Give me a Rapide anyday!

Ah, electric vehicles (EVs). The future. The salvation of the planet. The silent revolution that’s supposed to whisk us into a utopia where cars hum along the streets and we’re all basking in smug satisfaction, safe in the knowledge that we’re saving the world one battery charge at a time. But there’s just one small problem: they all look absolutely horrendous.

Yes, the beloved skateboard chassis—the go-to setup for most EVs—has become the automotive equivalent of slapping a brick on wheels. Sure, it’s practical. Keeps the batteries low, aids stability, yada yada yada. But it also does something utterly unforgivable: it ruins the proportions of a car.

Take a sports car, for example. Once, you could glide your hands over the curvaceous lines of a vehicle that was low, sleek, and muscular. Now, thanks to our electric overlords, these cars are being stretched in all the wrong places. Exhibit A: the new Lotus Emeya. The Lotus badge once meant grace, precision, and a car that handled like a scalpel slicing through butter. But now? It’s essentially a squashed SUV. They’ve taken the Eletre—the electric SUV version—and tried to stuff it into something that should be sporty, but the end result is a bulbous mess. It’s got a wheelbase longer than a rugby pitch and sits taller than a giraffe in stilettos. Yes, Lotus has tried to disguise it, but it’s like putting lipstick on a hippo—it still looks wrong.

And don’t think it’s just Lotus. Oh no. The new Audi A6, once the epitome of understated elegance, now looks like it’s been run over by a steamroller. The svelte lines of its petrol-powered predecessor have been replaced by a slab-sided monstrosity. It’s wide, it’s heavy, and it’s about as aerodynamic as a council estate.

The biggest crime these EVs commit, though, is at the front end. Because the batteries need more room, and apparently everything now must be higher than before, the front ends of these cars have shot up. So, what do the designers do? They give us split headlights—those dreadful daytime running lights (DRLs) perched where proper headlights once were, and the actual headlights crammed into the bumper somewhere. It’s as though they’ve put the car’s eyes on its forehead, and everything else is just melting down its face.

Hyundai and Mercedes, in their infinite wisdom, have taken this a step further with what can only be described as slipstream designs that make their cars look like they’ve undergone botched plastic surgery. Like someone pulled all the bodywork back and stapled it behind the ears. It’s not sleek, it’s not modern—it’s a mess.

And don’t get me started on Porsche. The new Macan? It looks like someone opened up Photoshop, took a Porsche Cayman, and stretched it over a set of oversized wheels. It’s distorted, elongated, and utterly joyless to behold.

This, dear readers, is the world we now live in. Until battery technology shrinks—and let’s face it, at this rate, I’ll be long gone before that happens—we’re stuck with these grotesque, slab-sided creations. Surface changes for the sake of surface changes. Faceted panels because, apparently, no one can design a simple, beautiful line anymore.

It makes me nostalgic for the old days. Days when cars were designed by people who loved them, not by people trying to package batteries in a way that vaguely resembles a car. When you could look at an Aston Martin Rapide and see perfection in every curve. No awkward proportions, no oddball facelifts—just pure, unadulterated beauty. And let’s not forget the glorious soundtrack. That V12, roaring to life, sending shivers down your spine. The sound of power, of craftsmanship, of everything that made driving a visceral, thrilling experience.

But alas, here we are. Trundling towards the future in our silent, soulless, awkwardly proportioned battery boxes. I don’t know about you, but I miss the roar, the beauty, and the sheer presence of a car that was more than just an appliance.