We recently tested an array of luxury and ultra-luxury sedans, treating the staff to some of the finest automobiles in the land. Rotating through a seemingly endless series of BMW, Lexus, and Mercedes-Benz models gave the team a taste of the good life, and it was sweet.
Premium goodness could be savored just sitting in these sedans, pushing the "Start" button and fine-tuning the infinite seating adjustments. Good thing, too, as serious driveway time can be needed to scan through the tomes that serve as owner's manuals. The multi-volume Encyclopedia Daimler in the Mercedes E-Class occupies the entire glove box, with barely space for even the Post-it notes needed to flag pages that answer frequent questions.
Rotating through these hedonistic machines requires Sudoku-honed mental dexterity to make even basic control adjustments while driving. Commuting home, I was often reminded of past leading-edge electronics purchases, be it cell phone, stereo receiver, or computer--I'm fairly convinced that 98 percent of the gee-whiz, bragging-rights features go unused in daily life. Likewise with these cars, much of the brochure-padding, electro-gadgetry goes unused and/or unappreciated because operating the controls requires a night class that I just couldn't afford to take if I needed to make the mortgage-like car payments.
Wonderful powerplants, sublime handling, coddling cockpits, and country-club prestige are assured with much of the tested group, but is that really luxury? Sure, those characteristics lay a nice foundation, but for my hard-earned dollars, luxury also includes a balance of driving pleasure and stress reduction. A good car should have me pleased to be driving it, turning an errand into a treasured journey. A great car, especially a pricey one, should not just enhance a cross-town trek, but improve my quality of life.
Depending on the test car du jour, I would struggle on my lux sedan commute to activate a turn signal without engaging cruise control, change radio stations (often by manually tuning to personal favorites that remain hidden to the Seek function), or brave the greatest driver distraction of all, programming a the navigation system. Of course, if I owned the vehicle, in a matter of days (ahem, weeks) I would have mastered the most-common features. And given up on the rest, just like with the home entertainment system remote control that could manage a NASA moon mission, but just shows wear marks on only the Channel and Volume buttons.
This week, I rotated into a Mitsubishi Lancer from a previous test group. And I was happy. Really. I rediscovered luxuries from the moment I sat in the car. First off, there is a convenient "garage" for the key--right there in the steering column! Stick the key in and turn. Vroom, the car starts right up. How novel. Need a little more air? There is a simple dial with a fan symbol on it. No need to work a rotating hockey puck through a series of menus, reminding me the whole time of playing Atari's arcade coin-op Warlords in the early 1980s. Spin, press, release, and hope I hit a target. Sure, with this car exchange I gave up the navigation system. But, I can find my way home on most days. On others, a $250 portable navi would do the trick, or a Google Maps printout in a pinch. Easily amused, I chuckled when backing out of the parking spot all on my own, without the aid of a rear-view camera or parking sensors. Turns out, good visibility trumps technology. Being able to just turn and look through the windows is a whole lot more effective than peering around over-stuffed headrests and thick roof pillars.
Functionally, the Lancer provides me with ample front seat space. If the car were leather-lined and three feet longer, I'd still sit just as close to the steering wheel. (Rear-seat passengers may have other feelings, but then again, they aren't making the theoretical monthly payment.)
Cruising out to the highway, I relished the thought of getting fuel economy in the high 20s, or maybe more if I feather the throttle like grandma with bunions. As I get up to speed, the little four-banger chatters and struggles, throwing cold water on my short-lived dream of working-man's luxury. The 55-mph denouement continues as wind and road noise compete with a stereo that is simply inferior to the audiophile-grade systems in the lux-branded cars.
So, what is luxury for me? It could be described as one of the lux sedans stripped down to its functional essence. Give me the powertrain, chassis, seating, basic amenities, and a payment that keeps me off a Ramen noodle diet. Keep the geek-grade gadgetry and corresponding litany of acronyms. In Europe, this would mean ordering essentially a taxi package and saving thousands. Here, it means buying less uppity cars.
So what is automotive luxury to you? What features and function make the difference and justify a premium that you are willing to pay? Let us know in the Comments below, or in the Cars forums.
Watch our luxury and ultra-luxury sedan videos.
--Jeff Bartlett