The Unnecessary Death of the Luxury Sedan

In the 80s and early 90s, luxury sedans were still luxury sedans and their interiors looked like this. Sure, you could get leather as an option, but most of the seats were tufted.

Ride quality was plush and you barely felt a bump. If you had a V8 or V12 engine, it didn't exist, at least solely, to live out some midlife crisis fantasy while you had your chiropractor or massage therapist on speed dial. In the early 80s, you saw Chrysler New Yorkers with V8 engines that put out 140 horsepower. And that was fine, because they were designed for smooth acceleration and comfort, not street racing.

Sometime after 1993, someone decided that maintenance on such comforts wasn't convenient enough (you know, right around the time Michael Bay started making movies and the pacing was set up to appeal to 13 year old boys with ADHD) and the switch was made to harder, more leathery surfaces, real and imitation.

Every car review I watch on YouTube showcasing a "luxury vehicle" spends far too much time assessing handling, sportiness and 0-60 times.

In an AMG, M-Class, sports sedan or sports car in general designed to break the speed of sound, that makes sense. But if you're buying a luxury car because it's got more power or torque than the others, you're shopping for the wrong car.

Ordinarily, it wouldn't be any of my concern. You do you. If you want a sedan that is 500+ hp and makes your back surgeon and chiropractor richer, be my guest. But when it affects me and my ability to slip into safe, reliable transportation that doesn't drive me to overuse Tylenol and Advil unnecessarily, then we're going to have a problem. There should be a car for everyone, not just environmentalists (no disrespect), economy car lovers and rich 16 year olds who Daddy bought a car because they managed to pass Grade 10 PE just by showing up.

When the biggest concern with a luxury car that I'm reading online is that it's "boring" or "not sporty enough," maybe find an activity that only endangers your own life, not mine. Leave me out of your Nascar fantasies.