Who wouldn’t lust after a six-figure luxury car? You see a Tesla Model S waft past and get that pang of jealousy, imagining the palatial home with the manicured lawn where it parks. Or maybe that huge Mercedes-Benz S-Class slumbers beneath a swanky downtown penthouse.
It’s a contrarian choice in these SUV-happy times. Or, perhaps, a showy one. Peering back at you from behind tinted glass probably sits a cocky guy like Shooter McGavin from Happy Gilmore, nervously muttering to himself, “Damn you people-go back to your shanties!” Meanwhile, the air-conditioning system perfumes the cabin, and his cockles are warmed by a hot-stone seat massage function.
“Ugh,” you think, “what a tool.” You reassure yourself that surely the snooty one-percenter has their life of leisure interrupted every so often by a malfunctioning widget-a jammed power-operated trunklid, perhaps, or maybe the seat massager can’t muster the right pressure.
You know, tragic, day-ruining little snippets of adversity we all hope will befall the owners of complex luxury sedans, right up there with a market crash or tightened water-use restrictions for mansions. Well, guess who’s got two hands making finger pistols and is pretending to be one of those people behind the wheel of a 2023 Genesis G90 limousine over the next year? Yep, that’s us-our cockles are quite warm, thank you.