I am in-between cars at present but have been generously loaned a couple of older models that are refreshingly bereft of all the modern fandangle stuff.
It has been refreshing, it reminded me of a time, and I remember it well, when a car did exactly what it said on the tin. You turned a key, it roared to life like a lion that had just stubbed its toe, and off you went.
There were three pedals, a steering wheel, and if you were lucky, something called a “radio” that worked when you hit it just right.
Now? Cars are packed with more unnecessary gimmicks than a Swiss Army knife designed by Elon Musk after a week on Red Bull and Reddit.
Let’s start with gesture controls. You’re in a BMW, trying to adjust the volume. You wave your finger in the air like a deranged orchestra conductor, and the car might respond. Or it might turn off the navigation and start calling your mother-in-law.
Because nothing says “ultimate driving machine” like miming shadow puppets to your dashboard.
Then there’s the fake engine noise pumped into the cabin through the speakers. Why? What sort of idiot thought: “You know what this naturally quiet, well-insulated interior needs? The sound of an engine we deliberately engineered not to make that noise.” It’s like putting a Bluetooth speaker behind your electric kettle so it sounds like a steam train. Nonsense.
Touchscreen everything is another war crime against driving. Want to adjust the temperature? You’ll need to navigate a series of menus more complex than Heathrow’s terminal system — all while doing 70 on the M1. It used to be a simple knob you could turn without taking your eyes off the road. Now? You need a PhD in User Interface Design just to demist the windscreen.
And don’t get me started on lane-keeping assist. This little demon exists solely to remind you that your car knows better than you. You’re dodging a pothole — bam! The car yanks you back into the very crater you were avoiding. “No, Nigel,” it says in its digital, passive-aggressive tone. “We’ve decided you should die in the hole.”
Also making the list is automatic seat massage. Look, I love comfort as much as the next lazy man, but if I wanted a back rub, I’d go to a spa and lie under a woman named Ingrid, not fight my own seat while it pokes me like an indecisive chiropractor with Parkinson’s.
And how could we forget mood lighting? There you are, in a Golf GTI, trying to feel a bit sporty. And the car thinks: “Let’s make the footwell glow purple, just in case you weren’t sure if you were in a nightclub or a Volkswagen.” Utter tosh.
Lastly, there’s remote app integration. Oh yes, now you can check your tire pressure from a beach in Marbella. Because that’s what the world needed — a way to get neurotic about your PSI while ordering a daiquiri.
In conclusion, modern cars are brilliant at going fast, handling well, and saving the polar bears. But my God, they’re also full of ludicrous gadgets that nobody asked for and nobody needs. I don’t want my car to be smart. I want it to be fun, loud, and mildly terrifying — like all the best things in life.
So, car manufacturers, please: stop trying to turn cars into smartphones on wheels. Because the only thing more infuriating than a car that drives itself… is a car that thinks it’s smarter than me.
And frankly, that’s just rude.
