The Lexus and the Olive TL
I understand now. A month ago, I didn’t, but I do now.
About a month ago, I was at a Lexus drive event. I got to take all the fancy, shiny new Lexus’s (Lexii?) out for a test drive. It was fun, in a sleepy-Sunday kind of way. I spent many hours driving, but didn’t quite understand: what was all this fuss about?
There were gadgets. There were suspensions that ensured that no matter how bad the pothole you just hit, you wouldn’t feel a thing. There were cupholders with wooden lining. There was triple-treated leather. There were stereo systems that discussed weather, and the stock market, and incidentally also mentioned traffic conditions. Oh, and the cars parked for you too.
Suffice to say, I just didn’t get it. I left the event feeling really, really confused. This was what the fuss was all about? This is what one aspired to? Why on earth would anyone want, and pay for, lethargic, boring, bland machines that were brilliantly designed to expertly and completely lobotomize the driving experience?
There were, of course, high points. The IS 350, for example, would be a good car, if it wasn’t castrated by its automatic cog swapper. Overall, however, I could not conceive of an excuse that would justify the purchase of one of those gussied up Toyotas. The cars were as soulless as choreographed zombies dancing to a lip-synching Britney Spears clone.
I left the event feeling quite depressed, with renewed resolve not to ever procreate. If this was what the world wanted, as Lexus sales figures can argue, then I wanted no part of where the world was headed.
Artifacts of the experience remain with me. To this day, I cannot help but sneer when I see the italic L emblazoned (almost as if it were a mark of pride!) on a car. However, as time passed, hours spent in the sensory deprivation chamber that Lexus calls a driver’s seat passed into memory.
That was until earlier this week, when certain hijinks transpired so that I ended up driving an Acura TL.
Upon getting into the car, I expected an experience similar to the Lexus, and found myself dreading the prospect of “driving” a Lexus competitor. Initially, my suspicions seemed well-founded. The (heated) driver’s couch was pointlessly luxurious and fitted with high-quality leather; the car recognized me (as “Driver Number 2”) and set the mirrors and driving position appropriately; the stereo greeted me and asked if I wanted to connect my phone to it.
Ugh.
Then, something entirely unexpected happened: I drove.
Note that one does not “drive” a Lexus; one merely rides in it. Some steering input may be involved, but it is at best incidental and certainly effortless. The TL, however, required “driving:” two-way interaction was a definite part of the dialog. If the car is an orchestra and the driver a conductor, the TL played 21 Nocturnes while serving aged scotch and offering fine cigars.
Within a few minutes, I found myself - to my utter surprise - warming to the car. I never once bothered trying the sport-shift mode; the automatic transmission seemed… instinctively matched. The warmed seats felt natural. The steering response was razor sharp, quick, yet somehow dignified. My reservations diminished with each automatic downshift: instead of Lexus’ disco Mozart, this was masterfully engineered, elegant, soothing Chopin.
Ah. I finally understood. This was what Lexus was trying for. This distinguished, charismatic personality was what the oversized (and overpriced!) Toyotas were trying to emulate. However, like a street-vendor hawking genuine Blancpain watches, Toyota completely missed the point.
You see, the value of a Blancpain isn’t in the little logo or the expensive embellishments. The value of a Blancpain lies in the precision craftsmanship, the care and dedication that went into designing and making it, and the purchase and ownership experience. Above all this, however, value is bought to the Blancpain by the person who wears it. To wit, a statement made by Michael Karesh, veteran automotive reporter and researcher:
In recruiting people for my reliability research, I’ve noted a big difference between Honda owners and Toyota owners. Both groups put a high priority on reliability. But Honda owners like to perform a lot of research before buying another Honda. In contrast, Toyota owners don’t want to do any research.
So, Honda: I would like to thank your Acura brand for showing me what Lexus and Buick both failed to. Thank you for showing me what an “upscale” car is supposed to be. I understand. After years of wondering, I finally understand.
I will continue to snicker at the brain-dead zombies that flock to proudly display their emblazoned capital L, never wondering what it could stand for. Further, I will continue to drive my small, fast, fun, responsive car that plays Verdi’s Messa De Requiem to your Chopin. However, should I ever decide to walk more dignified, decorous paths, and should you release a more powerful TL with rear-wheel drive, then I am certain that we shall meet again.
About a month ago, I was at a Lexus drive event. I got to take all the fancy, shiny new Lexus’s (Lexii?) out for a test drive. It was fun, in a sleepy-Sunday kind of way. I spent many hours driving, but didn’t quite understand: what was all this fuss about?
There were gadgets. There were suspensions that ensured that no matter how bad the pothole you just hit, you wouldn’t feel a thing. There were cupholders with wooden lining. There was triple-treated leather. There were stereo systems that discussed weather, and the stock market, and incidentally also mentioned traffic conditions. Oh, and the cars parked for you too.
Suffice to say, I just didn’t get it. I left the event feeling really, really confused. This was what the fuss was all about? This is what one aspired to? Why on earth would anyone want, and pay for, lethargic, boring, bland machines that were brilliantly designed to expertly and completely lobotomize the driving experience?
There were, of course, high points. The IS 350, for example, would be a good car, if it wasn’t castrated by its automatic cog swapper. Overall, however, I could not conceive of an excuse that would justify the purchase of one of those gussied up Toyotas. The cars were as soulless as choreographed zombies dancing to a lip-synching Britney Spears clone.
I left the event feeling quite depressed, with renewed resolve not to ever procreate. If this was what the world wanted, as Lexus sales figures can argue, then I wanted no part of where the world was headed.
Artifacts of the experience remain with me. To this day, I cannot help but sneer when I see the italic L emblazoned (almost as if it were a mark of pride!) on a car. However, as time passed, hours spent in the sensory deprivation chamber that Lexus calls a driver’s seat passed into memory.
That was until earlier this week, when certain hijinks transpired so that I ended up driving an Acura TL.
Upon getting into the car, I expected an experience similar to the Lexus, and found myself dreading the prospect of “driving” a Lexus competitor. Initially, my suspicions seemed well-founded. The (heated) driver’s couch was pointlessly luxurious and fitted with high-quality leather; the car recognized me (as “Driver Number 2”) and set the mirrors and driving position appropriately; the stereo greeted me and asked if I wanted to connect my phone to it.
Ugh.
Then, something entirely unexpected happened: I drove.
Note that one does not “drive” a Lexus; one merely rides in it. Some steering input may be involved, but it is at best incidental and certainly effortless. The TL, however, required “driving:” two-way interaction was a definite part of the dialog. If the car is an orchestra and the driver a conductor, the TL played 21 Nocturnes while serving aged scotch and offering fine cigars.
Within a few minutes, I found myself - to my utter surprise - warming to the car. I never once bothered trying the sport-shift mode; the automatic transmission seemed… instinctively matched. The warmed seats felt natural. The steering response was razor sharp, quick, yet somehow dignified. My reservations diminished with each automatic downshift: instead of Lexus’ disco Mozart, this was masterfully engineered, elegant, soothing Chopin.
Ah. I finally understood. This was what Lexus was trying for. This distinguished, charismatic personality was what the oversized (and overpriced!) Toyotas were trying to emulate. However, like a street-vendor hawking genuine Blancpain watches, Toyota completely missed the point.
You see, the value of a Blancpain isn’t in the little logo or the expensive embellishments. The value of a Blancpain lies in the precision craftsmanship, the care and dedication that went into designing and making it, and the purchase and ownership experience. Above all this, however, value is bought to the Blancpain by the person who wears it. To wit, a statement made by Michael Karesh, veteran automotive reporter and researcher:
In recruiting people for my reliability research, I’ve noted a big difference between Honda owners and Toyota owners. Both groups put a high priority on reliability. But Honda owners like to perform a lot of research before buying another Honda. In contrast, Toyota owners don’t want to do any research.
So, Honda: I would like to thank your Acura brand for showing me what Lexus and Buick both failed to. Thank you for showing me what an “upscale” car is supposed to be. I understand. After years of wondering, I finally understand.
I will continue to snicker at the brain-dead zombies that flock to proudly display their emblazoned capital L, never wondering what it could stand for. Further, I will continue to drive my small, fast, fun, responsive car that plays Verdi’s Messa De Requiem to your Chopin. However, should I ever decide to walk more dignified, decorous paths, and should you release a more powerful TL with rear-wheel drive, then I am certain that we shall meet again.