Here is why BMW’s i8 is called the new ‘ it’ car
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and with supercars, crowds don't lie
I would make a very poor esthete. My ex- wife once repainted our entire living room — from baby blue to terra cotta, no less — and it took me six months to notice.
The only reason I finally did notice is that I ended up spilling some tomato sauce on the wall and the cleanup was much easier. And, to this day, I couldn’t, for a million dollars, tell you the colour or the context of the poster that hung over our bed some 16 years.
As you can imagine, my entire house is a distinctly non feng shui’ed combination of uninspiring pastels, mismatched furniture ( not just colours, but motif and periods as well) and lackadaisical, um, organization. The only room that works is the kitchen and that’s only because I dragged my general contractor to Ikea and told him to match one of their model galleys ( yes, right down to the grout, door handles and backsplash). Mine is not a keen, or even enthusiastic, eye.
At least I pay attention to cars. I will even go so far as to say I know what I like. But I can’t even begin to pretend that what I like has anything to do with what makes a car popular.
I, for instance, found the original Tribeca’s Alfa Romeo- like nose quite fetching. But Subaru had to redesign it within two years because the general public found it quite grotesque. Ditto for Acura grilles, Subaru SVX windows and the Suzuki Kizashi’s sloping roofline. I liked them all; all were flops.
Occasionally, I’ll get it right, like railing against BMW’s much-denigrated Bangle butt. But that’s only because only the totally myopic could fail to recognize something so truly vulgar. Most of the time, I’m left wondering why I seem to be the only one in the room who finds Jaguar’s classic E- Type kind of ordinary.
And that’s why I rely on you, dear reader, to render esthetic judgment. Essentially, what I do is park whatever car I am testing in an area that I think people with a taste for fashion might frequent ( say Yorkville Ave. in Toronto, Saint Laurent Boulevard in downtown Montreal or Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills) and await a reaction.
That’s how I know, for instance, that Nissan’s GT- R holds absolutely no attraction to anyone over 40 years of age, or the Camaro to precious few under 40 and that Audi’s R8, much to my surprise, has been the people’s choice for the sexiest supercar on wheels for some eight years running.
Ferrari’s 458s become Ford Fiestas in its presence, a Gallardo — essentially the same car under the skin — fades into the background, no matter how flamboyant its pastel paint.
But eight years is positively Mesozoic by supercar standards and, like all things fashionable, the R8 must bow to something new and trendy. So behold the new sexiest of sports cars: BMW’s i8.
In my mind’s eye, it’s an unlikely choice. BMWs, after all, are many things — superbly engineered with fine handling and exquisitely crafted — but provocative and avant- garde are hardly descriptors for a lineup that looks like it was styled by engineers ( I refer you to the 550 GT, the current 335 GT and old M Coupe as prime examples). The last time they tried stepping out of their comfort zone, they penned the stillborn Z8 ( which, just to show you how out of touch I am, I quite fancied).
But driving the company’s new i8 around is to understand why Kim Kardashian made her ( in) famous sex tape. If it’s adoration you want — and you don’t feel like flashing your naughty bits — then it’s the i8 you need. Park an i8 curbside and, before those infernal parking machines can say “authorized,” a crowd will have materialized. Guys with
Park an i8 curbside and, before those infernal parking machines can say ' authorized,' a crowd will have materialized.
hot- rodded ‘ 64 Lincolns nod their appreciation and fashionistas who wouldn’t recognize a Ford GT unless it was in a L’Oréal ad suddenly rave about notches and waistlines. And, in a reaction more dramatic than I’ve ever seen in 25 years of testing cars, the entire staff * of my favourite Tim Hortons abandoned their stations to watch me open the i8’ s flashy doors. One poor barista, his shift over at 7 a. m., waited for an hour- and- ahalf just to hear the i8 start up ( lucky for him, I switched into Sport mode or all that he would have heard was the wimpy sound of the lithium- ion battery transmitting electrons).
At first I thought all this fawning was the carbon- fibred Bimmer appealing to the enviroweenie crowd, what with its claim of 135 miles per gallon ( in the admittedly optimistic New European Driving Cycle) and an almost unbelievably low 49 grams of carbon dioxide emitted every kilometre ( again, so sayeth the NEDC).
But no, it was those flashy rear winglets I thought a little too overwrought that appealed to the youngsters raised on Transformers and Gran Turismo.
Ditto for all that blue lighting that German engineers have chosen to denote “green” ( no, I don’t get it either!).
What must warm BMW’s cockles even more is that the i8’ s most enthusiastic proponents were the very millennials for whom cars in general — and their daddy’s BMW in particular — are supposed to be passé.
That I don’t get it should only serve as proof that it’s real. * To the Tim Hortons management no doubt in a huff at the thought of one of their stores being unmanned, please note that I exaggerate: two staff ers did indeed remain at their posts and there were only three customers in the store, all of whom had just finished ogling the sleek little Bimmer. dbooth@nationalpost.com Twitter. com/ MotorMouthNP