Columbus-based Cummins Engine Company, the famous maker of diesels. Miller joined the family business in the 1930s, rising to chairman after the war. Foreseeing a need to both entice and retain the top talent that would help Cummins grow, he envisioned a city with inspired schools, forward-thinking churches, and stunning public buildings.

In 1957, that vision manifested in the Cummins Foundation. The charitable arm of the powertrain powerhouse offered architectural grants on behalf of the city of Columbus, paying for famous mid-century architects to create masterworks in town.

This work had significant impact. Columbus became both a testament to the power of design and a travel hot spot for architecture fans. Tours buses now circle the city at regular intervals, showing off the work of architects like I.M. Pei, Kevin Roche, and Eero Saarinen. McMansions and strip malls later blossomed in the suburbs, but the region worked to preserve its heritage and remains inspiring today.

Columbus wasn’t built in a day, however, and it took more than 50 years for Hyundai to arrive at the Ioniq 5. Much as cookie-cutter architecture fueled America’s mid-century growth, Hyundai spent its early years building other manufacturers’ vehicles under license. It wasn’t until the 1970s that the company gained the fortitude to engineer its own products.

Hyundai’s managers wisely realized that the young firm remained ill-equipped to style those cars for the global market. That’s where Pony enters the scene, making its formal debut in 1974. Further Italian commissions like the Excel, the Stellar, and the Sonata were clean and logically styled, and they gave the brand compelling showrooms. By 1990, increasing market share had justified the creation of Hyundai’s own, California-based, styling studio.

Still, even the most elegant compact car can be seen as disposable. Significant achievement eluded the brand until recent decades, when it began to prioritize larger vehicles and with unique and refined details. And much as how Hyundai once recruited Austin-Morris executive George Turnbull to get Pony production off on the right foot, the company’s latest styling crop came under the tutelage of design vice president SangYup Lee, who was cherry-picked from Bentley.

A dedicated EV platform can force a change in how you make cars. The Ioniq 5, the first vehicle from Hyundai’s E-GMP electric platform, was launched in 2022. It is a four-door, five-passenger crossover with fast-charge capability, available in either rear-wheel-drive (single-motor) or all-wheel-drive (dual-motor) configuration. The entry model, around $49,000, gives 168 hp and 220 miles of range.

Our test car, a top-of-the-line, all-wheel-drive Limited model borrowed from Hyundai, produced 320 hp and carried a base price of more than $57,000. You can see a little Pony in the Ioniq 5’s detailing, and the C-pillar heavily recalls Chrysler’s 1980s Omni / Horizon compacts. No matter: This car looks like nothing else on the road, and like no Hyundai before.

EVs and revolutionary styling can each prompt admiration and controversy, which is why our Columbus tour first stopped at Southside Elementary. This school, designed by Eliot Noyes and built in 1969, is the city’s best example of Brutalist architecture, a style that utilizes the flexibility of poured concrete to create buildings in almost any shape. Brutalism allowed engineering creativity in an era of staid reconstruction after World War II: Radical textures replaced attention-grabbing ornamentation, and right angles became a feature, not a byproduct.

Few architectural styles are as mired in controversy. While the name suggests a purposeful crudity, Brutalism is derived from the French words beton brut, raw concrete. Like an EV trying to make a name for itself, the style is more polarizing than a presidential election. Where the school has windows, they are recessed in concrete, visually demoted by Brutalism’s hallmark radical shapes and proportions. The Ioniq 5’s inescapable angular door slashes strike the same tone as Southside’s imposing and top-heavy façade—they do a fantastic job of hiding the car’s size and substantial wheelbase. (At 118 inches, the Hyundai has more space between its hubs than a Lincoln Town Car.)

Brutalism can be difficult to process, but the details are the reward. Peek inside the initially incomprehensible space holding Southside’s entryway and second-floor hallway, you get a set of stairs seemingly formed from a single slab of concrete. Richly textured gray walls are contrasted by bright artwork hung on the back wall. Within the staircase itself, the skylight in that soaring ceiling forces sunlight to become another geometric element.

These shapes take work to understand, and they challenge the viewer’s notions of how a building should be designed. Look, too, how the Ioniq 5 sports a strong shoulder line below its glass. Follow that line down the body side, it becomes a triangular form reminiscent of a flint arrowhead, slicing deep into the coachwork. As the quarter panel juts aft and into the car’s hatchback rear, a bewildering number of flat planes, curved panels, straight lines, and finger-size squares mirror Brutalist notions.

As with Southside, the parts exist for the whole—each works with the others to make a seemingly illogical assembly appear both natural and pleasing to the eye.

Budget concerns make poured concrete common at publicly funded houses of learning. Not so with religious architecture, as wealthy benefactors usually have the coin to spring for expensive materials and the labor to arrange them in compelling patterns. Just three miles from Southside sits Eliel Saarinen’s First Christian Church, completed in 1942. Clad in brick and limestone, this building was the first in Columbus with a Modernist slant. It was also one of the first churches in America to embrace the approach.

Like carmakers, religious institutions can change quickly but often do not. In either space, steps outside the norm can define an era. More than ten years ago, Tesla set the EV stage with its five-door-coupe Model S, but the model has barely changed since, and the lines are now a bit stale. (The design also wasn’t particularly new, at least when viewed through the lens of the first Mercedes-Benz CLS. Or a few modern Hyundai Sonatas, for that matter.)

In that sense, the Ioniq 5 excels, no pun intended. It performs the relative miracle of looking like nothing else on the road while paying homage to both Hyundai history and the so-called “8-bit” era of design—the 1980s—where the company grew. Both car and church refine rudimentary forms into eye-catching statements.

Like Southside Elementary, First Christian Church holds right angles and long lines, but diverse material choices and playful jabs at symmetry make its shape anything but brutal. Brick facades, rectangle-clad walls, and artful uses of symmetry and asymmetry abound. The main entrance is skewed off-center, slightly to the right, a cross centered over the uncentered doors. This is a small notion, moving two elements away from their expected location. But it also makes First Christian’s front far more engaging than a predictable façade.

Take a look inside the Ioniq 5’s headlights—there’s a similar approach in the Lego-like plastic texturing. The amber reflector, mounted on a panel that frames the high beam reflector, doesn’t necessarily need enlightened placement. It’s just a headlight assembly, right?

Hyundai pulled a Saarinen here, tension in asymmetry. There are five “squares” of black plastic between the reflector and the 90-degree bend in the front of its mounting panel. Fewer than two black squares exist on the other end of the panel: rudimentary shapes kept from being boring. Perhaps this is something you can build for yourself in Minecraft?

That shockingly popular video-game series points to a critical note with design of any type: The true impact of lighting and surface texture is only available in the real world. There’s no substitute for feeling the rough graining of poured concrete with your fingers or casting your eyes upon delicate shadows in real empty space. Analyzing the Ioniq 5’s headlights in words does not convey the experience of watching the car’s light show at a charging station. Nor can a keyboard convey the novelty of using a memorably styled electric car as both tourist shuttle and daily driver for a week.

With that in mind—and after a brief detour to line the Hyundai’s front bumper up against the imposing, and similarly shaped, Columbus City Hall—we headed five minutes across town, to the residence of J. Irwin Miller.

When it came to his own walls, Columbus’s most influential son did not skimp. Eero Saarinen drew the main structure, one of the few private homes he designed. The building, completed in 1957, is laid out axially, rooms spoking out from a central “hub” living area with conversation pit. The house is now a museum exhibit, available for public tour and owned by the Indianapolis Museum of Art.

Miller’s residence is testament to how architecture must ultimately be made for use, and how Modernism can produce an inviting and inspired place to live. Poured-concrete floors becomes appealing for a home when you add bits of semi-precious stones and give the mix an Italian name like terrazzo. The house uses that material all over, even in the garage, where it is dyed black and sporting integral parking stops that rise from the foundation. From the outside, the structure is a low-slung rectangle. Inside, free-standing steel columns, wood trim, marble panels, floor-to-ceiling windows, and even the modest perfection of Formica paneling create something masterful.

As always, natural light is key. Those steel columns, 16 in all, support a grid of ceiling tiles and translucent skylights running the length of the house. They help to promote the painfully modest ornamentation, like how the chimney flue makes a seamless and fluid transition into the ceiling. They also create natural highlights in the most delightful and unexpected locations.

Man has modified light for centuries, going back to how early churches used stained glass to twist Mother Nature’s greatest gift into art. But it wasn’t until Modernism that light become a dominant element of interior design. Used properly, it can accentuate elements within a space without drawing attention to that manipulation.

Walking back outside, I noticed a few more of the Hyundai’s details: accent lighting buried within the door-panel armrests, lighting around the speaker grilles, lighting integrated into charging meters via individual and square-shaped panels at the charging port and front bumper. Elegant hashmarks under the headlight assemblies form a bold signature, their pattern like Saarinen’s skylights.

Car and city complement each other here like peanut butter and jelly. In each case, parallels are everywhere, and there is simply too much to cover.

Columbus thrives to this day, even as its iconic architecture has required changes, additions, or complete destruction. The updates made to I.M. Pei’s public library are sympathetic and respectful to the original. When Ralph Johnson’s Central Middle School was demolished and rebuilt in 2007, the end product carried modernist undertones and recycled a whopping 83 percent of the original building. Perhaps this city can teach the likes of Troy Trepanier and Dave Kindig a thing or two about restomods?

The original Hyundai Excel was a poor fit for the American market, and the Hyundai Pony rusted far too quickly, but you can’t discredit their approach: Modernist Italian styling at a bargain-basement price. The Ioniq 5 has too much real estate and is too costly to recall the minimalist Excel, but the Pony’s influence is strong—hard lines meshing with soft contours for surprising elegance, the old as springboard for the new.

At the core, Modernism embraces change. Picasso turned the nude female form into a work of geometric abstraction. Le Corbusier’s mantra held that a house is a machine for living in, and the idea reinvented urban planning. More than half a century separates vehicle and architecture here, but the common thread is a clear aim to change lives for the better. Done right, the result looks almost too easy, though it’s clearly anything but.

Want more stories from our Great Reads project? Click here.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark us.

The post When the world’s greatest architects met a Hyundai EV appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I do come around to things late sometimes. Part of it, I guess, is because my autism makes it appear to others that I have my head up my ass. There’s also my sheltered upbringing, which meant I wasn’t exposed to pop culture. Discovering things for myself is something at which I’ve had to work very hard. Like any mid-to-late-nineties misfit who found themselves left of the dial, I eventually stumbled across comedian Bill Hicks … about ten years after he died.

Eventually, I realized Bill had been doing his part for the environment by, er, recycling a lot of his material. (When an audience member once called him out on this, he proceeded to ad-lib an entire new set.) But one of his most famous, most cynical not-a-gags is this segment from a diatribe about the evils of advertising:

“By the way if anyone here is in advertising or marketing … kill yourself. It’s just a little thought; I’m just trying to plant seeds. Maybe one day they’ll take root—I don’t know. You try, you do what you can.”

“(Kill yourself.) Seriously though, if you are, do.”*

*(Editor’s Note: The inclusion of Hicks’ genuine animus against corporatism is not intended to make light of suicide. If you are someone you know is in crisis, find help at the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, call or text 988, or text TALK to 741741.)

At the time I’d just read No Logo and was throwing copies at the heads of everyone I knew, so his screed resonated deeply. Advertising was evil, corporations were monsters, everything had a dollar value, and as Rage Against the Machine once suggested, I certainly wasn’t going to “do what you told me.”

But as I moved into my better get my life together (ha!) thirties, I was discovering was that I was really into creative stuff. I love a really good advert, for example. Especially a good car advert. In 2003, I was in a local pub one Sunday afternoon when for about 120 seconds I was suddenly rooted to the floor, drink in each hand, captivated by what I was seeing on the big screen: Cog by Honda. Even though an Accord station wagon only appears briefly at the end, it’s widely considered one of the greatest car adverts of all time.

A few years earlier, Ford of Europe released the Puma. A clenched paw of a car, designed by Ian Callum, it packed a singing Yamaha 1.7-liter engine under its hood. I was in the kitchen of the studio I was living in with my then-wife. “Hey baby, come and look at this advert,” she said as it appeared on our portable color television.

There was Steve McQueen, in split screen edits back tracked by Lalo Schifrin driving a Puma around San Francisco. An actor who had been dead for 17 years behind the wheel of something you couldn’t even buy in North America. That is how you sell a car.

As the media landscape has fractured, so has the way car companies try to get their message across. It’s no longer enough to have a killer print campaign or a series of memorable television spots. Conventional advertising was upended some years ago as social media proliferated and the how, rather than the what, became more important. Everything must have a backstory. We probably have the Portland and Austin types to thank for this, with their devotion to supposed authenticity and how the products they deem worthy are made. It doesn’t matter if what you’re selling is any good, as long as it was crafted by hand in a slow-motion Instagram reel.

Here’s the deal: Design is a process. It’s not a thing in and of itself. Everything is designed either well or badly, but elevating it as some sort of practice that only your company can offer is BS.

Apple probably didn’t help with those ridiculous adverts with the Jony Ive voice over, but we’re now in a situation where talking about design has become a key part of the overall marketing effort, rather than something that’s simply intrinsic to creating a good product.

I saw this nonsense firsthand when I was a student at the Royal College of Art. Jaguar Land Rover filmed this video while I was a student there (I have a “blink and you’ll miss it” cameo, to boot). It’s extremely cringe-worthy, and yes, Gerry McGovern and Ian Callum really didn’t get along at all. The annoying part is they both made fantastic points about the realities of car design, but it’s lost in the sheer uncomfortableness of the whole thing.

Talking heads aside, what’s worse is when manufacturers and their marketing departments attempt to show you how your car is designed, as if revealing all the effort they made somehow makes it a better product. Thing is, none of it is real. Look at this recently released video from Honda:

We open on a shot of the “Honda Design” signage, before the camera swoops round to what is supposed to the studio. There’s some movable walls, so maybe it is but I’m not convinced.

Now we have the chief designer talking, but notice the model in the background. It’s completely dressed (painted and covered in Di-Noc) apart from the front fender. This will be a model explicitly used for this sort of publicity. When I started, there was a model of our new car that was half painted, half clay; every time there was any filming or photographs for publication, it was wheeled out for the camera. I saw it on a BBC TV show a couple of months ago, so by now that model must be at least seven or eight years old.

Ah, an aspiring young designer sketching at his desk. And a good-looking, clean cut young chap he must be? Well again, no surprise there. You don’t want a black clad weirdo with a daft haircut and a load of piercings like me popping up. Notice the carefully-placed Honda model on his desk. Yeah right! I had a Jeff Gordon 1/24^th NASCAR die-cast and a Tie Fighter model on mine. Have a good look at the sketches. You can see they’re all the same car, because OEMs rarely want to show you what you could have got. Also, he doesn’t have a PC or a graphics tablet, so it’s obviously staged on a spare table.

Okay, now I’ve talked about how one of the benefits of a clay model is you can touch it; human hands are extremely sensitive to variations in surface and you need to run your fingers along a shut line or a radius to feel how consistent it is. What you never do is Jiro’s act of rubbing of the damn thing like its a lamp sprouting a genie granting you three wishes. The warmth of your hand can mess up the clay if you’re too enthusiastic, too heavy handed with it.

Our young friend here is sketching with Copic markers. These are industry standard (and expensive), but you rarely use them in the studio. That’s because sketching digitally is so much quicker, cleaner and easier, not to mention Copic markers bleed your ball point line work, so you have to use them with a pencil. At least the fumes aren’t as bad as the old-school Chartpaks.

We’re all about virtual reality and the “metaverse now,” and companies like Gravity Sketch are making a big push towards getting their tools integrated into the workflow. But what is our friend actually doing here? We can’t see what he can see, and he’s the only one there with a headset on. You don’t need VR for cross studio collaboration, all you need is a decent internet connection and a couple of big screens.

Okay, let’s put some clay on the model, and then scrape it off because this provides our brand with analog authenticity. This is genuinely done only for the camera; you have your existing clay and then get the modelers (the good-looking ones, naturally) to look like they’re working on it in a facsimile of the way it works in reality. I mean, you don’t want to muck up an actual real working model, right?

Designers use tape to help them figure out graphics and feature lines. It’s made by a company called Rinrei and is made from Japanese rice paper. They make it in a variety of widths, and it doesn’t leave a residue. What you do is work out where you want your line to be on the surface of the model, giving the clay modeler a reference point. Or if a model is being prepped for painting, you can define a line to be sanded to, so features are not lost when it’s being rubbed down. What you don’t do is tape on a painted model which already has its feature lines defined, because what’s the point?

Here we see a modeler waving a handheld scanner at the clay. This is real. It’s how the model’s surface is captured to give the digital surfacing team a reference for their initial 3D clay model. Then the model is tweaked by hand, and then it’s scanned and remodeled again, and then that data is used to mill the clay again.

It’s always impressive when you see a designer dashing off a cool sketch freehand, isn’t it? I remember seeing an interview with Wayne Burgess where he knocked out a pen sketch of the Jaguar F-Type while waffling to camera. When you’ve worked on a car in a studio for four to five years, you can draw it with your eyes closed. I can still do it to this day on the cars I worked on.

What bugs me about this Honda video (and countless others) is how it shows a little bit of how cars are designed, and that it’s a complete falsehood. What’s being done here does reflect reality, but it’s nothing more than a reflection. Which is ironic given they are trying to use authenticity as a selling point. Perhaps what legendary ad man David Ogilvy said in 1963 proves the point:

“If advertisers would give up flatulent puffery, and turn to the kind of factual, informative advertising which I have provided for Rolls-Royce, KLM and Shell, they would not only increase their sales, but they would also place themselves on the side of angels. The more informative your advertising, the more persuasive it will be.”

Sure, it’s a bit quaint. I still don’t think Bill Hicks would approve, but design is nothing if not honest. Save the commercials for selling me the car on an emotional level. Good design should speak for itself.

***

The post Vision Thing: Design, as advertised? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Since getting into this writing thing, one of the big joys of the gig (apart from conversing with commenters and seeing my untethered ramblings in digital ink) is digging deep into research. Rather, I get to read a lot.

As you probably gathered, I love reading. Being extremely on the spectrum (I have what used to be called Asperger’s), my preference is not for fiction. Anything remotely auto industry-adjacent, or automotive-related, however, is very much my thing. I’m physically incapable of walking past a thrift store or secondhand bookshop without investigating the treasures that lie within. There’s lots to criticize Amazon for (I try to use Abebooks these days) but the tech giant has finding obscure auto-related stuff much easier. When I meet my end it’ll probably be in a dusty house, stacked floor to ceiling with old car books and magazines. Something weighty, like Cars, toppling from a high shelf will connect with my head and deliver the final blow. I’ve made my peace with this.

I recently bought a copy of Brock Yates’ The Decline and Fall of the American Automobile Industry, and I’m about a third of the way through (time as ever being the enemy). The opening chapters describe in clear-eyed detail the complete failure to launch of the GM J-Car, and how those on the GM building’s 14th floor were as oblivious to the car’s shortcomings as they were obvious to those outside it. Which got me thinking about the concept of the so called “world car,” and why—on some level—it most often fails.

So, what is a World Car? In the past, when global markets were a bit more isolated from one another, it was long the dream of the major domestic OEMs to produce a mass-market car that could be sold on both sides of the Atlantic, and in Australia, with minimal differentiation. (It would sell in other developed markets too, but for brevity’s sake we’ll concentrate on the U.S. and Europe.) We’re not talking simply about a shared platform, but a rather complete car with negligible differences from Detroit to Dagenham, to Down Under. It could cost as much to develop car in Europe or Australia as it did in Detroit, so if these costs could be combined it would be an automotive buy one get two free. The savings would be astronomical!

Even though I’m in the U.K., you or I can equally walk into our respective local Honda dealerships this afternoon and (minor trim and equipment differences aside) buy examples of the same Civic. Rewind forty years and let’s say we’d tried the same experiment with the Ford Escort; one of us would have ended up with a reasonably competent mass-market hatch, while the other got an ersatz sort of copy that looked like it came from Wish.com. Remember both these (all three?) of these cars, because we’ll be coming back to them.

Ford inadvertently created a world car when it made the Model T, which sold all over the globe and whose manufacturing expanded to overseas with kits. Edsel Ford then took Henry’s River Rouge idea (raw materials in one end and cars out of the other) and transposed it to Dagenham just east of London in 1929. Dagenham is near where I grew up, and as a child I would always ask if we were going to go past the Ford factory, so I could see the huge Ford sign piercing the sky and the lines and lines of new cars parked up outside. (Car manufacturing has long since been offshored, but Dagenham remains as a major engine plant.)

Simultaneously, across the channel in Germany in 1929, Henry Ford started construction of another European plant in Cologne. It was a direct response to GM taking a majority shareholding in Opel, after GM had already purchased Vauxhall in the U.K. in 1925. Chrysler didn’t get into the Euro game until it bought the Rootes Group (mainly Hillman, Humber Singer, Sunbeam, and Talbot) in 1964. Chrysler’s Euro adventures were as messy as that lot sounds.

After the war, as ravaged Europe built its way out of devastation with help from the United States, car design and production began in earnest. Both Ford and GM now had separate design studios and engineering centers in both the U.K. and Germany, each developing their own models for their respective home markets—an incredible duplication of time and effort.

The U.K. has always had a slightly uncomfortable relationship with Europe, something post-colonial attitudes and two world wars helped amplify. In my humble experience, I’ve always thought the U.K. felt much closer to the U.S. socially, politically, and culturally than it does to its neighbors less than thirty miles away. Two countries separated by a common language, goes the joke. When Detroit decided it was going to start forcing closer cooperation between its Euro satellites in the early Sixties, there was a lot of resistance from the U.K. side.

What relevance does this fascinating history have to car design?

The first Ford of Europe (as it would come to be known) car was the 1968 Capri. Famously marketed as “the car you always promised yourself,” Europe’s “Mustang” was designed by the man who penned the original car, Philip T. Clark. Until exchange rates rendered it too expensive, the U.S. became the Capri’s biggest market, an indication that domestic customers were slowly beginning to turn towards smaller, nimble-driving cars with a hint of Euro sophistication and better economy.

This Americanization of European designs was no accident; designers and executives crossed the Atlantic regularly, an overseas posting on your resume was critical to ascending the ladder in Detroit. Look at the 1972 Vauxhall Ventora, or the 1970 Ford Cortina Mk3, and the influences are clear in the classic Coke-bottle hips and liberal use of chrome and vinyl. All of this brought a dash of Stateside glitz to the U.K., which was, even at that time, still a smoldering bomb crater.

The board was all set. By the early Seventies there was Ford of Europe, as well as GM’s Opel in Germany. Vauxhall had withered without investment from GM, and its offerings had become U.K.-built Opels affixed with a Griffin badge on the nose.

And then came 1972. That’s when the Honda Civic happened.

Although not conceived as a true world car, it was very much designed with export in mind, primarily to Europe. As the U.S. economy crashed and gas prices soared, the little Honda was suddenly the most fuel-efficient car you could buy. In the U.K., buyers were stunned by a well-engineered car that actually started on damp gray mornings and didn’t require a sleeves-up session every Sunday afternoon just to keep it running.

In a display of its burgeoning talent for advancements in the wrong direction, General Motors bolted first. In 1972 they came up with the T-car, a compact RWD platform that ended up underneath nearly all the GM brands worldwide. And because it was developed in both Detroit and Russelheim, the Vauxhall Chevette and Opel Kadett consequently sported completely different body panels to their American cousins, the Chevy Chevette and Pontiac T1000. Moderately successful despite their awful build quality and antiquated layout, the T-body cars were an expensive lesson in how not to design a car. GM refused to learn it.

Honda followed up the Civic’s success with the Accord in 1976. You don’t need me to re-litigate the impact of both these cars on the U.S. domestic market, as Detroit was shaken to its core. But we shall see that the real failure of GM’s subsequent compact, FWD J-car wasn’t totally due to the product. Blindness was the proverbial dagger—an arrogance as to how and why the market was changing.

One of the things that gets taught at design schools at the undergrad level is the creation of personas, a composite version of your target buyer. This considers age, income, education level and other socio-economic factors. You come up with a list of things these intended customers want in a car, and then use it to guide your design. Unimaginative students invariably come up with some idealized version of themselves, obscenely wealthy and successful at a young age, and then use that as an excuse to design supercars. It’s the sort of thing you do in university and then never do again, because once you get into an OEM there’s a whole marketing department with real customer feedback doing it for you.

Here we come to a fundamental design tenet. What exactly is your product going to be, and who is it designed for?

The Stateside success of the Volkswagen Beetle, another accidental world car, had convinced the GM brass that economical compacts were the purview of hippies, radicals, and other such anti-establishment types. This Bloomfield Hills and Grosse Pointe country club thinking blinded executives to one salient fact: Middle America was purchasing imports, as well.

Here is what happened with the J-car. Tied to notions that served them well in the past, GM made the J-car a FWD parody of what had come before. Upon release in 1982, the J-cars were underpowered, overweight, and overpriced. Given the General’s numerous brands, it was also a badge-engineering job, which was something that did not fool American customers. The J’s only saving grace was that the European version had better engines and interiors. As a result, the Vauxhall Cavalier and Opel Ascona were well-developed and sold in good numbers.

Out of some sort of misplaced solidarity (or perhaps wanting a world car debacle of its own), Ford originally planned the 1981 Escort as direct replacement of the Euro Mk2 RWD Escort and the North American Pinto. Ford of Europe (FoE) was headed by Bob Lutz and he foresaw the new car must possess a FWD layout. Once the VW Golf and Civic appeared, Lee Iacocca (still a Ford VP at the time) had the sudden realization Ford U.S. had nothing to compete with, and demanded it become a global program. Hal Sperlich was the man in charge of the program in Detroit, but he was fired by Henry Ford II because of his closeness to Iacocca.

And then, seemingly overnight, one Escort design became two. Superficially similar on the outside, the two cars ended up sharing essentially nothing. They had the same wheelbase, but the U.S. model was longer and laden with additional trim: A stark contrast to the Euro model’s clean aero look.

Ford tried again in the 1990s when it came time to replace the Sierra, a once-revolutionary looking car hobbled by decidedly less than state of the art RWD running gear. Allocating a staggering $6 billion for the development of the CDW27 platform, the idea was for FoE to lead the design, and utilizing Ford of America’s expertise in V-6 engines and auto transmissions. Because the U.S. versions (Contour/Mystique) were coming to market a year later than the Euro Mondeo (a made up name to signify “world”), Ford of America had time to improve the final design for domestic tastes. And they did, again ending up with two cars that were somewhat similar but had expensively different sheet metal. Fate always having the last laugh, the final 2014 Euro Mondeo was a rebadged Fusion, designed entirely in North America. Landing in Europe two years after appearing stateside, it was criticized for being too big.

Let’s not forget our friends at Chrysler. The Chrysler Horizon/Dodge Omni had a messy and half-baked development hampered by the fact Chrysler U.K. was in dire financial straits. But when Mopar was on its mid-Nineties design roll it came up with the Neon, Bob Lutz’s declared import fighter. It was good enough (alongside Jeep with the TJ Wrangler and XJ Cherokee) to spearhead another European invasion. Thanks to favorable exchange rates in Europe, the Neon was a cheeky-looking and conspicuous bargain that did reasonably well this side of the pond.

OEMs put a lot of effort into identifying markets and customers, then using clinics and surveys to preview designs. Thing is, you can manipulate these tools to get the results you want (which GM did with the J-car to tell itself what it wanted to hear). It takes a lot of money to do them properly by offering ride and drives of prototypes, which GM perhaps didn’t want to spend. Forget a persona, GM management hubris based on past success pointed to a type of customer who didn’t actually exist.

When Toyota wanted to get into the full-size truck market with the Tundra, its designers and project managers actually went out to parking lots across the America, on the weekends, to witness first hand how people used their trucks. This is the sort of knowledge you can’t get from check box forms. It’s enshrined in the Toyota Production System as genchi genbutsu—literally translated as “get your boots on.”

Remember what I said previously about how experiences are important for a designer? My first trip to the U.S. came about in 1999. I was chasing a woman (as always, doing things the hard way) and we met up in Atlanta. As we toured the American South on our way back to her home in North Carolina, I was amazed by the number of Japanese cars I saw in these American heartlands. Like the U.K.’s fractious friendship with the Euro mainland, I assumed there would be cultural resistance to vehicles from Asia.

You must challenge your perceptions if you want your designs to be a success. The Civic and Accord succeeded in spite of the fact that they were not American. They hit the mark because they were good cars that didn’t insult their intended market’s intelligence.

The post Vision Thing: The World Car fallacy appeared first on Hagerty Media.

About a year ago, I needed a new laptop. My old 13-inch MacBook Pro, royally used and generally abused through college and beyond, was beginning to struggle with large Photoshop files and any kind of 3D modeling kicked in the fans like a 747 spooling up for take-off, bringing everything to a juddering halt. Normally, I would have done what I had always done for about the last 25 years or so and headed straight to the nearest Apple store. But the prices for the latest models that fit my needs forced my Amex to coil up in fear. They want how much now?

I went against every fiber of my designer-wanker being and bought a Dell refurb for half the price. Imagine my utter non-shock at discovering Microsoft Windows is still a disaster from a user-experience standpoint, feeling like three different operating systems bolted together. An example: In Windows 10 it takes four clicks to connect my Bluetooth speaker; in OSX, only one. How is beyond the UI/UX team at Microsoft to get this basic stuff right?

Luxury and premium brands charge more because they aim to provide tangible and emotional benefits over and above a competing product. Whether it’s by packaging, construction, design, user touch points, or just simple thoughtfulness, they justify their expense by giving you a superior overall experience. There is a potential downside, though. Make your products too attainable for the masses and your product becomes ubiquitous, or to use a horrible marketing term—massclusivity.

Louis Vuitton found this out to its cost in Asia. It became so successful selling $2000 handbags to those who just about afford them with a couple of months’ saving, that the real High Net Worth Individuals it was courting dropped the brand because it was hard to maintain exclusivity when every twenty-something office drone had one. The LV bag had lost its status as a signifier of wealth and taste.

As news emerges that the Mercedes A-Class and Audi A1 will not be replaced, it looks like premium OEMs have finally learnt this lesson as well. Too long obsessed with market share and chasing their rivals’ tails, they’re abandoning the small premium sector to concentrate on higher-margin products.

It was VW who first put the premium German makers on notice back in 1992. By dropping the narrow-angle VR6 into the unloved and underbuilt Mk3 Golf, the idea was to create a more mature sporting car for people who thought the GTI a bit downtown. The VR6 Golf ended up being a mixed bag; a great engine in a small car let down by its poor quality. Car magazine even recreated its famous Lemon cover for its long-termer. But BMW, Mercedes, and Audi took notice. If proletarian VW was looking to move up into its territory, then it was moving down into VW’s space.

BMW responded first in 1993, docking the tail of the E36 and bolting in the cheaper trailing-arm suspension from the defunct E30 to create the first 3 Series Compact. It was an ungainly creation, due to the truncated rear upsetting its sporting sedan proportions, and the engine choices were limited to prevent it stepping on its full-size brother’s toes. While it failed in North America, it was more successful in Europe, doing especially well in the U.K., where badge snobbery is everything. It transitioned into the E46 generation before the arrival of a proper, small, rear-wheel-drive BMW, the 1 Series from 2004.

While BMW’s attempts to provide a cheaper entry into its range were, Bangle flame surfacing aside, utterly conventional, Audi’s efforts were not. The 1999 A2 was a minor revolution in aluminum construction and upright packaging. With a brief to “carry four people from Stuttgart to Milan on a single tank of petrol,” the A2 sat at less than 2000 pounds and 12.5 feet long (although at 5 feet high, as it had slightly hunchbacked proportions and a vertical tail). Flush, geometric forms were the design language in the VAG group at this time, reflected in the A2’s economy of line and smooth surfaces. The A-pillar was pulled forward to maximize interior space, and coolant and lubricant levels could be checked by opening the flush grill panel, which was actually a service hatch, meaning owners didn’t have to risk dirtying their hands poking around under the hood.

But the zealous dedication to weight saving meant standard equipment was stingy—although plucking your wallet for essentials like air conditioning and power windows was par for the course for these makers anyway. The A2 ended production in 2005 without a direct replacement, but Audi did try again in 2010 with the A1, this time a conventional yet very pretty luxury sub-compact hatch based on the VW Polo. As mentioned above, when it dies, it won’t be replaced.

Mercedes took a no less radical approach with its premium baby. The original W168 A-Class, penned by Coventry School of Art and Design graduate Steve Mattin, emerged into an unsuspecting world in 1997. Promising the interior space of a large car with the footprint of a compact, it had an awkward, mono-volume shape; traditional Mercedes grill/light graphics smeared onto the nose like stickers on a toy; and a weird, reverse-rake C pillar. At under 12 feet it was incredibly compact, but like the A2 the little Benz stood nearly 5 feet high, lending it even more challenging proportions.

The A-class lacked the Audi’s expensive aluminum construction, but did have a unique twin-floor arrangement, with the passenger compartment completely isolated from the powertrain. The thinking was that, in an accident, the engine and gearbox would slide underneath, preventing harmful intrusion into the cabin—a novel idea at the time. Available in a range of decidedly non-Mercedes, playful color and trim options, the A-class represented a complete departure from traditional Stuttgart values of staid, heavyweight German engineering and authority. It survived to a second generation, which rather bizarrely introduced a three-door to the range, but by the time it came to replace it in 2007, Mercedes gave up on revolution, following Audi’s lead via converting the A-Class into a sensible, front-wheel-drive hatch.

When identifying potential gaps in the market, you may have heard the term “white space.” The way it works is this: Product planners, market research teams or even designers themselves set up a simple, four-axis graph. The X-axis has a scale from say, small at one end to large car at the other. The Y-axis goes from, perhaps, mass-market adoption to premium buyers only.

The remaining axes can be any characteristics you would use to describe a car. Then you place competitor vehicles on the graph according to where you think they sit in terms of these adjectives. They will usually end up clustered around a couple of points, and the gaps in-between are known as white space (i.e. a potential segment of the market not currently served). While they can be a useful tool in positioning your car, without some critical thought, these charts can lead you on a fool’s errand.

It’s worth noting that by the mid-’90s Europe was in the middle of a compact MPV boom. Full-size minivans like the Renault Espace and Chrysler Grand Caravan were supremely useful do-it-all wagons, but these family haulers were on the large side. Smaller variations on this theme (like the Renault Scenic) hit the sweet spot for the cost/size/practicality equation in a much more convincing manner. So you can see what Audi and Mercedes were thinking—why not leverage their badges and technological prowess in a segment that was on fire?

While it’s commendable that both Audi and Mercedes tried something different, each expensively fumbled the ball in a total misreading of why customers bought their cars. Although technology and aero efficiency were key Audi differentiators, people bought Audis because they wanted the feeling of German solidity without the flash associated with BMWs. The same for Mercedes, which traded on old money values of million-mile build quality, and state-of-the-art safety features wrapped in sober, conservative styling. Unfortunately for Mercedes, the A-Class arrived at a time when their build quality was at its nadir, while images of the car flipped on its side (failing the infamous elk test) didn’t exactly help. It reportedly cost Mercedes 300 million DM to rectify the issue.

The other problem was that neither of these down-market forays made any money. Because of their high developments costs and relatively modest purchase prices, it’s estimated that each nameplate lost over €1000 per car. So should premium OEMs stay in their lane and not bother with small cars? As always, product and design is everything.

When Land Rover showed the LRX concept at the 2008 Detroit Motor Show, few dreamed it would ever make production. Sketched by Jez Waterman (previously of Lincoln) and eased essentially unchanged into production by Julian Thomson (of Lotus Elise fame) under the direction of chief designer Gerry McGovern, it became the blueprint for the small, premium car. Bolted on a well-developed platform inherited from Ford, it was compact-sized and came in a variety of eye-popping trims and super fashionable colors. But the company’s greatest trick was badging the car a Range Rover rather than a Land Rover, which allowed some tremendously ambitious pricing.

I remember the first time I sat in one. I was with my then-girlfriend, who fitted the target market perfectly; glamorous, late-forties divorcée with seven figures in the bank. She absolutely loved it. I, however, nearly choked laughing upon seeing the £65K price tag. For a Focus-sized SUV? But it worked. By selling consistently over 100,000 units a year, it almost certainly saved the company.

This was the mistake Audi and Mercedes made. Costing only modestly more than the mainstream competition, these models could never hope to cover their expenses. Their positioning was too sensible and execution too radical. Customers buy premium products on emotion, because it makes them feel good—not because they want a practical oddball. The Evoque succeeded for exactly the opposite reasons—an urban-sized, proper Range Rover with Veblen goods pricing that ensured it remained reasonably exclusive and out of the hands of the great unwashed. That the small Audi and Mercedes became luxury hatches available on cheap leases brings us back to the problem of massclusivity: Do you really have a desirable product when everyone can have one?

Now if someone in Redmond could put as much effort into the design of their user interface and touch points, I wouldn’t have to justify buying a Windows laptop on price alone. I could buy one on ease of use and more importantly as a designer, because I truly wanted one, something that’s worth an Apple-like premium.

The post Vision Thing: The apples that fall far from the tree appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Old car magazines are a brilliant time machine aren’t they? Since acquiring my Ferrari Mondial QV a few months back, I’ve slowly been amassing a small collection of relevant literature. I love reading contemporary opinions of the car at the time it was released. Picking them up cheap is a lovely lead-in to an afternoon spent in a comfy chair, in which two things become crystal clear: how critical we used to be and just how far we’ve come. Actually, add a third: just how little we know about what’s going to happen in our automotive future.

Remember when the Orbital two-stroke was the answer to vexing economy, power, and emissions (!) problems in the early Nineties? Imagine a modern Mini Cooper with a ripping two-stroke motor that weighs about a third of a conventional four-stroke, all the power at the top, and no plume of blue smoke trailing behind you. That’s one particular future which utterly failed to materialize.

According to some, our current automotive future will be even more bleak. The industry is seeming to collectively shrug its shoulders on combustion engines and concede that the future will be full of appliance EVs. And that’s if the OEMs envision their customers driving at all, so every claim about the inevitability of this green landscape is pointless to critically question. To slightly misquote Frank Costanza, I gotta a lotta problems with this, and you people are gonna hear about it.

When I graduated with my bachelor’s degree about a decade ago, OEMs and start-ups were fire-hosing money at anything remotely related to autonomy. Come up with a convincing enough word salad like, “my project is a paradigm shifting autonomous third space that is recontextualized for a service led future in the urban environment” and you were hired into an off-the-books OEM mobility skunkworks. Think late Nineties dot-com boom on wheels. I thought the whole thing sounded a bit … nebulous; for graduation I designed an electric hot rod instead.

At the masters level, car designers are expected to apply a lot more research to their projects. So I read. And I read. And the more I read, the more this whole autonomy thing just didn’t make sense. It seemed to me there were several circles it would be impossible to square away.

On a fundamental thought exercise level, suppose we have a self-driving car. That car runs over and kills someone. Who is responsible? The driver? There isn’t one, remember? Merely an owner who just happened to be in the offending vehicle. The manufacturer of the car? They slap together a load of sub-assemblies from various suppliers, any of whom could be “at fault” potentially. But they only supply the hardware, the boxes and the sensors. Not the code. And so on, into a hypothetical Gordian knot of epic liability proportions.

At the time Uber was setting fire to dollar bills in pursuit of self-driving cars, its hope was that this would allow its business to finally turn the corner on profitability. The plan was to refrain from giving those pesky drivers a cut of the fares, which, again, made no sense to me. At that point Uber would become responsible for the purchase, maintenance, and upkeep of a whole fleet of these ride-share pods—costs at the time born by the drivers designated as independent contractors. After a series of setbacks, including a fatal accident, in 2021 Uber threw its hands in the air and offloaded the division. True, full and faultless autonomy remains an elusive endeavor, even for Tesla’s Full Self Driving beta, arguably the most sophisticated technology in the business. Make no mistake, driving assistance systems are here to stay, but in my view they should be akin to flight envelope protection on an aircraft—in the background as a prevention rather than a cure.

In the meantime, we can consider the potential effects of a fleet of autono-pods roaming our cities, ready to be beckoned at the click of an app. Today’s ride-sharing has been proven to increase congestion in urban areas by as much as 3 percent in studies conducted by the ride-sharing companies themselves. Am I going insane? Having driven through central London many times since the introduction of Uber and other imitators, that 3 percent feels more like 20 percent. One of the justifications given for their existence is the old horse about private cars only being used for 5 percent of the time. You know what they’re not doing for the 95% of the time they’re parked? Causing pollution.

And therein lies the rub. Your car, whatever it is, is parked outside, ready to go, right now. To the grocery store at 9 a.m. on a Sunday when you’ve run out of cat food. Or at 3 a.m. when you have a sick child to take to the ER. It won’t suddenly turn around halfway to your house and cancel your ride because surge pricing is in operation downtown and the algorithm has decided there’s a much more profitable fare to be had there.

It’s yours. Your seat settings. Your radio station. Your change rattling around in the door pockets. And this is what premium OEMs seemed to miss when they speak about such nonsense as “transitioning into a mobility service provider.” How on earth could a premium manufacturer provide, say, cars on demand when the person in the vehicle before you left it looking like the aftermath of a frat party ? Consider why public transportation systems of all stripes have hose-down, urine-proof interiors—a design necessity not exactly compatible with luxury brand values. Most OEMs seem to have given up on these half-baked ideas and are charging (sorry) instead full speed ahead into the world of electrical propulsion.

I’ve aimed to debunk a few common EV misconceptions before, but there is reason to be somewhat optimistic. For one, the fear that these cars will all drive the same way because of commodity motors and battery packs is pure nonsense. Most OEMs design and build motors in conjunction with Tier One suppliers to their specific requirements. As any RC enthusiast will tell you, there’s no such thing as a stock motor. And the motor is only one component of the several hundred parts and systems that make up a platform. We can already achieve huge differentiation on a platform; Ford’s C2 underpins everything from the Focus to the Chinese-market Mondeo (via the Lincoln Zephyr) to the Maverick pick up, with a few more scattered in between. If they didn’t do it, they wouldn’t make any money.

A few years ago, when I was still gainfully employed, the design marketing team (I know) arranged some EVs for us to try out. A Jaguar I-Pace, a Model S, Model X and slightly more thrillingly for me, probably the only Chevy Bolt in the U.K.
It took a couple of days before I finally had the time, but I noticed the Bolt never moved once, whereas the others cycled in and out with regularity. Mentioning this I was told no-one wanted to try it. I cannot abide this sort of non-curiosity. A whole studio full of designers calling themselves enthusiasts?

As a designer it’s important to learn and experience as much about any car as you can, especially something like the Bolt, which was then still something of a novelty. I spent a whole afternoon by myself on the local back roads squealing the low rolling resistance tires and scraping the paint from its door handles. Then I went on the local motorway and surprised a few fast movers, before having to get out of the way again because it’s limited to 90-ish mph. Seeking my amateur road testers verdict upon my return, I said it had a cheap interior and an expensive purchase price (all evaluation cars come with a detailed laminated spec sheet), but was quite the little go kart. Odd shape, though.

With the Tesla Model X, unsurprisingly, the performance was organ rearranging; I managed to chirp all four tires in the dry. Autopilot seemed impressive but gimmicky for the five minutes I tried it. No way would I trust it on a long journey because it was already well in the news by then. My overall thoughts were that you’re paying the thick end of $120K for the acceleration, the funky doors, and the FSD driving assistance. The rest was chucked in for free.

Two days, two hugely different EV experiences. Granted, it was vastly different price points and OEMs, but even within the same company there will be plenty of scope for engineers to calibrate things differently, and for designers to flex their Photoshop muscles. Hyundai’s E-GMP platform can be configured in either single-motor RWD (hooray!) or dual motor 4WD is currently under the Ioniq 5, the Kia EV6, and the more visually pleasing Genesis GV60.

I’ve mentioned before that I think EV platforms will allow a slight tweaking of existing shapes and proportions. Think the Taycan looks cool? I’ve seen a four-door sports sedan proposal that makes it look more sedate than a Crown Vic.

There will be just as much diversity in the EV daily drivers of the future as there is in ICE ones at the moment: vehicle types, power outputs, trim levels, and so on. There may even be more variety because the environmental realities of owning a personal vehicle will be moot and OEMs won’t have to worry about emissions.

If it sounds like I’m wholeheartedly embracing an “all-electric future,” that’s not the case. I’m not convinced it’s The Answer To Everything. There are too many barriers to mass adoption at the moment including a high price of entry and a charging infrastructure that for non-Tesla owners is a shambles, especially if you can’t charge at home. Consumers won’t switch en-masse until they can get better than what they have already for the same money. At the moment EVs work for some people in some use cases, and that’s great. Here in Europe, however, most people have to street park, so unless I can run an extension cable out of a window and across the sidewalk overnight, you won’t see me in an EV for a while yet.

The post Vision Thing: Independent thoughts on autonomy appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The world is rarely a fair place, and automotive journalism is rarely a safe space for all car enthusiasts. To wit, how many publications had an axe to grind when writing the ledes in their first-gen Acura NSX reviews? I recall numerous accusations of wanna-be Ferrari styling, occasional backhanded references to Honda’s historical portfolio, and even allusions to Japan’s history of unflattering small-car production. I don’t recall the same vitriol applied to a similar supercar wannabe introduced around the same time, though the Lotus-engineered Corvette ZR-1 coulda been knocked down a peg with a spicy reference to the Cosworth-engineered Twin Cam Vega. Indeed, the publications preferred a positive tone, sometimes portraying the Vette as the scrappy underdog.

But this discussion isn’t about journalism’s empathy gap; it’s about righting the wrong of Honda Civic/Ferrari 348 references past. The Honda/Acura NSX was a revolution in mass-produced aluminum coachwork. It was beautiful to behold back then, and it is absolutely stunning now.

Perhaps “absolutely stunning” is hyperbole: The NSX doesn’t Cheshire Cat–grin like a Testarossa or moisten the pantaloons of minimalist-wedge devotees like the Countach. No face this understated is gonna appeal to every variation of exotic-car enthusiast, especially those who place prestige above all else. But for those who aren’t the 1990s equivalent of an Instagram influencer, note how most of the NSX’s lines are logically connected to the others. This is a seemingly mediocre smattering of design elements, but it is plastered onto the proportions of a low-slung, mid-engine, supercar chassis.

And yes, it works really well.

It coheres thanks to an abundance of restraint. Designers ensured harmony between the covered headlights, modest grilles, clear signal lights, and gentle contouring around the hood and bumpers. Very few lines share common vanishing points across the front end, but they are close enough to be assertive. (The approach never comes across as hyper or flashy, something that cannot be said of the 2002 redesign.)

The emblem of mid-level luxury—a genre on the verge of utter dominance by Toyota’s Lexus brand—shall elicit mixed reviews in the aggregate of supercar buyers. Snobs will be haters, while the stealth-wealth crowd will embrace their new hero. So forget the emblem and get back to judging the machine on its merits.

The horizontal lines of the big grille, the secondary (side) grilles and signal lights share a similar vanishing point yet are at different elevations for a more dynamic feel. This is in stark contrast to the face of the Ferrari 348, which integrated multiple design elements into a single line across the bumper. Both are fantastic executions, and the NSX’s chiseled-out signal lights give the fascia a charming grin from many angles.

Much like the Porsche 928 S4 before it, there’s a confident swagger in these recessed lighting pods. The only difference is that this is one of the most outstanding features on the NSX’ schnoz; it is fully eclipsed by the exposed, pop-up headlights on the Porsche.

There’s a delightful “C” shaped access panel that bends into the cooling duct, disappearing from sight from most vantage points.

Visually speaking, it’s unfortunate that every functional bit isn’t masked with black paint, or a fine mesh filter. Then again, the heavily recessed license-plate screws are a brilliant way to add a front plate where mandated, ensuring there’s no need for drilling holes, installing a tow-hook holder, or tooling up a color-matched end-cap (as on the C4 Corvette).

That 928 S4 swagger/smirk is fully realized as the bumper wraps around the body, right down to the lower valance that extends the lines of both the bumper and the fender.

The hard, inelegant bend over the headlight assembly requires a carved-out contour on the NSX’s front bumper. This is a visual distraction akin to bags under the eyes of the stereotypical Hollywood starlet; perhaps the 1989 Mazda 323F did this headlight-to-bumper transition better. The Mazda went sleeker, sporting a front fascia with subtle contours that integrated the headlight door into the bumper’s overall form.

But then again: Step back and perhaps the headlight carveouts are a good thing, adding surface tension to a panel that’d otherwise look like that of every other car in its class.

Mid-engine proportioning and strong parallel hood contours aside, those headlights almost give the NSX the feeling of a super premium Nissan 300ZX (Z31).

They took a lot of visual weight out of the hood with these hood contours; the depression created gives the NSX more surface tension without adding significant complexity (like the integral ductwork on the 348).

It’s so pure, so subtle. No wonder the NSX’ detractors considered it boring (or some other cheap, catch-all adjective). But good design lets the vehicle’s proportioning shine above all else, and this character is the anthesis of the Ferrari 348’s relative brashness.

The intersection of hood, fender, door and A-pillar is elegant, but there’s a twist: The beltline’s contour (i.e. the line at the base of the glass) changes height in a masterful manner. Note how the hood is lower than the door, and the top of the fender makes that transition possible.

The cleanly rendered, five-spoke wheels have a strong outward bend from the outermost point of the rim. This is likely designed to clear the brake caliper.

A massively pretty caliper at that. Just look at the fancy casting with the NSX name in them! The bespoke design paying homage to the NSX brand is thoroughly appreciated at this premium price point.

Speaking of bespoke—kudos to the designer that ensured a wheel liner didn’t obscure this. Like the control arms on a C4 Corvette when the clamshell hood is opened, the exposed, civil engineer–worthy casting of this support structure (for Honda’s signature double-wishbone deliciousness) is a long-forgotten reason why the NSX deserved endless respect for its enlightened design.

There’s nothing exciting on the other side of the wheel, unless the genesis of the NSX’s side intake scoop within the fender and the modest rocker panels float one’s minimalist boat.

The windshield wraps around the A-pillar, providing a sleeker greenhouse than the Ferrari 348. The lines are fast and the build quality is effortlessly perfect.

More to the point, the trim work around the windshield looks good enough to be an interference fit. The only warts around the windshield are items that age poorly on all classics from this era: window sealing tricks (the rubber bump for high-speed window closing) and wiper airfoils (for ideal downforce, wiping pressures at speed).

The NSX’s greenhouse is famously painted black, which was a notable diversion from exotic-car design of the era. While it visually hides bulk, it tragically hides the front and rear triangles that visually hold the door glass. This is a slick implementation that deserves not to get lost in the sauce.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and the fourth-gen Camaro Z28’s blackout A-to-B pillar (and roof treatment) is testament to the NSX’s enlightened design.

The NSX possessed an ideal glass-to-body ratio, and the roofline was almost as fast as the body beneath it. That’s no small feat, considering the long wheelbase and the body’s “speed” as it moves from a short front end to an elongated rear.

Note how the upward trajectory of the air scoop’s outward curve is matched by the curvature of the rocker panel as it passes the door. Step behind (third photo) and these two curves harmonize with each other.

Again, the most important element for a newcomer to the mid-engine supercar party (i.e. that scoop) is promoted without flash of the 348/Testarossa. Instead it features unfettered minimalist lines present in the rest of the NSX’s body, screaming without saying a word.

That said, door lock cylinders were an unfortunate addition for all vehicles of this era. A modern key fob upgrade would make the NSX’s side view an absolute gem of minimalism.

The only unfortunate amount of visual bulk are the inches between the scoop and the rear wheel. While the Testarossa works visually thanks to a massively large, square-ish quarter window that added a complementary line extension up top, the NSX has no such luxury.  The huge rectangular gas door does the body no favors, as there isn’t a Ferrari-style buttress to house it.

While the rear window is a beautifully designed (and assembled!) work of glazing, it is rather short in stature. In a perfect world, a slight reduction in wheelbase would make this glass truly fly down the body side.

Look past the bits between the wheelbase, and the NSX’s posterior is a thing of minimalist beauty: subtle contours, no ornamentation, and enough functionality to cool a hot engine and keep a fast car planted on the road.

Unlike modern exotics with gaping holes feeding oversized engines and venting thirsty intercoolers, the modest V6 Honda mill only needs this air scoop (and the side intakes, of course) to provide thrills on par with Ferrari’s finest.

Considering all the bespoke engineering elsewhere (like the nickel-alloy ignition key), its surprising to see a run-of-the-mill chrome antenna. Considering the successes of  Japan Inc. at the time, making a black replacement seems worthwhile and relatively simple to implement.

Perhaps the space between the rear wheel and the scoop is actually appealing, at least from an elevated three-quarter view. The “problem” presented from this angle is the NSX’s rear overhang: Compared to the 348, it might as well be an aircraft carrier’s flight deck.

Get down a little lower and the overhang feels right, as if it’s the natural extension of all the long body lines before. And perhaps the overhang is complemented by the spoiler’s integration into the quarter panel, only adding to the flow?

Body contouring is minimal but still present. There’s a gentle bend above the red marker light, and the lower valence dips strongly inward. The look presented does a good job thinning what would otherwise be a rather large posterior for a sports car.

Indeed, you could land an aircraft on that deck. While many newer mid-engine exotics allow the rear window to slide way back and allow for easy viewing of the engine, the transverse-mounted V-6 needs a shorter piece of glass and is hidden by a modesty panel.

The NSX’s taillamp treatment is a natural extension of all the long lines present on the body sides. Even outstanding elements like the spoiler, trunk lock cylinder, and backup lights must play second fiddle to the pure expression of red plastic.

And what a great gig it is to be a backup musician for the taillight’s command performance. First, the reflectors are cleanly integrated atop the quarter panel. Then the clear backup lights have a red matrix that gives them a stained appearance (so they won’t stand out). Next up is the red lens attached to the bottom of the spoiler (to complete the loop). Finally the key hole is frenched into a matching center panel, complete with the Acura logo. It’s a perfect execution that’s also begging for a modern key-fob implementation to fully realize the designer’s vision.

The rear bumper’s utterly conventional “shelf” lacks the creativity of the 348’s toned bumper, but its form complements that massive red lighting feature. The 2002+ model isn’t nearly as slick.

A seemingly unnecessary detail is the fussy nature of the oval sleeve over a round tail pipe. While this cheezy overlay likely ensures a leg’s freedom from exhaust burns, painting it black like most Ferraris’ would put the focus on the body. That said, the aforementioned lower valence that reduced visual weight at the side does the same thing from the rear view.

And the reduced visual weight is necessary, as the center of the lower bumper is surprisingly thick and static. Odds are that powertrain packaging constraints ensured the space between the exhaust pipes needed to remain a boring box, but the look still works with the long lines present just a few inches above.

These cooling vents (that double as downforce enhancements?) are downright invisible compared to modern mid-/rear-engine vehicles.

All the finessed performance, the nuanced NVH controls, and the trouble-free motoring experience present in the NSX is perfectly embodied in the unpretentious nature of its styling. It reminds me of the expensive but understated styling risks applied to the third-generation, pop-up headlight Honda Accord. (Which was an outstanding design when placed in a parking lot full of contemporary K-cars, Camrys, Maximas, and GM A-bodies.)

The NSX wasn’t a boring re-pop of a Ferrari 348, nor was it a derivative take on the top-flight Testarossa. It was a well-rounded stunter that deserved every video-game cameo its black roof and big red taillight could get.

As a machine, the NSX stood on its on merits. As a design, time has been extraordinarily kind to its subtle styling.

Thank you for reading—I hope you have a wonderful day.

The post Vellum Venom: 1992 Acura NSX appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The sophomore slump. Difficult-second-album syndrome. For everything that’s a copper-bottomed classic out of the gate, there’s peril in trying to recapture that original lightning in a bottle. True Detective Season 2, anyone?

We’ve talked a lot about Harley Earl and his outsized (literally and figuratively) influence on the discipline of car design. He was a snappily dressed tyrant who combined long drinks with a short temper. With Alfred Sloan’s blessing, Earl oversaw the growth of GM from a motley collection of disparate marques in the twenties into an industrial powerhouse that was, by the mid-Fifties, the largest corporation in the world.

How on earth do you follow that?

Bill Mitchell was hired by Earl in 1935. Anyone who could survive, let alone flourish under Earl was surely cut from the same cloth as the man himself. Within six months, Mitchell was head of Cadillac design. Despite having his own ideas smothered under Earl, Mitchell’s first car, the 1938 Cadillac Sixty Special would begin to show the themes he became known for: tauter surfacing, sharp creases, and a lack of ornamentation. By the time Earl retired in 1958, Mitchell was anointed as his hand-picked successor.

Like Earl, Mitchell was a big personality with a taste for sharp suits, sharp language, and alcohol. Subtlety and nuance was not a hallmark of either man, but Mitchell had a wicked sense of humor and a much more personable side; he’d feel the cut of your suit, rip you to shreds for it, and then diffuse the situation with a joke or an arm around the shoulder.

What’s more important than their similarities are their differences. Earl was a Hollywood showman and salesman, a hands-on synthesizer of other people’s ideas. He couldn’t draw himself and insisted on working orthographically. Mitchell, a trained illustrator from New York was much more international in his outlook and inclined to see the bigger picture. It was these characteristics that allowed him to drag GM design forward and eventually oversee a series of cars that reflected sixties consumers more sophisticated tastes and could be considered some of the high points of American car design.

The truth is, by the mid-1950s Earl was losing his touch. Well, perhaps that’s a little unfair; like so many pioneers in his field, the game had moved on and left him behind. Such was Earl’s abrasive nature and propensity for churning through young designers that another Earl protégé Virgil Exner, found his working methods so intolerable he left to progress his craft under Raymond Loewy at Studebaker. Exner eventually wound up at Chrysler and in 1955 introduced his ‘forward look’; much slimmer body sides and roof treatments that were a world away from Earl’s chrome-laden dreadnoughts.

When the 1957 Plymouths were introduced with the memorable tagline “Suddenly it’s 1960!” it was all over. Future GM chief Chuck Jordan was so shocked seeing the ’57 Plymouths lined up outside their plant he immediately went and grabbed Mitchell and they spent the rest of the day eyeballing the competition. Earl was in Europe at the time, and returned to find all the ’59 cars had been redone in his absence. Outmanned, outmaneuvered, and nearing retirement, such insubordination would have been unthinkable a few years prior.

Mitchell, having toiled for years in Earl’s shadow, was determined to make a complete aesthetic break from what had gone before. He knew the limitations in the way the GM studios had been operating up to that point. The external studios were extremely short handed and six-day weeks were the norm. Sheet metal changes for each model year meant there was little to no advance design work being done—they just churned it out, groaning under the weight of ever more chrome.

Contrast Earl’s ’58 and Mitchell’s ’59 Chevy Impala. The ’58 is very heavy handed with a deep body side, large chrome bumpers and a thick C-pillar with extraneous fake vents (and you thought these were a new thing, huh?). The ’59 is much leaner, lighter on its wheels due to the body side tucking under and has a slim pillar treatment that allows a more modern, airy glass house. It looks like it’s doing sixty just sitting there. More than that, the ‘59’s shape is beginning to flow around the corners of the vehicle, a legacy of Mitchell’s ability to sketch and visualize in three dimensions. The two cars represent a visual and metaphorical break between the two men.

Mitchell was not able to instantly unwind all of Earl’s work. For a start, Earl had enjoyed the protection of Sloan who had personally hired him. Sloan had retired in 1956 and so Mitchell had no such patronage. In fact, due to increasing costs (and not wanting one man to be bigger than the company) the GM higher-ups wanted reassert control over the design department, and Mitchell wasn’t really secure until 1967 when Ed Cole became President. But Mitchell idolized Earl, keeping a portrait of him in his office and vowing to ‘never let him down’. This corporate resentment would continue to fester and resurface to devastating effect on GM design years down the line.

If Earl had invented the studio tools, it was Mitchell who really used them to liberate the design process. He saw himself and GM as a design leader. He staffed up the Tech Center properly and got involved much earlier in the design process, regularly setting the studios against each other in friendly competition to drive them to ever greater heights of creativity.

One of Mitchell’s early triumphs was the 1963 Buick Riviera. As befits his New York background, Mitchell was obsessed with European cars and envisaged a Cadillac with the stateliness of a Rolls Royce combined with the taut sportiness of a Ferrari for the Detroit country club set. The final design, originally sketched by Ned Neckles and finessed into greatness by Mitchell was rejected by Cadillac but gratefully found a home at Buick. It’s an absolute masterpiece—sharp, restrained yet perfectly proportioned and unashamedly American. When you consider there are only four years between this car and a ’59 Eldorado, it’s clear what a massive step forward it was.

The hits kept on coming. The 1963 Corvette (C2) looked completely different to its predecessor and yet was still unmistakably a Corvette. Oldsmobile engineers evaluated an E-Type and a Ferrari, and not really understanding the ethos of a tight, visceral manual transmission European sports car went and did what Detroit did best—the personal luxury car. The 1966 Toronado didn’t use its revolutionary front wheel drive powertrain for any particular advantage (certainly not in packaging) but simply existed as a magnificent monument to the American car as its own unapologetic thing.

But for your humble author’s money, Mitchell’s finest hour is the 1967 Eldorado. Sharing its E-body platform with the Toronado and 1966 Riviera, this Eldorado is one of those rare cars that (with sympathetic updates to lighting, stance and glazing) could be in showrooms right now. Although the rear overhang dates the design somewhat, the rest is utterly timeless. Every detail is completely integrated into the surfacing—not one part sticks out or jars against the whole. There’s terrific tension in the fender lines and just the right amount of taper towards the rear which still manages to hint at tailfins, giving a subtle reference to those earlier cars. The grille and hidden headlights are simple yet exude quiet authority—important in an American car that at the time genuinely was a rival for the best in the world.

Mitchell called his trademark look “London Tailoring”, but his real genius lay in taking sharp lines and restrained detailing and combining them with his beloved European influences to create something unique. Witness how the front of the 1970 Camaro references the 1968 Jaguar XJ6. He was a true internationalist at a time when the International Style was the zeitgeist.

Mitchell wasn’t fond of small cars, saying “it’s hard to tailor a dwarf” and “small cars are like vodka, people try them but they won’t stay with them”. He didn’t do too badly with the 1970 Chevrolet Vega, which for all its engineering faults emerged from Hank Haga’s studio looking every inch a miniature Camaro.

A bigger challenge lay in the “international size” 1975 Cadillac Seville, which was a new model based on the X platform (which underpinned the decidedly less glamorous Chevy Nova). Faced with increasing environmental headwinds and imported European competition, this was to be a smaller, but more expensive addition to the line. The idea was it would attract a younger and more discerning customer. Mitchell, returning from Europe and seeing the initial models, insisted the rear windshield was made more vertical like a Rolls Royce. Its single unbroken surfaces looked like they had been created with one sweep over the clay, and Mitchell termed it “sheer look”. It was a complete success, lowering the average age of the Cadillac buyer and providing a domestic alternative to the high-end European imports. The Sheer Look was next used on the downsized 1977 Caprice to great effect, as it was so successful it stayed in production with only minor changes until 1990.

Mitchell’s final car was the 1980 Seville. Giving in to what were by now the worst of his Scott Fitzgerald influences, Mitchell gave the car it’s controversial bustle back, feeling the earlier car too bland and needing something distinctive to mark it out. The effect of this was to attract an older generation of buyers, the exact opposite of what GM wanted.

In a further typical GM act of self-sabotage, Vice President Howard Kerhl deliberately overlooked Mitchell’s second in command (and chosen successor) Chuck Jordan. Instead he was replaced, upon retirement in 1977, with the supine Irv Rybicki. Kerhl hated Mitchell with a passion, and was determined that such a strong-willed person would never again rule the Tech Center. It’s no coincidence that Rybicki’s reign as vice president of GM design coincided with Roger Smith’s disastrous tenure as CEO.

Once Mitchell was gone, the management types at GM’s fourteenth floor had complete control over the Tech Center and GM design with disastrous consequences; by the late seventies GM was no longer a design leader and the domestic OEMs lost their hegemony on the American market. But the past might as well be another country, as a larger-than-life man such as Mitchell (or indeed Earl) could never survive in today’s corporate environment. Mitchell’s story demonstrates the importance of having someone with a clear design vision at the top of any OEM that considers design an important part of its identity.

And the years from about 1963 to 1975 are an absolute golden age. Chuck a marker over your shoulder and it’ll land on any number of American design classics from that period. The sheer confidence and beauty of any of those cars is staggering. Mitchell firmly believed that supply creates the demand—create desirable products and the customers will follow. This was proved in the numbers; 72.5 million cars sold during his time in charge.

An argument could be made, and I’m going to make it, that not only was Mitchell responsible for elevating GM design, his body of work is so strong it lifted the entirety of American automotive design as a whole because his competitors were forced to keep up. No one else was close; Ford and Vauxhall in the U.K. were mostly still shrinking old American designs in the wash and the Japanese had barely got out of bed and found their tracing paper. Only the Italians (whose influence spread far beyond the Old Country thanks to their work with BMW and British Motor Corporation) were even in the same zip code.

Most of us who get into this business, if we have any taste at all, would kill to have done one of Mitchell’s cars. These days, the OEMs doing the best work usually have a more sober version of him near the top of the hierarchy: to fend off management interference and to make sure their ideas are driven through with as little compromise as possible. The rise of Kia certainly isn’t because of their bougie dealer experience; it’s because they realized that value is only part of the equation. Customers must want your vehicles on a reflexive level as well. Maybe another lesson current studios could learn from Mitchell is the benefit of the three-martini lunch?

The post Vision Thing: Passing the Torch appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s perceived wisdom that these days that an SUV a day keeps the administrators away. As if the cost of selling sporting machinery involves a Faustian pact with raised suspension and all-wheel drive. Look at the Aston Martin DBX, which is obviously just about keeping the lights on in Gaydon. Elsewhere, McLaren has so far resisted the temptation of such an easy cash grab. Contrary to popular belief, the Cayenne didn’t save Porsche; the Toyota Production System and the 986 Boxster/996 911 twins did, being essentially the same car from the B-pillar forward. Jaguar, refocusing on its core brief of sporting luxury, has cancelled the J-Pace, a large SUV that would have sat above the F-Pace.

Ferrari, the most profitable per unit OEM on the planet, doesn’t need to build an SUV but is doing so anyway. So much for Enzo Ferrari’s comment that it would build one less car it could actually sell. If the leaked images of the so-called Purosangue are anything to go by, it’s going to undo Ferrari’s recent aesthetic resurgence.

Shareholder appeasement has a price. Et tu, Lotus?

Colin Chapman’s old cliché of “simplify, and add lightness” was born not just from his exceptional talents as an engineer, but from necessity. Austerity in post-war Britain meant materials shortages. Chapman had to zig where others zagged, doing more with less. After several successful aluminum club racers, his first roadgoing car, the sylph-like Type 14 Elite had a GRP (glass-reinforced plastic) monocoque whose shape was fettled by aerodynamicist Frank Costin and an engine repurposed from a fire pump. Exceptionally light on its feet at little more than 1000 pounds, the Elite was fast, slippery and economical but critically fragile—a criticism that many would later level at Chapman’s Grand Prix machines.

Subsequent adherence to GRP construction meant skinnier cars, but like all the best ideas it had unforeseen consequences. Plastic body work is typically 5-6 mm thick as opposed to less than a mm for stamped steel, which meant proprietary seals couldn’t be used. For the 1975 Giugiaro-designed Esprit, the size of the moldings meant separate top and bottom sections had to be laid up which led to the characteristic black line around the car where the two halves joined—a feature shared with its sister car, the Lotus developed DeLorean DMC12. (And also, curiously, with the Ferrari 308 which first appeared in 1975 with GRP bodywork before switching to steel in 1977.)

So Lotus was all about frugality of construction and engineering clarity, right? Not exactly. The revolutionary Lotus 72 F1 race car wasn’t a success until its suspension was redesigned to remove anti-dive and anti-squat geometry. That car’s eventual replacement, the Lotus 76, had a biplane rear wing and electro-hydraulic clutch operated by a button on the gear shift. This is in 1974, mind you. It was an ignominious failure. That car’s successor, the ill-fated 77, was designed to be adaptable to any race track; its complication meant it couldn’t be adapted to any of them. Mario Andretti wore out the Hethel test track turning the ground effect Lotus 78 from a bright idea into a winner.

Chapman was a fearless innovator. But if ever a man’s reach exceeded his grasp, it was him. Ultimately, something else motivated Chapman even more than out-innovating his rivals or winning motorsport races: money, that perennial flame.

Humble beginnings meant Chapman always had an eye on the financial side of motor racing. He talked Ford into bankrolling and powering his 1962 Indy 500 entry (the Lotus 29), and in 1966 convinced them to pay for the development of the engine that would democratize and rule F1 for the next two decades—the DFV. When F1 allowed corporate sponsorship from 1968, Chapman couldn’t repaint his cars fast enough. He was constantly struggling to get his road car business on a secure footing.

Seduced by the size of oil trader David Thieme’s money truck in 1979, Essex Petroleum stickered Esprit Turbos and Falstaffian F1 launches at the Royal Albert Hall became the Lotus norm. At least, right up until Thieme was indicted for fraud in 1981. When it came to his involvement with DeLorean, did Chapman half-assedly reskin the Esprit and pocket the rest of the British taxpayers’ cash? Well, the FBI were certainly sniffing around when Chapman met an untimely death in 1982, aged just 54.

Which brings us to the Eletre, the long teased hyper BEV SUV from Lotus. Something about hell freezing over and cats and dogs living together. Non-name aside (Elektra was right there!), how on earth can the company responsible for those glorious pond skater like racing cars justify this 17-foot-long technological behemoth?

The Eletre not a product of the Lotus mothership in Hethel. It was designed at the newly branded Lotus Tech Creative Center, previously the covert Geely Global Studio in Coventry, the U.K.’s Motor City. This in itself is not that unusual, as most OEMs have more than one studio; there was a gold rush in the Eighties and Nineties to open hip new studios in California (in the mold of Toyota’s Calty Design Research center, opened in 1973) as car companies recognized it as one of the world centers of car culture and the outsize influence CARB legislation would play in new product development. What is unusual is that Lotus made no secret of this fact; manufacturers are usually deliberately vague as to what was designed where, for fear of inauthenticity. I’ve certainly heard plenty of unprintable rumors in my time. Coventry and the Warwick environs are the centers of autonomous vehicle research in the U.K.—Lotus recently opened a campus at Warwick University.

So it’s no surprise, then, that the Eletre features pop-out LIDAR sensors to go with other animated exterior features, visible active cooling vents and charge port door among them. Knight Rider Pursuit Mode style pop-out appendages make great TikTok content but have design implications in terms of long-term reliability, durability, complexity, and added weight. On top of this the fact that Lotus is in the process of building in a new “Global Store” in the heart of London’s Mayfair, a wealthy neighborhood for the world if ever there was one. You don’t need to be an expert tea leaf decipherer to discern which markets this car is aimed at.

It bears mentioning that the Eletre’s focus on autonomy runs counter to the PR noises that Lotus is “For the Drivers”. There was a real opportunity here to do something truly different. Instead we have a car that, sustainability questions aside, has a confusing identity and no real connection to its forebears. That’s not totally surprising, as since the glory days of the wedge era Lotus has existed hand-to-mouth on countless Elise, Exige, and Evora variants. Now, owner Geely is signing the big checks, and it expects a return.

The problem with this newest Lotus isn’t just the mixed messaging, it’s in the inoffensive appearance. The side views in the press shots are all flat orthographic images—always a bad idea because the human eye never sees a car that way. The black cladding trick I’ve written about before hides some of the bodyside, but combined with the bright yellow it exaggerates the length (especially in the overhangs). Look at the width of the C-pillar behind the glazing. It’s huge. Lotus has tried to hide it by slightly raising the color split, but that adds visual weight to the rest of the bodywork, making the whole area above and behind the rear wheels look heavy and saggy. Making the split line flatter and in line with the base of the side windows would possibly have worked better. At the leading shut line on the bodyside, you’ve got four surfaces on the fender meeting six surfaces on the driver’s door, and the charge port. It’s all very unresolved and untidy.

The rear light graphic is simplistic, flat, and could do with some shape to add tension, break up the surfaces, and give it more of a distinct identity. How many other Future Cars will use straight lines for their rear lighting? I see it in student sketches all the time. Viewing the front, there’s a hint of supercar wedge in the leading edge of the hood, but it’s minimal visual lip service. At the base of the nose are the hexagonal active cooling vents; it’s difficult to integrate such rigidly geometric shapes, so designers have hidden this feature that they’re making a big fuss about in the black graphic along with the main beam units. The whole thing feels like what the actual concept of the car is—a fashionable line of least resistance.

The best Lotus designs had a sense of drama, exoticism, and well, British underdog uniqueness about them. After Giugiaro penned the Esprit, British designer Oliver Winterbottom took his sharp-edged ideas forwards with the four seater Eclat, Elite, and Excel. Supercar gun-for-hire Peter Stevens (of McLaren F1 fame) successfully massaged the straight lines off the original Esprit for the Nineties without altering its distinct look. When Julian Thompson drew the Elise, he brilliantly hid its parts bin parsimony and made the underlying engineering part of the design.

To be clear, I’m not anti-SUV at all. My daily driver is now a 2011 Range Rover Sport and I love it. I know where its talents lie, and moniker aside, where they don’t. Daily errands are performed in complete comfort, Meridian stereo booming with industrial music. It’s brilliant. I don’t need thrills going to the supermarket, I need the groceries to not get smashed into the world’s worst soup in the trunk. When I want thrills, I have something redder and more Italian. The best SUVs have never tried to be something they are not. GMT400 Suburbans make my heart sing with their assertive modern simplicity, and the current Navigator is a handsome compelling domestic take on regal luxury. The hot-off-the-press L461 Range Rover Sport looks muscular, modern, dynamic, and dare I say it, sporting.

At the time of his demise, Chapman was looking to expand the Lotus range. Although he had Range Rover as his personal vehicle, they were a left field option in 1982. He was thinking more of a four-door super saloon, the Eminence. He commissioned Italian industrial designer Paolo Martin to come up with some sketches and a quarter-scale model. It failed to progress further because of his death. So when Lotus designers tell you he would have approved of the Eletre because it was a practical four seater “for the drivers”, don’t believe them. If Chapman would have approved it, the only reason would be because it’s going to make lots of money.

The post Vision Thing: There’ll be no spinning in graves, actually appeared first on Hagerty Media.

These days, it’s useful to have a list of favorites. A list of favorite albums, or movies, perhaps. Depending on the circles you move in, the subject of conversation might be about TV, art, or beverages . Such lists are a little reductive, but it’s helpful to have them as go-to standbys to get you out of (or into) an awkward dinner party conversation. Something you can enthusiastically waffle about for as long as is politely necessary. By such things we define our own self, as well as make a presentation for the eyes of others.

A reader recently cornered me in the comments section and enquired as to my favorite car. As with any piece of pop culture, how does one choose? It’s not like a sports team, where your loyalty lies with only one. With sports there are rules, which I created because I can (as this is my column). Your team should be local to where you are from: Being from East London, I support West Ham United. I’ve never understood people hailing from where I do supporting one of the Manchester soccer clubs or even worse, Chelsea who are a West London team.

As enthusiasts we have a broad spread of appreciation for cars of all color and stripe, but there will always be those that (for various reasons) we hold that much closer to our hearts. What we admire in a car is a reflection of our preferences, interests, memories, and biases. We like what we like; it would be terribly dull if we all liked the same thing. Personal taste is subjective.

Good design, however, is not.

Not least because I am nothing if not a self-styled contrarian PITA, I choose for my favorite car the 1980 Fiat Panda. Are those morning coffee spit takes I hear? Let me explain.

I may have a top ten (more like a top fifty), but the original Panda distills so many influences that are personally pleasing to me that it’s impossible to resist.

Designed in 1979 and revealed in 1980, the Panda was envisioned as a modern interpretation of the “people’s car”. The same fundamental thread runs through the simple, rugged and economical, yet thoughtful spirit of cars like the original Mini, Citroen 2CV, Renault 4, and the Beetle. Problem was, both the Mini and the Renault 4 were labor-intensive to build and took years to turn a profit. For cash-strapped Fiat that wasn’t an option. It needed a car that was economical to build and sell from the get-go. And therein lies some of the Panda’s genius.

Fiat took the unusual step of entrusting development to an outside studio: in this case Italdesign, headed by il maestro—Giorgetto Giugiaro. Handing him a brief to replace the Fiat 500/126 while weighing the same and costing no more, it was to carry four passengers with a very Italian cargo in tow: two 50-liter casks of wine in the trunk. Giugiaro saw Fiat as an enabler for his ideas—a distinct reversal of the traditional external studio/OEM relationship. He took an egalitarian approach; he wanted a class-neutral car that much like the Mini, suitable for peasants and princes alike.

Cleverness abounds with the Panda – the seats are simple foam covered frames with removable covers (so they can be washed) and the rear seat is essentially a hammock, so it can be mounted into various positions to increase comfort, improve cargo space or an fold flat into an impromptu bed. The instrument binnacle, mounted on a bar with fabric suspended below for full width oddment storage, simply swaps sides for easy LHD to RHD conversion. The boxy profile maximizes the interior volume of its modest 11 ½ feet length. Flat glass means the glazing on the left and right hand sides is identical, and allows for a single wiper. The windshield washer doesn’t use a pump – it’s a simple big rubber button that acts as a bellow to squirt water from the jets. (When you’re stuck in traffic and bored, thump the button hard and see how many cars behind you can take a shower.)

It was powered (as it were) by two fire breathing engines: the 30hp air cooled 750cc parallel twin from the Fiat 500, or the 903cc water cooled four from the Fiat 127, which gave you a tarmac bothering 45bhp (basically the Panda GTi). With your two throttle positions being either closed or foot to the floor, in a 1400lbs car they were enough. Because they had differing cooling requirements, the asymmetric grille had slats on the left for the 30, on the right for the 45. It’s the same metal stamping, simply flipped upside down. The bumpers were sturdy unpainted polypropylene – perfect for the bash and crash of narrow Italian streets. Within a couple of years there was a mountain goat like full time four wheel drive model, examples of which are still earning a living in rural Italy to this day. In 1990 they even made an EV version.

What we have with the Panda is an honest and ingenious little car that stayed in production for over twenty years with very few updates. It’s not classically pretty. But it is chic and utterly charming, and there’s a logical beauty to it in the great tradition of Italian industrial design. You can draw a straight line to a Panda from a 1969 Olivetti Valentine portable typewriter via a 1966 Brionvega Cubo radio.

Over time, Fiat gave it an ever-so-slightly more plush interior, and the dead beam rear axle was updated for a semi independent one. My own example was from the mid-Nineties, and came with a full-length fabric roof, sparkly purple paint and (gasp!) plastic wheel trims. It was brilliant—after my marriage went sideways, I stuffed IKEA furniture into/onto that Panda during the move.

The Panda is the sort of car that designers are obsessed with. And it’s the automotive internet hot take machine believes we should be building now—a sort of vehicular hair shirt to atone for the ecological sins of the automobile. While it has design credibility out the wazoo, today is not forty years ago. Times have changed, and such an unpretentious device would never sell.

The Audi A2 of 1999 was again the sort of car that gets marker pushers like me weeping tears of joy behind their funky plastic glasses, wins numerous design awards, and gets displayed in museums. In this case, it failed to resonate with the buying public. Constructed entirely from aluminum and meant to be a “small Audi, not a cheap Audi,” customers were turned off by its high purchase price and awkward styling, and not at all turned on by its light weight and good fuel economy.

In 1982, Ford of Europe introduced the Sierra. It took the science of aero efficiency and concerns around safety and crafted an entirely new aesthetic. Smooth, rounded and with a minimal approach to exterior decoration it cost a fortune to develop and nearly drove Ford of Europe to bankruptcy. When revealed, the Sierra stunned customers and commentators alike, albeit for completely different reasons. Buyers hated there was no traditional sedan, no grille, and as such christened it a jelly mold. The design literati politely clapped at the sheer bravura being displayed by a mass-market OEM. No one bought it. Ford learned these lessons the hard way by the time it attempted the same trick again for the mid-’80s Taurus; it launched with a small grill and in keeping with American tastes, a more decorated appearance.

Eventually the Sierra was willed into success by the sheer might of the Ford marketing machine—and by toning down its overt modernism. Bolting in a 2.0-liter turbo engine with help from friends at Cosworth (and dominating European touring car racing) helped shift a few units as well.

A critical ability for a car designer to possess is the ability to separate personal taste from professional taste. A designer should be able to put aside their feelings about what is important to them and understand what consumers want and what will sell, lest they disappear up their own creative backsides. I cannot stand The Beatles (one or two notable exceptions aside, as music begins for me in 1976 with punk), but I do recognize that apart from being loved by nearly everyone and influential, they made a massive contribution to pop music through their song writing, musical composition, recording techniques, and how they marketed themselves.

When the original Nissan Juke first started appearing everywhere, I couldn’t believe such a challenging-looking car could get made and be so popular. It slowly dawned on me that not only was it cheap to buy, it was meant to be challenging to look at (although the stance and proportions are spot-on) because the youthful market where it was aimed wanted something that didn’t look like anything else on the road.

Design for design’s sake is never a good thing. Perhaps in our financially straitened, full-life-cycle future, the market will accept another round of small footprint cars. But buyers won’t accept discomfort, inconvenience, or being a visual outlaw for the sake of another glass trophy on the chief designers desk.

Now excuse me while I do a little conservation of my own and see if I can find a Panda to adopt…

The post Vision Thing: Bear witness to my favorite things appeared first on Hagerty Media.

A funny thing happened when I was scrolling through my Facebook feed: I saw a friend’s new ride (a 2022 Ford Expedition) and thought to myself, “Boy, those wheels sure look like something I’ve seen on a new Escalade.”

After a little verification with some sales brochures, turns out I wasn’t too far off. The 2015 through ’18 Cadillac Escalade sported a set of 22-inch wheels with a very similar, split spoke design. The differences are subtle in some places, radical in others: The Ford wheel uses one less spoke, is 2 inches shorter, and doesn’t use machined-out pockets to push the smaller, split spoke behind the primary one.

Still, the similarities remain. The split spokes are a little longer and slimmer on the Ford (surprising, considering the wheels are smaller), but the negative areas between each wheel’s spokes have the same general shape. The big difference is the aforementioned machining across the face, which makes the Cadillac’s split spokes sit notably lower than the bigger, more prominent ones. Extra two inches aside, perhaps this extra machining costs a few more bucks per wheel, and perhaps that’s enough to justify it being worthy of a Cadillac Escalade?

No matter—though Oscar Wilde immortalized “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” as a cultural phrase for us writers wanting to sound smarter than we truly are, perhaps the phrase’s earliest known DNA, from 1708, befits the Escalade far, far better. Because, as a biography of Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius exclaims:

“You should consider that Imitation is the most acceptable part of Worship, and that the Gods had much rather Mankind should Resemble, than Flatter them.”

And let’s face it, the Escalade is a god in the SUV world. Be it livery drivers or high-end family haulers, this is the King of the Hill. (Sorry, Corvette ZR-1.) While it never strays too far from the Chevy Tahoe, the Escalade is the only Cadillac with the gravitational pull to keep the corporate mothership from giving it a depressing three-letter name. Being able to overcome a misguided corporate mandate? That’s why the Escalade is an automotive God among motorized Men.

Not that I come to bag on the Expedition, as it has always sold well across the country. But, even in the early days of Eddie Bauer–edition snobbery, it did so without any of the braggadocio from the Caddy. And car design has often been about imitating the loudest voice in the room, especially in the world of wheels. To wit, how many slightly different versions of Magnum 500 wheels were available for muscle cars? Let us count some of the ways …

Side note: Upon further research, these rolling icons to historical horsepower originated with the British Rostyle wheel originally seen on the Rover P5B. And—spoiler alert—Magnum 500 style wheels look awesome on everything.

But the fact remains: There’s only so much you can do inside a circle to make a wheel look unique. There’s simply not enough real estate, and the structural engineering inside must never be tampered with. It’s a delicate balancing act, as designers must ensure their work can still handle potholes, overloaded cabins, massive brake calipers, and performance concerns from unsprung weight/rotational mass, etc.

Let’s get back to the quote about emperor Marcus Aurelius, and ask a question: Can we blame Ford for using a seven-year-old, 22-inch Cadillac wheel design for its latest flagship SUV?

I don’t think so, because you can worship at a far less interesting altar than this pop-culture phenomenon. It’s a god-like chariot on 22-inch wheels, memorialized in time by countless artists across the land. And while you can resemble less-appealing people haulers these days, you probably should not. Good on you, Ford.

The post Vellum Venom Vignette: Rolling imitation is 22 inches of Cadillac flattery appeared first on Hagerty Media.

You likely know someone who will be buying an Atari 2600 in the near future. The buzz around these gaming consoles means it’s only a matter of time before the genre’s influence rivals the likes of broadcast radio. But not all of us pay lip service to Nolan Bushnell’s startup, as we demand arcade quality hardware, ergonomically perfect interfaces, cutting-edge graphics, and sonically stunning audio produced by seasoned experts in the field of interactive entertainment. And it better look the part, with the finest materials worthy of our living rooms festooned with Trinitron TVs, Marantz receivers, and shag carpeting.

No, this isn’t a dream, it’s just 1978 in living color. And here’s a life-changing console for the Atari-averse, with styling that looks the business, including a minimalist polygonal body, smoked plexiglass cover, and gold trim worthy of Studio 54.

The perfect gaming console exists! It is called the Bally Home Library Computer. It is made for folks like us. It’s time to get excited, because the future is now.

Those were the days, as they say. Perhaps you’ve only witnessed Bally’s efforts in home computing via images on the Internet, and perhaps that’s as far as you’ll ever get with the Lucid Air. Both situations are what I’d consider tragic; the Bally and Lucid share beautiful designs with class-leading performance. But we are here to discuss the latter, a super-luxe EV with 1110 hp and 470 miles of range, possessing a Syd Mead-meets-Daft-Punk ethos that’s completely out of this world.

Let’s talk size for starters: the Lucid Air is small—perhaps 1961 Continental small—compared to most swanky luxury sedans today. Lucid said it benchmarked the BMW E39 M5 for performance, and it clearly factored that car’s dimensions into the equation as well. This rig is surprisingly close in length and height to my Fox-body Cougar’s exterior dimensions (proportions notwithstanding).

Speaking of surprises, the Dream Edition’s wide-open windshield lacks a crossbar between the A-pillars. The lack of a painted structural member in this area (i.e. the lack of a cant rail) lets the user see nothing but big sky, and there is a wing-shaped module for sensors, lights, and the passenger airbag warning light.

These plastic spears adjacent to the one-piece glass windshield/roof prove that you can have a minimalist design and still have provisions for a roof rack to carry your stuff.

The meeting point for both sheets of roof glass has rubber seals that suggest the rear glass is movable. But they are fixed here, so perhaps this flap of rubber is indicative of a future option?

While there are no crossbeams at the A-pillar, the B- and C-pillar have the cant rails needed to keep the Lucid Air structurally sound. But hiding the “cants” behind smoked glass is clever.

The C-pillar’s crossbar is somewhat more conventional, sporting a painted panel over the structural bit. The rubber seal seemingly does double duty as a rain gutter: a nice touch.

Perhaps “conventional” isn’t appropriate for a panel this elegantly tailored around the sheets of glass on the roof and the rear window. Note the hard bend at its ends for necessary surface tension.

The silver hue and radically tapered roof has strong Citroën DS vibes. The light bronze emblem at the base of the C-pillar feels similarly retro, but more in a mid-century Americana way.

It’s nice to see that the hard bend continues into the emblem panel. The emblem panel is an expressive design element that makes a mere emblem rather boring and outdated: with this, an OEM can also throw a splash of color in an unexpected place. Can’t do that with a vinyl decal.

But the coolest part of the Lucid Air’s emblem panel is the whimsical curve added to the leading edge, in stark contrast to the rigid angles at the other three corners.

The integral quarter window takes significant visual bulk out of the C-pillar, thanks to the fact that it touches the rear door glass.

While the B-pillar isn’t made out of transparent glass, the masking effect of the blackout trim is impossible to ignore.

Or is the B-pillar covered in glass, at least to some extent? The recessed camera is a fancy bit of tech, styled elegantly enough considering its wholly-appreciated functionality when inside the cabin.

The A-pillar, unencumbered by a cross bar, is a thing of unadorned beauty. The large blackouts in the glass are not, but perhaps that’s a small price to pay for what’s above.

The glass is cool and tranquil, even in direct sunlight. It’s a fantastic design, and it helps justify the insane asking price ($169,000 for the Dream Edition is close to double the price of the base model.)

These HD cameras are essentially invisible to the casual glance, but work wonders inside the car. This isn’t the last time you’ll see cleverly integrated technology on the Air’s external panels.

Side-view mirrors mounted to the A-pillar (instead of the front door) have been criticized for being inferior from the perspective of wind noise, but this aerodynamic beast (0.21 coefficient of drag) in a beauty’s clothing is dead silent.

Much like a Mini Cooper, there’s a strong band of trim at the base of the DLO. This visually separates the Air’s radical roof from the more conventional body. It also hides exterior features that designers prefer you not dwell on.

Take the wiper blades, hidden under the hood and merely admire the black DLO trim if you are foolish enough to stare at them. Between this and the lack of a plastic filler panel, the Air lives up to its name via styling flights of fancy … even in the most mundane locations.

Speaking of mundane, even this rearward camera sports heating elements to ensure the technology inside is actually usable in icy conditions.

The rear window resembles a visor on a racing helmet, with a little Iron Man mask in that center bump. The massive center CHMSL is encased in a surprisingly large gloss black plastic frame, while the black DLO trim at the bottom completes its loop around the body.

The CHMSL itself is a work of fine crystal; presumably there are red LEDs underneath to complete the look.

Radical roof aside, the Lucid Air still has plenty of design tricks hidden underneath a somber, minimalist style. The expansive silver trim hides both the lighting elements and one of the Lucid’s Lidar sensors. Hiding all that visual bulk under silver trim is beyond impressive from almost every angle.

More visual bulk is removed thanks to negative area, carved out side scoops, and a lower grille that slices into the bumper. The grille does a good job giving the front end a feeling of flight, without resorting to the lumps and bumps normally seen in lower diffusers in vehicles with more sporting intentions. (Even if said vehicles don’t stand a chance against this machine, but that’s beyond our scope here.)

See that sliver of light inside the scoop? That’s all the Air gets (or needs) to create a functional air curtain over the front wheels.

The lower grille’s beginning starts off as a visually confusing pair of bright trim, stacked atop each other to ensure the bumper “rests higher” than the grille beneath it.

Indeed the lower grille rests a bit behind the painted bumper, a fact further accentuated by the thick black frame (much like the base of the DLO) and the long, uninterrupted grille teeth.

While those grille teeth are straight, their contouring catches the light and makes them look curvy from certain angles. Like this one, which is also the perfect shot to show just how much effort Lucid made to hide this bulky Lidar sensor (1 of 2) in a minimalist face.

Right above the sunken lower grille is another excellent use of negative space, this time carving out the painted bumper to give the Lucid Air a modest chin to its smooth, cleanly shaven face. The things within the silver frame are what initially catch your eye, so let’s dig into them.

An array of five LED headlights are deeply recessed in the Lucid’s fascia, further masked by a headlight assembly that uses far more concealing black than it does blingy silver and chrome.

After the five headlights is an amber turn signal (in a similar chrome container) and the amber reflector light. Usually these lights are at the end of the light, but Lucid took a unique path while still ensuring adequate reflections for traffic coming to the Air’s side.