Car of the Week — Week 128: SLS AMG & Week 130: 911 Carrera RS Club Sport
"But XSquare", I hear you exclaim before I've even typed the first word of the first paragraph. "Why are these two cars being lumped together in the same review? One's a luxury GT cruiser, and the other's a stripped out track toy! These are two very different cars from very different companies from very different time periods at very different price points that are engineered to do very different things!" And you'd be right about that. Because I made you say that in my writing and how could I possibly be wrong about anything? "Surely there must be more similarities between these two cars than the fact that they're German NA 2 door performance cars that you've been wanting to test in Car of the Week, right?"
Not really, no.
If I were writing a story, maybe I could make some cheap excuse like a rich tycoon named Pelax or something sponsoring me an all expenses paid trip to Germany for a
Very Serious SLS AMG Review of the Car of the Week N Stuff, possibly with women too scantily clad to post here on GTPlanet posing next to the cars to waste all the money we spent on photographers, all of whom may or may not also be on recreational drugs. You make up your own narrative on this one; I'm too lazy to make German license plates because they're such an unholy pain in the butt, I'd sooner do my own prostate screening by sticking my head up there. See? My narratives are horrible. You're better off imagining your own scenario — or hiring someone named Brad or something to come up with one for you — as to why I'm lumping these two cars together in one review.
After being surprisingly smitten by the
SLR McLaren, and already having heard rave reviews for the AMG GT, I was very, very curious about the middle child that is the SLS AMG. Losing the McLaren badges on the car shed about three fifths of the cost and a commendable 148kg (327lbs) in comparison to the SLR, while still retaining the use of a "
sledgehammer" V8 up front, mated to an actual gearbox this time around. Rectifying the SLR's most glaring flaws, the SLS AMG represents huge steps in the right direction to course correct from its older sister, which had a lukewarm reception at best, both in the market and here in COTW. Backed by a winning recipe, the SLS unquestionably runs circles the size of the Nordschleife around the SLR, and was highly successful in sanctioned motorsports as well, but I'll cover the racecar versions of the SLS another day (maybe...).
The fabled M159 6208cc NA V8 engine that is used in the SLS GT3, and continues to see use today in the highly successful AMG GT3, first appeared here in the SLS road car, and yes, it's shamelessly marketed as a 6.3L, because who doesn't love exaggerating about the size of their girth if they didn't have to stick it up to a ruler under public scrutiny? All it takes is to gently roll on the gas pedal, and you'll immediately understand why this engine is so revered, and why Mercedes makes you jump through convoluted hoops and hurdles to turn off traction control; this thing has EV-esque torque from idle — so much so that doing doughnuts in second gear on uprated Sport Soft tyres is a breeze for this thing. While engines are traditionally lubricated with oil, I refuse to believe the SLS' engine is lubricated by anything other than butter, because this thing revs so
deliciously s i l k y s m o o t h , it's hard to believe this engine even has a redline, because all it seems to want to do is to rev, rev,
rev! I smack the limiter on the SLS almost as often as I shift correctly because of how alluring and addictive it is. If there's any car that needs a factory beeper fitted as standard to come on at 500rpm before redline, it's not an RX-7; it's
this. It is everything anyone can want from a big engine: V8, big displacement, gobs of torque down below, healthy power up top, delicious butter smoothness, effortless doughnuts, all while sounding like the burliest and angriest of bakers in the world. In an industry that's being rapidly electrified, the fuel eviscerating M159 engine feels like an unapologetic, steadfast celebration of the internal combustion engine, and it was love at first rev for me.
Cheaper, lighter and faster than an SLR, with a bigger engine mated to a lightning quick 7 speed DCT sending power only to the rear, colour choices that extend beyond black and silver, an interior that still stands adamant and elegant to the test of time, handsome looks, gullwing doors... what's not to love about the SLS?
Even though it's less powerful and lighter than an SLR, I wouldn't have guessed either fact if I hadn't seen
Alex P's timed run of the Nordschleife in both cars. The 7 speed DCT gearbox in the SLS compensates greatly for the power deficit if the lightened mass doesn't do enough of a job for it already, and the end result is that the SLS outruns the SLR in the corners
and straights, though the SLR does rein back in its younger sibling on tracks with long straights, such as Bathurst and the already mentioned Nordschleife, partly with its 46HP (34.3kW) power advantage on tracks with long straights, and partly also, ironically, with the mechanical advantage of taller gearing at speed; curiously,
6th in the SLS is already geared taller than
5th in the SLR, resulting in the SLS losing out past 300km/h (186mph) to the SLR, and consequently, lap time gaps at these high speed circuits that vastly undersell how much faster the SLS is most of the time.
And although markedly lighter than the battleship that is the SLR, the SLS certainly doesn't
feel lighter in the corners; while the suspension in the SLS is amply set up for its own size and mass when driven on its own, in direct comparison to its heavier, yet tauter sister, I find that the SLS exhibits
way more body movements in comparison to the SLR, most notably roll. This is reflected in the spec sheets: the SLR has natural frequencies of
2.25Hz front and rear, in comparison to the SLS's
1.60Hz on both ends. As a result of this, the SLS feels wholly incapable of utilising any of its lessened
570HP (425kW) and mechanical advantage offered by the first 6 speeds of the DCT gearbox it has, and is so liable to snap oversteer on you mid corner you come to expect it and actively work to be gentle on the car to avoid it rather than it being an exception you attempt to correct when it happens. While the SLR was more than happy to wear uprated Sport Soft tyres, the SLS feels completely thrown for a
Südschleife by the same compound we ran on race day for both cars. The SLR felt like a luxury GT cruiser role playing a sports car for fun, while the SLS is a luxury GT cruiser that seems to do the sporty bits only begrudgingly, like a kid who's had to score straight As so as not to disappoint their parents or fall behind their siblings. You can tell the same willingness and enthusiasm isn't present in the younger sibling, even though it does the job all the same.
What this results in is a car that seemingly combines the worst of both the FR and MR worlds, being a FR car with a rear mass bias of 47:53 according to the game's description. Trail brake into a corner, and you immediately feel the inertia of the long nose refusing to comply, while the rear end simultaneously wants to swing out as though a comically sized sledgehammer was rear-mid mounted in the car, not at all helped by how the track of the car is mysteriously set up to be
31mm narrower in the rear, resulting in both under and oversteer at the same time on corner entry and being more than a handful on exits, and the suspension setup of the car is ill-equipped to handle the sashaying tendencies of a 1,620kg (3,571lbs) car with a 2,680mm (105.5in) wheelbase. Couple this behaviour with with gobs of torque the 6.2L engine is capable of, and you have a car that seemingly rejects societal norms and pronouns, and would much prefer if you referred to it as a car with a track of 2,680mm and an "average wheelbase" of 1,666.5mm, because it feels happier going sideways than it is going forwards. Tackling corners in the SLS, especially downhill ones, require careful tiptoeing around the car's ill temper and prerequisite knowledge of its tantrums. Because of the softer suspension setup, and also how ridiculously quickly it will burn through fuel and chew through tyres, I find it very difficult to set lap times with any consistency in the SLS, and it ironically makes for a fantastic car to
KANSEI DORIFUTO in, because half the time you're trying to take corners "properly", it's already inertia drifting anyway, which may well be the fastest way to get the SLS' nose to hit an apex, and it's so adept at doughnuts that I uncharacteristically gave up on a race after a spin, and just kept doing doughnuts on the track, which the SLS felt more comfortable and built to do than actual cornering. For some context, this didn't even happen when we raced the Charger Hellcat (review coming soon, I promise... probably... hopefully... possibly).
On more subjective fronts, the SLS simply doesn't hold a candle to the SLR in my mind. The styling, for a start, looks a lot more serious, more sedated, and more of a grandfather clock than the more daring and unique looking SLR. In a Mercedes showroom or parking lot, I'd probably lose an SLS in the crowd, but I sure as hell wouldn't miss an SLR, if that makes sense. And while the M159 engine in the younger car is, in every aspect, a fantastic engine, I... kinda miss the supercharger whine of the old M156, not to mention the hysterical
KA-CHUNK KA-CHUNK noises the shift buttons make.
Please don't get me wrong, though: even though I prefer the SLR to it, the SLS is a fantastic car by its own merits. It's just a little disappointing for me personally, someone who had been pleasantly surprised by the sportiness of the SLR, and had looked for an improvement of the recipe in the SLS, only to find that it seemingly doesn't share that same track focus and dedication to sensation as the SLR. If I were to hop into the SLS without prior experience of the SLR, I wouldn't be able to say a bad thing about it. I could more than excuse any perceived sloppiness of the SLS by saying it handles brilliantly for its size and mass, which it absolutely does. Objectively speaking, the SLS is a better car than the SLR, not just in all aspects, but also with huge steps in each area. I greatly respect and like the SLS, and even though I prefer the SLR to it, I wouldn't feel like I was being shortchanged at all if I were offered an SLS in its stead.
I feel like the SLS is the kind of car that's just lost in translation to the digital format, especially into a competition centric game such as Gran Turismo Sport. I would love to take in its leather interior and beautiful stitching in real life, and cruise along the highways with its monstrous torque and soundtrack. Despite it not being as track focused as the SLR, the SLS can be driven hard, and much fun will be had from behind the wheel if you do decide to beat on it, especially if lap times and making use of every millimeter of the track aren't your thing, and you just want to rip off your necktie, throw away your blazer, and for however briefly they will last you, vapourise some tyres and fuel in the noisiest and most childish of fashions.
In a way, the SLS feels like a kid born to successful parents: it's dressed up to look dignified and sophisticated, but it's uncertain and playful at heart, who punches way harder than it perhaps realises, with an unhealthy appetite for doughnuts and energy drinks. It's unencumbered and undiluted by the evils of the world that is hybrids, EVs, and turbos, and its innocence and purity is worthy to behold, protect, and even be unknowingly proud of, because I think we all wish we could have retained more of that purity and innocence, both in our personal lives and in our cars. We know this purity will disappear one day in the future, but just being able to see and experience it now is a treat that will make the future a little more bittersweet in reminisce. Someone at Stuttgart tried to give this innocence form. Tried to hold it. Tried to preserve, immortalise it. Made it into an art form, made it a way of expressing one's desires. And the end result is that, for almost a quarter of a million USD, you too, can have a physical object that you can hold, own, preserve, that lets you relive that experience as and when you please. Even if the car isn't your cup of tea, the notion that you can capture childlike tendencies and call upon that experience as and when you please is quite simply priceless, especially for someone who's worked their way to be in a position to be able to afford an SLS and not worry about its running costs.
Looking at it this way, the SLS is the perfect cover car for a Gran Turismo game, a series that has started off purely as an arcade, caRPG and slowly started taking itself too seriously, disappointing and alienating most of its loyal fanbase, while it tries to figure out what it wants to be. For me personally, I'm more of a Viper or a Hellcat kinda guy than an SLS, but if the day ever comes when I get the chance to loosen the undergarment straps of someone who's a little more sophisticated, or even just reasonably sane, while still appreciating the 10 year old kid inside me, the SLS would be nigh unrivaled as an avatar to represent myself.
And speaking of a car that is nigh unrivaled...
Spanning eight distinct generations of cars over nearly 60 years, while dominating seemingly every category and discipline of motorsports it participated in, the name "Porsche 911" brings to mind many wildly varying images the more people you ask what first comes to mind at the mention of the household name. Some will envision a successful rally car, others will see a moody widowmaker. Some will buy a 911 because it is an excellent all rounder that can ferry their family around when they need to, and offer an exhilarating driving experience when they don't. For some, maybe the outlandish 911 GT1 and the 1998 24 Hours of Le Mans come to mind, and for others, perhaps the Nürburgring and Sabine Schmitz. To some, the 911 represents the peak of laziness in car design, ostensibly changing so little that no one but the most obsessive and die hard of fans can tell the subtle differences between the generations and trims of cars, but to its fans who do obsess over it, the 911 represents the peak of driver focused technologies in a sports car, offering the purest and most exhilarating of driving experiences of their respective eras. Some will buy a 911 simply as a status symbol, wanting a sophisticated car without standing out in a crowd or appearing too outlandish; others will take them and turn them into bespoke flame spitting monsters for only the most discerning (and insane) of automotive enthusiasts.
The crazy part about every single dichotomy I've listed about the 911 is that the cars absolutely do live up to each and every contrasting description of them. So then, what exactly should come to mind at the mention of the middle child of middle children, the 4th generation 911, internally named the 993?
To get the best of the 993, one must first spec their car in Speed Yellow, then rip out and toss away anything in the car that isn't a strict requirement for it to function on a racetrack, such as carpets, air conditioners, and stereos, such that
when, and not if, you spray yourself silly in the car, the mess is somewhat better camouflaged, and because there's no upholstery in the cabin, you can simply hose away the mess afterwards to retain some resale value in the car. I suppose Indischrot works too, if you don't plan on surviving the quintessential 911 experience. But what's a car, if not an avatar, an expression of self, right? That's why, in order to match the masochistic tendencies of your 993, colour coordinating roll cages and sadistic looking Schroth harnesses are a must, to keep you securely controlled and pinned to your thin, barely padded coff- I mean, Recaro Bucket seats. Finally, bolt on bespoke, glistening RS five spoke alloy wheels and a yellow wing big enough to make gas station attendants question if you're a driver or a pilot to really draw attention to yourself, because if a clown performs and no one is there to watch it, had there really been a show? To close out the performance, make sure the engine is air cooled, free breathing, and of course, mounted aft the rear axle, powering only the rear wheels, so that no one can see nor hear your less than manly screams in a smokescreen of (hopefully only) tyre smoke.
But fret not — not all is doom and gloom in the ultimate 993: to help counterbalance all that mechanical weight behind the rear wheels, along with whatever aerodynamic weight you might convince yourself is there in a road legal car, Porsche has thoughtfully added a
sliiiightly more aggressive lip spoiler over the "typical" Carrera RS', because, come on, we don't want to go
too overboard here, now do we? The end result of all this is a car packing "only" a modest
295HP (220kW), hauling around an even more conservative
1,235kg (2,723lbs), most of which concentrated aft the rear axle, to create what is called the "911 Carrera RS Club Sport", and what is quite possibly, the purest of the 911 experience that will ever be made publicly available. Well, "available" is kind of a subjective term here, because with only 227 ever made and virtual ones coming with an asking price of half a million credits, you can't exactly just walk into Uncle Ferdinand's North City Used Car Dealer and expect to be able to buy one, either virtually or in reality.
However you beg, rob, steal, or do things that GTPlanet's AUP won't let me suggest to find your way into one of these though, hot
damn does it deliver.
Yes, it's an old 911. Yes, it's RR. Yes, it's softer than my reproductive organs in a sweltering sausage fest deep in a jungle. Yes, it will attempt to kill you if you give it the slightest of chances to. But then, a lot of that can be said about the NA1 NSX-R, which this 993 immediately reminded me of because of how it made me feel behind the wheel. You're snapped straight to attention the moment you turn the wheel of this thing, because there is so much going on with the car, and it's an absolute darling communicator. You always have to be cognizant of where the weight is on the car, how much grip each tyre has, how hard you feed in the steering angle, how much revs the engine is doing, where the powerband is, which gear to be in, etc.. The 993 gave me that sense of immediate awe and stunned me into silence even in my own hyperactive head the moment I drove it, and like my first drive of the NSX-R in Gran Turismo Sport, cleansed my mind and my world. My thoughts, my worries, my goals in my life were brought down and simplified to: throttle, brakes, revs, shifts, apexes, turns, weight, rotation, power. That's how immersive an experience it provides, even through the lens of a TV screen and a couch, and I instantly clicked with it.
What truly separates the 993 from its younger siblings is that... it has less of everything. Less power. Less tyres. Less technology. And this I feel works to the
benefit of the 993, because you still get the thrills of driving a car on its knife edge, but at speeds that won't immediately kill you if you muck something up. There feels to be little to no aero despite appearances, no blind grip, no rear steer systems, no traction control, no nothing to mask the car's true tendencies, and nothing to save you, nothing else but yourself to blame if you spin and bin it. You don't get the sense at all that the car is hiding anything from you, with which to stab you in the back when the time is most opportune. It lays all its cards out on the table on the outset, and you play with the unspoken agreement that you either step up to the challenge and learn to do well, or get spat out a million pieces, and the 911 namesake has stuck around long enough and earned every bad rep and accolade to make its death threats more than well founded and common knowledge. But while that may be a demerit with other cars, every driver who steps through the doors and roll cages of a hardcore, track focused 911 does so not just knowingly consenting to that unspoken agreement, but also with a promise of greatness in equal, if not greater measure.
Despite this however, I find the 993 to be not nearly as scary or moody as everyone seems to make it sound on this thread. It
certainly isn't as god-awful as some of the bollocks bin beaters we've tested here in COTW, like the Beat and A110. In comparison to those older clunkers, the 993 I feel actually wants to work with you, and is a sheer pleasure to work with in return, if you commit the time and dedication to learn its ins and outs. It's not unreasonable or moody at all, like a 356 or a Yellowbird, in which there is no gratifying sense of reward; only fleeting relief of narrowly escaping death before approaching another corner. The rear end of a 993 will swing out, obviously, but it lets go with such linearity and with such ample, early, and tactile warnings that you can often afford to play with it as it starts to slip, instead of having to panic and correct immediately like you would in a 930 or a 991. Even if you do get it wrong, like I have in every single race that week, I've never had more than slight fender benders; I've never really felt like my life was ever at risk because of how approachable, and to some extent even forgiving, the 993 is, especially with the context of its bloodthirsty lineage (never mind that I got Rick killed, heh).
When it rains, however, it pours
hard on your rear engine parade. You'll start to wonder if that certain gas station attendant is secretly a driving god with psychic powers, because YOU'LL start to wonder if you are a driver or a pilot when operating a 993 in wet conditions. It was already slightly difficult to get weight over the front tyres in the dry with a full tank of fuel, but in the wet? Your front tyres are basically like those of an aircraft's: rarely ever in contact with the road, and even when they are in contact, never really seem to do anything other than keeping the nose of your vehicle from dragging across the asphalt. It's so bad that you get understeer rattle through the steering wheel common in
FF cars, just by
BRAKING IN A STRAIGHT LINE. What feels like an overly safe braking distance suddenly turns out to be a recklessly late one as the 993 refuses to either stop or turn, and the car feels less responsive under braking in the wet than if you were to simply shut the car off mid corner. And if the corner has adverse camber as well? You might as well put the car into neutral, open the door, and stick your foot out to drag and pedal along the asphalt for better stopping and turning performance than the front tyres will provide. But don't worry: you can then brag about it at the bar afterwards wrapped in casts about how your 993 gives you such a raw and pure driving experience, you truly feel as one with the car and road, and how it makes you intimately aware of the finest detail of the road surfaces like no other car lets you.
And seriously, half a mill for an interior that looks and feels like a jail cell, what with its roll cages and lack of creature comforts? Sure, one could argue that it makes the car a "no compromise driver's car", but would adding a few grams with some sun visors really destroy the driving dynamics of the 911 that much? Because the tinting on the top of the windshield barely has any opacity, and when the sun hits
juuuust right, it's pretty blinding, even in the game. I guess that's why Porsche will sell you
£760.00 sunglasses with their name on it, with the lenses actually mounted up front where they should be.
McPhillamy Park, the highest point of Bathurst at 0800h, clear.
The biggest one-two knockout combo against the 911 Carrera RS CS is its complete lack of creature comforts, plus the fact that, in the 90s, cars that can offer the thrills and exhilaration it can abound aplenty, with way less of a bite. During race day, I brought out my beloved FD RX-7 and NA1 NSX-R, both of which will give the 911 a run for its way too high a asking price, despite them both weighing more and having less power; a testament to how stupid a concept an RR car is. Not to mention, the only way this yellow bird with a paralysed wing won't lose to either car in the wet is if it crashed into them, after which you as the driver of the 911 can just say, "I'm so sorry, it got away from me", and elicit a response from people more filled with understanding and pity than if you were to tell them your children spontaneously combusted. The FD and NA1 both even have — or at least can be optioned with — sun visors, upholstery, and air con. Imagine that! And it's not like either car is any less fun to drive than the 993, either. Looking at the 911 Carrera RS CS from an objective standpoint, it's very, VERY difficult to make a case for it, if at all even possible.
So in conclusion, what's my verdict on the 993 Carrera RS Club Sport? What comes to
my mind at the mention of the middle child of middle children?
I picture the purest, rawest, most fun, and most rewarding 911 to ever come from Stuttgart, at least until I somehow get to sample a 911 R. I see a car that is chock full of character and personality, a great teacher you can't help but to both like and respect. While the 991 GT3 RS earned my respect for the 911 name, the 993 Club Sport is the one that earned my affection, and got me to understand why exactly Porsche purists hold this car in such high regard, and compare its younger siblings to it. I see a car so at ease with itself, so proud to be what it is and not a number chaser like its turbo or younger siblings, and a car that's so much better for it. I see a car that just looks so right, so natural, so much so that seeing a 993 without the Club Sport's bespoke aero parts, wheels, and gutted interior makes me feel like the car has been amputated. I see a car that ticks all the right boy racer boxes while somehow also retaining a gentlemanly appreciation for the old school. I see my favourite 911 ever.
In other words, I love it. Immensely. Achingly. And if I have to be a masochistic clown to be shamed and ridiculed for driving one in the public, then so be it. It certainly is less of a price to pay than half a million and however much the stupid sunglasses are worth.
So, what more similarities do the SLS AMG and 993 Club Sport share aside from being German NA 2 door performance cars that I had been wanting to test in Car of the Week? Well, both are expensive toys that are rather softly sprung, really love to
KANSEI DORIFUTO, and are powered by amazingly smooth engines that love to have their piston rings wrung out of them. But more than that, both cars made me think: is newer necessarily better? And if not, what is it about the older cars I prefer, that the new cars lack?
A question Vic posed in
his review of the Taycan
Turbo Sutututu (how's
that for angering fans?
) goes, "I’ll concede that’s something that no amount of Stuttgart Space Magic (can't) recreate ( at least not right now). But as a racer at what point do you draw the line on that? At what point does the whole ‘Soul, feeling and feedback’ enthusiasts arguments start being outweighed by genuinely better all round performance and capability?"
To which I reply: never.
Giving the 993 a thorough going-over in COTW and finally understanding what Porsche purists are yakking about, I see that this argument has been around for decades by now, first with the 996 being water cooled, to Porsche making SUVs to survive. I don't care how fast a car goes. I don't care how fast it laps any given racetrack around the world. I'm no Tsuchiya Keiichi. No Lewis Hamilton. No Igor Fraga. I'm not even a Vic_Reign93. Someone out there can and will make whatever car I get my hands on go faster than I could. Hell,
machine learning might just start to outperform actual human drivers if given enough time.
Time and technology will keep marching on and provide us with faster and faster cars. Yet, why is it that older cars, like the RX-7, like the NSX, like the Elise, like the 993, remain so sought after and valuable even today? Because they provide an experience and sensation unique to themselves, to their driver. They communicate their stories, personalities, likes, and dislikes so well. One can almost personify and humanise the cars. At what point does the whole "soul, feeling and feedback" start being outweighed by better all round performance and capability? I counter that question with a one of my own: what's the point of going faster than anyone else around a racetrack if you don't enjoy it? What does going faster than someone else's Honda Civic from light to light prove?
If lap times are all that matter, then no production car other than the Mercedes-AMG GT Black Series currently matter. No driver aside from Miyazono matters in this game. I'm no Miyazono. I'm no Vic. And I probably never will be, with my crappy, improvised setup, bad reflexes, and sporadic schedule. But I try to compensate for that in other areas. I take photos. I write. LIGHTNING doesn't do that, does he? That makes me feel like I've some value and worth in the world. But how do you quantify the quality of photos and reviews? Just by the number of likes they receive? I'm no good with that, either. Should I stop writing and shooting, then, because I'll never be the best at either? Is there no value elsewhere to be had, including for simply trying, for simply existing? To only see lap times in a car I think is a pretty cruel and overgeneralising way to think (wow, that got way too bleak way too quickly, almost like my emotions are ferried by a
Turbo Taycan).
Of course, there is value and merit in lap times. It's how we test cars. I cite lap times in my reviews as well. As long as a record of any kind exists, people will see it as a challenge and try to break it. That in itself is a pretty beautiful thing, but lap times are only one of the many factors in a car. I'm not advocating for carburetors or bias ply tyres, nor do I wish for ABS you can turn off in cars. I'm not against technology. I only start to take issue with it when it is used to rob me of the joys and sensation of driving a car, because
of course machines can drive better than I can. That was never in question in my mind. What I'm concerned with is how does it make me feel? As a toy, is it fun? Can it make me forget my life's problems for just a few minutes? Can it inspire me? Does it make me ponder and think? Can I even form a perceived emotional bond with it? Does it make me happy?
But who knows? Maybe the generations older than me will insist on the mechanical sound and the techniques of fine tuning carburetors, and enlighten me about how bias ply tyres are more communicative or better in other ways that I never knew about. Maybe someone out there will claim that ABS robs you of sensations, and a skilled driver can stop quicker without it. Maybe future generations will see the same soul in EV SUVs as I see in an FD and NSX, and similarly resist change. I'm not smart, rich, or charismatic enough to change the world. I'm a nobody. I just like to think there's value and merit in a unique opinion and experience, that's all. Does it have to be well written or well liked? Do cars need to achieve better numbers than what precedes them? Who knows?
Maybe the 993 and SLR do objectively suck as cars. Maybe it's only possible to enjoy them by making excuses for them through rose tinted lenses of nostalgia. Maybe I'd have a lot more fun with more modern machinery if I stopped expecting of them all of what technology allows them to be, while comparing the sensations they give to older clunker cars. But is having low to no standards really the way to live? I'm not sure. Now, if I were to drive a 911 R and it handled exactly like the 993, I'd immediately think, "this sucks, what the
eff?", and write it off, listing the other things I could buy with less money. I understand that standards have moved on. But then, I can't deny nor explain the giggles and smiles I had when sliding the 993 around the track. I'm genuinely torn on this. Maybe something like a GT86 or a Cayman GT4 could answer these questions for me. Maybe they'd make everything make sense. Maybe it's possible to make raw, exhilarating sports cars that hold up to modern scrutiny, but manufacturers just don't want to.
As cars get better and better, they start to lose a bit of personality. They start to feel less like dance partners we need to be aware about and sensitive towards, and more like weapons. But does anyone really love a tool, a weapon, like they could a dance partner? How does one engineer a heart, soul, personality, and even endearing flaws into a pile of nuts, bolts, and oil? Into a product to be mass produced and sold? There was a time when simply making a car fast also meant making it fun. Now, there seems to me to be a bit of a divorce between fast and fun in cars, simply because of how stupidly fast they've become. Cars simply don't have flaws and distinct personalities anymore; a 911 can grip and be as stable as a GT-R today. We seem to have everything figured out, to a point where a 2.3 ton tank electric SUV monstrosity can be marketed as a sporty vehicle, and people lap it up. And it makes me sad.
Okay XSquare. Stop writing and making people scroll through your crap. You're not
actually a clown; you don't even have a 911. Stop acting like one talking about philosophy and crap and finish up this post already. It's been two whole weeks.
