There is a secret in the automotive industry that is not spoken aloud. We—journalists, bloggers, and manufacturers alike—continue to live in a world that no longer exists.
We still attend new car launches, gravely discuss suspension tuning, argue about steering precision, and debate with serious faces how eagerly a car dives into a corner. At some point, an engineer proudly announces that body rigidity has increased by 17%, and journalists nod knowingly, as if it were the launch of a space station.
Then you, the readers, open the article and ask three questions in the comments. For example, "How much will it lose in value after three years?", "Will spare parts be available?", and "Will the gearbox fall apart after the warranty?" And you know what? You're right. Because automotive journalism today resembles music critics discussing the depth of a new jazz album while the audience listens to a playlist called "Music for Cleaning the Apartment."
Over the past twenty years, we've grown accustomed to seeing the car as something more than just transportation. Every car had a character. Some cars were loved for their thrilling handling, others for their charisma, some for their insane engines, and others simply because they were damn beautiful. But the world around us has changed.
Today, cars are increasingly bought not by enthusiasts, but by people who have no interest in technology at all. They don't care how many seconds it takes a crossover to reach 60 mph. They will never discuss weight distribution, let alone read about the features of a new platform. For them, a car is not an object of passion. It's... well, let's say a refrigerator. Just on wheels.
Read any of our test drives. Part of the material is dedicated to how the car handles, how the suspension is tuned, how responsive the engine is, and what the driver feels in corners. But let's be honest: for most of its life, this car will spend time in traffic jams, near shopping malls, in line at the car wash, or in the parking lot of a kindergarten.
We continue to test cars as if the reader, after work, is heading off to conquer a mountain pass somewhere in the Alps. When in reality, they just want to know if a stroller will fit in the trunk and how much it will cost to replace the front bumper after a bad parking job at the store. But this is not a reproach to the readers—it's a reproach to us.
Maybe automotive journalism is stuck in an era when the car was a dream? When people knew body codes, argued about engines, and could tell the sound of an inline-six from a V8 with their eyes closed. Today, everything is different. A person chooses between a mortgage, a vacation, a kitchen renovation, and a new car. And the car increasingly loses out.
So the buyer doesn't come to the dealership for emotions. They come for peace of mind. They don't need the most thrilling crossover. They need one that won't turn life into a reality show called "The Search for an Original Sensor." But we still keep raving about cars that nobody buys. Look at how much attention sports sedans, expensive coupes, and exotic new models get. Yet people buy something entirely different.
Not dream cars. Not cars for pleasure. But cars that can be painlessly maintained, profitably sold after a few years, and left in the yard without worry. The funniest part is that manufacturers understand this perfectly. That's why, in presentations of new models, they talk less and less about driving excitement and more and more about loan programs, warranties, digital services, and cost of ownership.
But perhaps we are wrong. Maybe this is all professional deformation from people who spend too much time at presentations and in test cars. Because readers still argue about design, criticize new Chinese models, admire engines, and prove to each other in the comments that cars used to be better. So maybe the car is still something more than just a list of features and a monthly payment.
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