The first generation Escalade always conjured up the image of a cubist Joan Crawford with chrome lips. In fact, it was nothing more than a melted-nosed Suburban sprayed black (ditto the Denali). The second generation didn't fare much better, dubiously distinguishing itself as some incongruent amalgam of curvy and chiseled forms, chrome-plated into a creature from Mary Shelley's deepest somnambulatory nightmare. And now, for the sports stars finding themselves bored between criminal investigations, fines and/or sentencing; pop music glitterati caught in the interim between final music-video edits; and the rest (whose leases are up), we present to you the 2007 Cadillac Escalade.

Much has been written about Cadillac adding aesthetic audacity with each successive Escalade. Oddly enough, that statement doesn't apply to the new model's front end. Flying in the face of all things big, brash and American– literally– the 'Sclade's design team have displayed a stupefying level of taste and restraint. The 'stacked' headlamps which work to such truck-like effect on Cadillac's passenger cars seems perfectly suited here on – gasp! – a truck. The Caddy's grille, though marginally larger in size, actually uses less brightwork than the previous model. Yo bro'! Where's the fun in that?

This time around, the brute looks like most of the other pieces actually fit, not as if they were tortured to fit. Most, but not all. Caddy's blingmeisters attempted to disguise the Escalade's side mirrors Chevy parts-bin origins by chroming their lower portion. It's a clever (if obvious) touch– that still doesn't justify attaching a form as smooth as a river-rock onto a shape possessing not so much as a single curve (excepting the wheels and Cadillac crest). Besides, is this kind of thinly-disguised cost-saving measure really necessary at this price point? There's no good answer to that question…

Nor is there any logical reason for the Escalade's off-road equipment. Any idea that this urban whip's headed for four-wheeling– beyond accidentally jumping a moderately high curb in the snow– is immediately dispelled by the fog lights' placement in the basement. A titular SUV, this. Forgeddaboutit. Recline the Escalade's power seats, open the windows, blast the seismic bass, and get in tune with this truck's singularity of purpose. It's nothing more than lacquered and chromed coquetry on wheels. Ladies take note.

From the side, Cadillac owes a debt of shame to Land Rover's Range Rover Sport. The superfluous front quarter-panel vents are, at best, homage; at worst, they're intellectual thievery. Meanwhile, if the Escalade's sheer mass doesn't get your immediate attention, then the wheels will– and not in an entirely positive way. In other words, the person who devises a way to make a 13.6' disc brake NOT look like tic-tacs in the mouth of 22' chrome-plated seven-spokers deserves a job over at Caddy– and a prime spot in pimp heaven.

From the 'Sclade's side and the rear, one gets an unflattering view up the big Caddy's skirt, as it begins to betray its lesser genetics. The bone-straight glass area throws the look of the whole some favors, though platform sharing militates compromise. This thing comes at you like a bull and leaves with a meow. Where's the bold design statement from the rear? Did the interns handle that end? Granted, it's a tough line to tow. Let's say the overall image has matured…

The Escalade finally merits a truly distinct interior. The cabin is a bespoke, well-arranged affair that blends a stout dash design (that Mercedes foolishly abandoned at the end of the last century) with a bit of Lexus' minimalist chic. The fake wood accents are convincingly handsome (Zebrano anyone?). But the design stumbles badly with its razzle-dazzle, flavor-of-the-week electric blue indicator needles. And the chancre of platform sharing rears its puss-filled head in a major gaffe: a manually-tilting, NON-telescoping wheel. Power liftgate and manual-tilt wheel? It's unforgivably antediluvian at the thick end of $60-large.

The 'Sclade's a steal at dollars per inch. So why is such a potentially voluminous interior put to such poor use? Why the intrusive padding, moldings and roof pillars? Noise, vibration and harshness be damned; Caddy buyers rightly expect a cavernous interior. (If it sounds like one, so be it.) Third row legroom is strictly nominal. In fact, Cadillac might want to consider ditching the rear chairs entirely and take the Range Rover high-road (metaphorically, of course): accepting that four people travel in style. Anyone else is just… luggage. If Louis Vuitton ain't stitched across your rear, you DON'T want to be in the rear.

All in all, the new Cadillac Escalade is, without a doubt, the most visually forceful, convincing and desirable product from Cadillac in decades– which either says a great deal about GM's ability to build a good springboard sport/ute platform, or Cadillac's wholehearted abandonment of what made it famous in the first place.

I've been wondering about the future of urban car culture for some time. How can its adherents sustain interest in an automotive genre based almost entirely on big wheels, retrofitted TV's, new upholstery and presidential window tint? Extreme examples are still eye magnets, but they're beginning to seem a bit… limited. Sure, car nuts of all stripes are capable of endlessly obsessing over the smallest details– body colored engine braces, taillight covers, tire treads, miniscule horsepower upgrades, etc. But there's only so much you can do to make a car look like a pimpmobile. In general, and in specific, it's been done.

There are unmistakable signs that the urban car culture is weakening. Scan the formerly blingtastic celebrity car mags and you'll find that a lot of famous faces are leaving their supercars well enough alone. Whether this restraint reflects the celebs' assimilation into America's conservative elite, or a simple case of depreciation appreciation, it deprives street car culture of some its most distinguished proponents. As a celebrity-fuelled movement– unlike ground-up car cults like the Japanese tuner scene– the gangsta look loses momentum every time a Foxy Brown poses next to a stock Lamborghini or Bentley.

You can also clock the flagging interest in bling mods on TV. Funkmaster Flex once earned his living by creating extravagant wheel, ICE and fabric alterations for celebrities' contemporary SUV's. These days, his crew applies much of their transformative powers to older American metal, lightening the color palate away from ghetto-fabulous black, delving into the mechanical minutia and leaving the Playstation in the playroom. Some of the finished machines wouldn't look out of place at a muscle car concours.

MTV's "Pimp My Ride" has also abandoned hard core gangsta chic. A recent edition transformed an old VW bus into a clean, contemporary-looking surfer's wet dream. Considering the number of blingless gizmo grafts– built-in pool tables, pop-up signs, toasters, etc. — the producers could justifiably change the show's name to "Sharper Image my Ride". Urban car culture simply couldn't offer a large enough palate for TV's insatiable maw.

Music videos also reflect the fact that the spinner culture has spun out. The big guns have moved on; Rapper 50 Cent's "Candy Shop" features a stock Saleen S7. Granted, the soft core promotion showed the half-dollar dude sleeping in a black-hole-black 645Ci with wafer thin tires and aftermarket wheels, but it wasn't his dream ride. In any case, music videos now showcase exotic whips that were born wild, rather than made that way.

DUB is the exception that proves the rule. The magazine still soldiers away, resolutely Old School, preaching the gospel of mesh grills, suede headliners and 22" wheels (double Dubs). And why not? Bling's the thing that makes their cash register ring. The company is busy reaping the financial rewards of bringing branded black automotive culture to the, dare I say it, white masses. Predictable as it is in every detail, the DUB Edition™ Dodge Charger RT will be a sure-fire hit amongst mainstreamers, who trust the "experts'" taste and prefer fully warranted, turnkey bling.

Of course, OEM success is a sure sign that bling is a dead trend stunting. What good is looking like a gangsta if the yuppie next to you looks like one too? Lest we forget, automakers from Chrysler (300C, Charger) to Mercedes (CLS500) to GM (HHR) are selling more and more cars with built-in bling. The wilder the design, the greater the degree of pre-existing product "individuality", the lesser the need for ANY modification, urban or otherwise. It would be hard to imagine a DUB edition Chevrolet SSR.

Like the rest of the blingmeisters, DUB ain't dumb. They know their days are numbered. Hence, there's a subtle shift in the company's emphasis. The DUB edition Chrysler 300C package includes a sports exhaust and a power-boosting chromed air intake. Like the rest of the urban car culture, the magazine is searching for a way to take the bling ethos in a new direction.

Mind you, it's highly unlikely that performance is the new black. Despite the urban car culture's predilection for Ferraris, Lamborghinis, AMG Mercs and other high velocity metal, driving the cars fast is entirely beside the point. It's all about slow-speed status projection, or, to use the old-fashioned term, cruising. Which leaves the scene with… what? BIGGER wheels? MORE mini-TV's? Diamond-encrusted steering wheels? Sterling silver speedometers?

Well, yes. In the long run, urban car culture will either gradually disappear into the wider car scene, as the mainstream audience loses interest, or mutate into something new and extravagant. My money is on the latter. Now that minority buyers have found an automotive design language of their own, it's only a matter of time before they re-invent and re-invigorate it. The sheer bravado of bling, its irresistible energy, can not, WILL not be denied.

When Jaguar unveiled its "Advanced Lightweight Coupe" (ALC) at the Detroit Auto Show, the stakes couldn't have been higher. The concept car had to mollify exasperated Ford bean counters, already thinking the unthinkable. It had to burnish the brand's fading reputation for jaw-dropping design and innovative engineering. So, at the precise moment when Jaguar needed a major hit to rescue the brand from oblivion, the company reveals… a copy of an Aston Martin.

Anyone who can't see the resemblance between the Jaguar ALC and the 2003 Aston Martin AMV8 concept vehicle and/or the Aston Martin DB7 Vantage, anyone who couldn't guess that the same man designed all three cars, is either blind or… no, that's it. They're blind. Compare the rear haunches, rectangular rear windows and curvy side glass. Note the identical front and rear overhangs. The Jag's shape, stance and detailing are so obviously Aston that the only thing stopping Aston from suing Jaguar is the fact that Ford owns both companies.

Granted, the number of Americans who'd recognize an Aston Martin is smaller than the number of Aston owners who slap on Aqua Velva. Despite the British marque's recent production ramp-up, Astons are still as rare as those hot dog shaped vehicles Oscar Mayer used to run. And let's face it: many stunning cars "borrow" heavily from previous designs. (Jaguar's XK120 and BMW's 1940 328 are automotive doppelgangers.) So it's possible that the ALC's derivative design would find a receptive audience despite its provenance. Ah, but what KIND of audience?

Elderly. Don't be fooled by all the talk about the ALC's aluminum construction and the plan to stuff higher-powered versions of Jag's feisty V8's under the hood. The prototype's size virtually guarantees that Jag's new two-seater will be another triple-XK: a pricey GT rather than a credible 911-fighter. As such, the ALC will appeal to the XK's current audience: high-maintenance women of a certain age and warm climate males more interested in their car's impact at the country club valet stand than its ability to make short work of an open road.

In case you missed the point, the XK drop-top outsells the coupe in the US by more than two to one. Of course, at this point, Jaguar would be forgiven for taking any customers it can get. The X-type fizzled, the S-Type bombed, the XJ is barely holding the fort and the current XK has been around since, gulp, 1996. Still, by devising an XK replacement that's aimed straight at the [weak] heart of an ageing market, Jag could eventually do an Oldsmobile, and die with its core supporters.

It's sad. Jaguar keeps chasing Mercedes SL's and Lexus sedans with wood, leather and snob appeal. If Jag's management truly understood the marque's heritage, they'd know that Jaguar should be building simple, striking motor cars that can best the AMG, M, S and V's of the world. They'd also direct Callum and Co. to ash-can the whole black-tie luxury limo look in favor of something elegant that looks fast standing still. Think Ford GT, with class.

Meanwhile, Jaguar needs a car on the opposite end of the scale to generate cash and attract a younger clientele. (The mini-me XJ clone, the X-Type, was so not it it's funny.) The ideal solution would be a small, fast sports car with terrific handling, superb ride quality and looks that scream "Faster Pussycat; Kill, Kill, Kill!" If a Jaguar roadster hit the $35 – $40K sweet spot, it would fly off the forecourt fast enough to whisk the salesmen's' toupees right off their heads.

That car was the Jaguar F-Type. The brand saver was deep-sixed because someone at Jaguar figured The Blue Oval's cash would be better spent developing diesel versions of Jaguar sedans for DERV-crazy Europeans. Huh? Modern diesel engines may match or exceed the performance capabilities of their gasoline counterparts, but they literally stink of penny-pinching practicality. If the market calls for a frugal Jag, well, the market's wrong. Take away the Jaguar's animal roar and you're left with a Mercedes. (At best.) A Jag that doesn't deliver pure, unadulterated driving pleasure is about as alluring as a Hummer that can't go off-road.

And that's why Jaguar is in such deep shit. They keep putting grace over pace and getting their ass kicked all over the place. Sure, I might be wrong. Despite its unmistakable Astonness, the ALC might turn out to be a proper Jag. It might have delicious steering feel, fantastic handling poise, huge horsepower, monumental torque and a world-beating interior. If so, the cat will have lost one of its lives, but survived. If not, it's time to euthanize the old tabby.

Enthusiasts born since 1975 may not believe it, but General Motors was once the world's automotive style leader. Under designer Harley Earl's direction, the General's products attained an unparalleled level of artistic achievement. Cars like the LaSalle, '55 Chevrolet and the early Corvettes embodied Earl's genius, and made the competitor's products look dated, clumsy and awkward.

When Earl retired from GM in 1958, his spirit lived on for at least two more decades. You can see his influence in the 60's Pontiacs and 70's Corvettes. And then, well, considering the styling of GM's vehicles in the last couple of decades, old Harley eventually began to spin in his grave. How such a style-led company could release a vehicle as ugly as the Pontiac Aztek or the 2000 Impala is anybody's guess. But, maybe, just maybe, the great man's spirit is back in GM's design studio. Consider the Buick LaCrosse…

The LaCrosse is a striking yet subtle design. Its surface development is nothing less than superb; the transitions from one plane to another are wonderfully harmonious. The creases in the LaCrosse's rear quarters add enough visual tension to keep the large surfaces from appearing merely bulbous, and they add length to what is actually a fairly short car for a mid-sized sedan.

Notice that the LaCrosse's rear door cut-line stops short of the wheel opening. This detail ensures that panel misalignment– a virtual certainty when building a mass-produced car– doesn't cut into the line of the wheel opening, creating an awkward disruption in the curve.

The LaCrosse's basic proportions are also perfectly judged. The A-pillars are aimed, in side view, right at the front wheel centers. If the A-pillars are too far forward (e.g. Chrysler LHS), the car looks like it's tripping over its wheels. If they're too far back (older Mercedes E-class), the car looks too formal to be a modern car. This detail seems to have eluded many designers, perhaps because of the need to be trendy and different, rather than inherently pleasing.

The C-pillar relationship to the rear wheels is equally important. Again, the LaCrosse gets it just right. The C-pillar's visual center and the rear of the roof are supported by the center of the rear wheel. This positioning gives the roof the visual support it needs to look strong. Too far back (Ford 500 and lots of other cars), and it looks like the designers skimped on the wheelbase. Too far forward, and the car looks stretched.

The mass of the roof plays off perfectly against the mass of the rest of the body. If the side glass is too short, a car looks like an armored pillbox (Chrysler 300). Too tall, and the car looks small and weak (early BMW 2002). A car needs a certain amount of body mass to look healthy, and the Buick achieves the perfect balance.

If a car's wheel openings are centered above the center of the wheels, the car looks like it is about to go off-roading, like the Ford 500 and F150. If the car sits too low on the wheels, it looks like an amateur custom job, like the majority of SEMA's tuner cars. The LaCrosse's wheels are ideally positioned: centered in the wheel openings. And the LaCrosse's tires are the correct diameter to fill the openings; no wimpy, under-tired econobox here.

Back when Harley Earl was boss, GM cars had no exposed fasteners, no visible joints between body panels, no raw edges of sheet metal. Even the gas caps were hidden on most models, lurking behind trick taillights or license plates. Today's government rules prevent the gas cap from disappearing, but in every other way, the LaCrosse lives up to the standards Harley Earl set forth those many decades ago. There isn't an awkward detail in the entire body. Of course, if Harley Earl was really in charge, the LaCrosse would have had three portholes in each front fender, and the Park Avenue would have four. Maybe next year…

While the LaCrosse's overall design still looks like a Buick, there are many elements, especially in the greenhouse, that are vaguely evocative of a refined and updated Taurus. Looking at the Buick, it's easy to imagine what the Ford 500 should have been– rather than the amateur Audi copy it became.

The LaCrosse's TV ads reflect the car's sense of refinement and understatement. No crazy driving on isolated, curving roads (closed course, professional driver, don't sue us if you try it and it goes badly), no tearing through the wilderness or splashing through mud puddles. No, the Buick LaCrosse is simply shown along with a beautiful, mature woman in a variety of subtly suggestive poses. Yes, Harley Earl is back at the Buick studio, and not a moment too soon.

Here's an idea: revive the fabled "Mark" model designation, slap the badge on a Ford pickup truck, whack on a Lincoln grill, and call it good. Yes, that's right: the new Lincoln Mark LT is a pickup truck. It's also tangible proof that Lincoln-Mercury's marketing department has completely lost their way. Admittedly, it's been seven years since the Mark VIII rolled out of the company's Wixom plant– a lifetime in the halls of the glass house. But there's no getting around the fact that the new Lincoln Mark LT luxury pickup truck is the wrong name for the wrong vehicle for the wrong company.

It's also a bizarre development. After all, Lincoln already has a perfectly good model suitable for Marking-up: the Navigator. The Ford Expedition-based luxury SUV has been one of Lincoln's few real bright spots in the last five years. It's got street cred, a loyal customer base and time-tested mechanicals. An open-bed Navigator with upmarket exterior and interior trim would have offered Lincoln buyers a logical jump from the donor model; much like the Cadillac Escalade leads into the Escalade EXT. Common sense, marketing and sales would have been equally well served.

But not history. Even a Navigator pickup would represent a major diminution of the Mark nameplate. For over half a century, many different cars in the Ford family have worn the Mark moniker. With a few notable exceptions, they were all relatively small two-door coupes or convertibles. They all had large, powerful engines and lavish appointments. From the very beginning, these popular and cherished Marks were designed to appeal to connoisseurs of the "personal luxury car"– not NASCAR dads.

All of the early Marks were style leaders; the first two are part of The Museum of Modern Art's prestigious permanent collection. Later Marks showcased the very best technology Ford could muster, from air suspension to DOHC, 32-valve V-8s. In fact, the Mark has been the one Ford car that has remained true to Edsel Ford's original vision of a distinct and distinguished model line based on elevated quality, style and performance.

To keep the faith with its fabled Mark-badged ancestors, to add major value to the current Lincoln model range, the new Mark model should have been a coupe or convertible aimed directly at the Cadillac XLR, Lexus SC430 and Mercedes SL. The Mark X concept, based on the Thunderbird platform, showed that an elegant coupe could be created on the existing T-Bird's underpinnings– just as Lincoln had done in the past.

Ford's had several other platforms in its corporate cupboard that would have been ideal for Mark product designers. The LS-based platform developed for the Mustang, for example, is capable of taking the largest Ford passenger car engines and boasts the technical sophistication needed for a "proper" Mark (e.g. an independent rear suspension). Although this design was eventually dropped in favor of a cheaper alternative, the lion's share of the development was done and dusted.

Lincoln's new Mark also could have been based on a shorter Lincoln Town Car– a platform that proved suitable for the Mark IX concept. If Lincoln had updated this platform, the brand could have produced a new, smaller Lincoln AND a new Mark. Or, if Ford had the moxie, they could have built a new Mark based on the high-tech Ford GT platform. Although expensive, a re-skinned and reengineered 500hp Mark would have blown the competition into the weeds!

Alas, Ford lacked both the will and the courage to create something unique and daring that could live up to the renowned Mark name.

No surprise there. Since 1990, The Blue Oval Boys have reduced the Lincoln brand to nothing more than an exercise in badge engineering, with little to offer customers aside from leather upholstery, wood accents, a powerful stereo and a new grill. Predictably, sales have suffered. And now, this… A pickup truck that dares call itself a Mark.

In the last five years, Lincoln has lost over half of its market share. Had it not been for the Navigator, the decline would have been even more dramatic. This grasp at an old name, with no sense of its history or true meaning, demonstrates that Lincoln and Ford's marketing departments lack the creativity and determination needed to reverse Lincoln's slide.

When all is said and done, the new Mark LT pickup truck is nothing more than a nicely appointed Ford F150. Mark owners who understand the nameplate's significance don't want a pickup truck, and F150 owners don't need a Lincoln (especially when lavish versions of the F150 like the King Ranch edition are widely available). The new Mark LT cheapens a name that once stood for automobiles that were special, enduring and desirable. It will be no more successful than Lincoln's last attempt at an upmarket pickup: the short-lived Blackwood.

In 1986, pop rockers Huey Lewis and the News grabbed America by its blue collar and unironically proclaimed that it was "Hip to Be Square"– a rather peculiar assertion given that rock and roll music has historically stoked the fires of nonconformity. Almost in spite of itself, this ode to the joys of orthodoxy became a smash hit. And though it's taken the better part of twenty years to come to the fore, automotive design now finds itself deeply enthralled with Mr. Lewis' orthogonal ideology.

From the Subaru Forester to Hummer's entire catalog (sides H1 – H3), car designers are breaking out their t-squares with messianic zeal. General Motors has (re)built their entire Cadillac luxury division around a surface language of aggressive angles. At the shallow end of the automotive gene pool, Scion's refrigerator-shaped xBox, Honda's Element and Nissan's [pending] Cube all show that today's cutting edge designers are thinking inside the box. At the deep end, Rolls Royce's startling Phantom shows the plebs how it's done.

Volvo stylists must be falling on their collective styling knives. Just as Gothenburg's gurus finally figured out how to take their cars out of the boxes they came in, the market has gone behind their backs and snuck them back in. What's more, the retreat back to Square One has not been confined to entire vehicle designs. Witness BMW's effort to incorporate higher and squarer trunk lids into its Seven and Five Series sedans. Ford's once-cheeky Focus has ditched its pubescent New Edge surfacing inside-and-out for the anonymous angularity of the po-faced Five Hundred. The dashboard of Ford's budget banger, once an intriguing jumble of arcs and intersecting lines, now presents a lamentable cliff of plastic.

In fact, industry scuttlebutt has Ford's still-warm Five Hundred undergoing an emergency rectilinear facelift, incorporating a three-bar grille (doubtlessly inspired by design chief J Mays' Norelco). First seen in 2003's blocky 427 Concept, the revision can be seen as a response to the success of DCX's gritty-yet-glam, bluff-faced 300. The big Chrysler's design has been celebrated, while the Ford's detractors have cried out for less J Mays and more Jay-Z.

This unmistakable cubist trend constitutes a wholesale rejection of The Cult of the Wind Tunnel (a.k.a. the science of aerodynamics). In the mid-80's, aerodynamically-enthralled designers created an entire Melted-Bar-of-Soap School of Coachwork. Consider the Ford Taurus, Chevrolet Corsica, Honda Accord and Toyota Camry. Now try to identify the major differences between their major surfaces. There aren't any. In fact, the automakers' lockstep allegiance to the God of Aerodynamics created forecourt after forecourt of look-alike vehicles. Hence the square hipness backlash.

The return to rectilinear styling is also a predictable outgrowth of the seemingly unstoppable popularity of SUV's and pickup trucks. The hidden message incorporated in virtually every SUV and pickup's design is "square = safe." Their emotional appeal is equally compelling; such square-jawed behemoths weld the adjectives "boxy" and "masculine" together in the consumer's consciousness. These equations have made quadrangular styling inherently desirable, leading to its surprise second life in the marketplace. Trucks that dallied even slightly with the previously fashionable suppository look have quickly ditched their curves for manly right angles. Nissan's entire lineup has been given the ninety-degree once over, from Frontier to Armada. Ford's latest F-150 has pushed out the corners of its softer forbearer.

Sadly, beyond increased interior volumes, the popularity of Pablo Picasso/Georges Braque-style forms has little recommend it. Not only do aerodynamics suffer (taking MPG and NVH along for the ride), but the often tall shapes that result conspire to produce a higher center of gravity, bane of enthusiasts everywhere. What's more, unless one has a gourd like a bobblehead doll or a bizarre penchant for transporting plasma screen televisions, most of the excess headroom amounts to little more than wasted space.

There's a stylistic pitfall here, too: the danger of confusing butch with beautiful, gravitas with grace. Both the aforementioned 7-Series Bimmer and Rolls Royce Phantom have fallen into this trap, the latter more egregiously. While the High Roller undoubtedly has presence, it's aura born as a function of scale, not stylistic verve. Interestingly, Jaguar learned this lesson ages ago. Remember the late-80's XJ? Exactly.

It's hard to predict how long this square design movement will flourish. While the buying public's detachment from standardized design is both well-placed and understandable, don't expect a lot of volume offerings to go boxing. An xB here or there still manages to make something of a statement, but too much of a good thing is too much, period. The success of organically-shaped whips like Infiniti's voluptuous G35 Coupe and FX softroaders indicate that boxy isn't necessarily the new black.

In any case, today's niche-laden automotive landscape won't tolerate homogeneity in any form for too long. In other words, Huey Lewis was wrong. Thank God.

The automotive world has gone mad. Horsepower mad. Fifteen years ago, a car with 200 horsepower was knocking on supercar territory. These days, no Japanese tuned compact would dare show its face at a street meet without 200hp under the hood. Ford's new Mustang GT is propelled by a 300hp V8. Pontiac's latest GTO makes 400hp. Dodge's Viper boasts 500hp. It's all very impressive– until you get in to one of these cars and drive.

Like straight lines? Then big horsepower cars are your dream come true. With traction control and grippy tires, just plant your right foot and hold on. When I was young, a car that could hit 60 miles per hour in under eight seconds was lightning quick. Nowadays, a car that can't hit 60 from zero in eight seconds is considered ridiculously slow, and five second times are common.

For what I call a proper driver, straight line acceleration is only a means to an end; it's something you do between corners. Cornering quickly requires skill, bravery, experience and an intimate relationship with your car. It depends on an ever-changing set of variables. It is, in short, the most fun you can have in a car. So what's holding these hugely horsed cars back?

Weight. I know safety requires more steel, and marketing loves all the do-dads, but do "sports cars" really need to weigh over two tons? Consider the much admired Mercedes SL55 AMG. The two-seater has 493hp and 415ft.-lbs. of torque. It also weighs a whopping 4,235 pounds. That's only a couple of hundred pounds less than a BMW X5. Yes, the SL55 AMG will go like stink down the straights. But simple physics says it's not going to be nimble through the turns– no matter how much electronic trickery Mercedes throws at the problem of mass vs. lateral acceleration.

For me, the ideal car is not big and powerful. It's light and nimble. Mazda gets it right. Fifteen years after its launch, their 2500 pound Miata still delights, with 'only' 142hp under the hood. But if you want to sample the perfect driver's car, one that combines gorgeous looks with exquisite balance and more than merely adequate power, travel back some 30 years and consider the Ferrari Dino 246GT.

The Dino has a 2.4-liter six, 195 horsepower and 165ft.-lbs. of torque. It weighs 2800 lbs. dripping wet. In 1972, the Dino cost about $14,000; a tidy sum, but not a pocketbook killer ($60,000 in today's money). Enzo Ferrari produced the car to launch an ill-fated Ferrari sub-brand (technically, it's a Dino, not a Ferrari) and compete with Porsche's lower-priced product. Never a big race track performer, the Dino still out-handled and out-looked the street Porsches of the time. Only in straight line acceleration did the 911 have a small advantage.

Today, the Dino still drives like a dream, handles like a go-cart, and has enough acceleration to make it an amusing car. Zero to 60 in seven seconds may not seem like much, but in a car that will out handle many modern era performance cars, it's plenty quick. More importantly, the Dino is far more fun to drive around corners than just about any modern 300hp-plus 'supercar'. It simply doesn't need any more horsepower.

A recent weekend drive on some very twisty country roads proved that the Dino can keep up with its modern Ferrari compatriots: a Ferrari 550, 360 and 328. While they all could leave the Dino in the dust on the straights, I more that kept pace with them through the curves. Again, modern horsepower can't overcome physics. Heavy cars are more work to push through turns, and no amount of horsepower is going to completely overcome the forces of nature. Oh, and all of this on very un-sports car-like 205/70-14 tires. Try that on your $100,000 exotic.

Compared to my '04 BMW M3 with SMG II, the Dino shows it age. But it also shows its skills. The Ferrari is more enjoyable at the limit than the BMW. And its limits are lower, making them more attainable. What good is rocket-like 0-100 acceleration in most street applications? It's more pleasurable to push a car hard through the turns and know exactly what it's going to do than to drag race down Interstate 95, waiting for the Pennsylvania State Police to write you a big bucks ticket.

Enzo Ferrari got it right with the Dino. Take a small, lightweight car; put it close to the ground (a mere 5'), and then give it a reasonably vigorous engine and a well-balanced, user-friendly chassis. If today's manufacturers want to create more successful sports cars like the Miata, they have to forget their power-crazed ways and go back to the future. They need to drive a Dino.

At the end of my local car wash, the Peruvian supervisor offers customers a choice of air fresheners. The battered spray bottles are hand-labeled: watermelon, cherry, vanilla, pine, apple, strawberry, lemon, pina colada and new car smell. Needless to say, the scents are about as authentic as a velveteen Last Supper. The idea that someone would actually choose to submit their nostrils to such an egregious olfactory attack is a source of constant wonder. But hey, Ford still sells Thunderbirds, so I guess there's no accounting for taste.

Maybe people first turn to these synthetic fragrances because their new cars smell so nasty. I recently drove a box-fresh Ford Five Hundred. Even before I turned the key, every nerve, cell and fiber of my body told me that I was sitting in a fantastically cheap car. It smelled awful, like a $20-a-night motel room sanitized with porno strength ammonia. The so-called "top note" was pure adhesive, pungent enough to get an underage passenger arrested for glue sniffing. The "bottom note" was, well, there wasn't any. And this was the top-spec, leather-lined SEL version.

The newly-minted Pontiac G6 that arrived on my driveway was worse. The cabin emitted a nostril-curling sour glue odor that made my hand reach for the electric window button faster than if I'd thrown a dead skunk in the back seat. When my step-daughter added that distinctive odor known as a McDonald's happy meal, my nose wasn't. If someone had smoked a cigarette in the car, I would have been forced to Google "nosegay".

Of course, both cars will mellow with the miles; the out-gassing of the offending volatile organic compounds (VOC's) will dissipate as the construction materials settle into adolescence. Eventually, the Ford and the Pontiac will reveal their owners' habits, rather than their manufacturer's suppliers.

That still leaves a lingering mystery: why do car companies ignore this critical characteristic of their automotive products? They spend billions appeasing the gods of NVH (Noise Vibration and Harshness) and not a nickel to try and make their cars' interiors smell at least as appealing as a sheet of Bounce fabric softener.

The feel-good factor created by upmarket smells simply can't be underestimated. The Continental GT is a fine car, but the German machine would not wear the Bentley crest so easily if it weren't for the deep, rich leather smell leaching out of every nook and cranny of its cow-covered interior. The odor is a direct shot to the brain, constantly whispering "money, money, money". The GT could have Passat internals and still literally reek of class.

As companies like Ford and Buick try to take their products upmarket, or try to find a brand-specific competitive advantage, they would do well to address the smells coming from their malodorous machines. Adding or prolonging that "new car smell" is not enough; most people can tell the difference between slatherings of cheap adhesive and the judicious use of more premium materials. Fitting a leather interior is also insufficient; properly fragrant leather is an expensive business and most post-manufacturer treatments are dire. No, what's needed here requires considerably more commitment…

Every car brand should have its own olfactory signature: a carefully-crafted defining smell. What is now a random, unintentional by-product of a car's manufacturing process should be brought under rigorous scientific control. It should be subjected to safety-testing, focus-grouping and executive approval at the highest level. In fact, a car's smell should be regarded as the next great marketing opportunity. It should be considered a fundamental selling point for products, print ads and dealerships.

Meanwhile, carmakers are busy removing smell from their cars. While there is no government standard for automotive air quality, the industry is sensitive to their adhesives' effect on workers and customers. (Besides, if you have too many VOC's floating around, the windows fog up.) Carmakers have turned to less toxic, less odiferous glues to hold their products together. The end result: car companies are producing more and more new cars that don't smell like new cars– or anything else for that matter.

Which brings us full circle. Drivers with neutral smelling vehicles feel the need to add scent to their cabins with chemical fragrances. None of these scents are labeled; as "household products" they're not required to list their ingredients. Nor are the "air fresheners" regulated for safety. And they sure don't smell good to a, dare I say it, educated sniffer.

All this could be avoided by the addition of a perfumer to the manufacturing staff. The official "nose" could work with suppliers to add or eliminate smells, or, failing that, infuse the finished cabin with a safe, long-lasting fragrance. Either way, his or her olfactory expertise would help entice new customers and build brand loyalty– as anyone with a nose for business will tell you.

I've got nothing against hairdressers. Anyone who can ask "Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?" twenty times a day and pretend to care is endowed with more social skills than I'll ever possess. I use the word "endowed" advisedly; some people assume that male hairdressers are homosexual. Ridiculous. You can no more claim that the majority of male hairdressers are gay than you can say there is such a thing as a "hairdresser's car." Actually, you can, and there is. On the car side, the Rover MGF, BMW Z3, Mazda MX-5, Mercedes SLK, Suzuki Cappuccino, Toyota MR2, Ford StreetKa and the Peugeot 206CC are all perfect examples.

To qualify as a Hairdresser's Car (HDC), a vehicle must satisfy strict criteria. First, it's got to be a convertible. It's no good spending hours on your trademark tresses to hide them under a hardtop. The number of days you can drive top down without baking, freezing or soaking may barely top double digits, but the scissor-wielding set are happy to suffer for their art.

Second, it's got to be small. The hairdresser's high street habitat mandates a machine that can fit in a parking space no larger than a Queen size bed. If you can imagine a giant putting his hand over the car and going "Vroom, vroom!" it qualifies.

Third, an HDC must look like "the rough one" from a boy band: butch, in a feminine kind of way. The only red line drivers of these asthmatic automobiles explore comes in a lipstick tube. But they love the whole boy racer thing. (As my hairdresser pointed out, the difference between macho posturing– bonnet bulges, rear wings, sports seats– and camp theatrics is smaller than Max Power readers might like to admit.)

Fourth, an HDC must be relatively cheap. Like most glamorous jobs, hairdressing pays peanuts. While a BMW Z8 satisfies all the basic HDC criteria, its stratospheric price tag makes it about as realistic a proposition for hairdressers as a career in professional wrestling.

Lastly, an HDC must be crap. A typical HDC has a weak-willed engine and a chassis that's less entertaining as Newsnight. The Z3, for example, is the worst car BMW has made since it started producing machines with more than three wheels. It throws a hissy fit the minute you throw it into a corner– which is nigh on impossible given the horseless stable under the base model's bonnet.

Sure, the basic MGF and SLK are safe and predictable handlers. They're also about as fun to pilot as a riverboat. While the MX5 has a fantastic chassis, its engine lacks grunt. As for the mini-drop-top from Peugeot, let's just say that on a rating of one to five stars, the 206CC doesn't even reach low Earth orbit. If your hairdresser's unsteady hand spills latte first thing in the morning, it's not a hangover. It's scuttle shake.

Yes, it's easy to laugh at these incompetent HDC's. And yet…

Something strange has happened: manufacturers have turned their HDC's into real sports cars. Once the Elise proved that small can be credible, carmakers told their boffins to break out the steroids. The AMG SLK screams (well, whines loudly) from zero to sixty in, gulp, 4.9 seconds. Beemer's M Roadster does the dash in 5.1 seconds— although it still storms off in a huff if you corner too quickly. How long before Suzuki turn the Cappuccino into a Double Espresso? How long before your hairdresser eyes your Honda Accord Type R and says, "Oh that thing? My new Beetle's got a 3.2 litre 225 bhp V6 and a flower vase."

A perfectly good (bad?) genre of automobiles is disappearing faster than Jennifer Aniston's fringe. What's more, enthusiasts are being lured into deeply unmanly machines and… enjoying it! I spent a week with a Boxster, a car continually criticised for being a sheep in a Marks and Spencer's three-piece suit. Now that Porsche's mid-engined baby has a bit more power to play with, slinging the former HDC through the twisties is more fun than dressing up as Jessie from Toy Story. Did I just say that? I meant to say it's more fun than blasting a Carrera 4 through a chicane at Brand's Hatch.

In fact, it's time the legions of hopelessly heterosexual pistonheads acknowledged their debt to the HDC. The re-birth of the roadster genre, the realisation that small, driver-focused cars can sell in significant numbers, is down to the fact that Toni and Guy's guys care more about posing than, well, anything.

So if you feel a sudden urge to buy one of these up rated toy cars, don't be afraid to get in touch with your feminine side. You'll own a superb sports car, and have something interesting to talk about when you get your hair cut.

Jaguar has finally unveiled its revamped flagship. After spending the gross national product of Paraguay to develop a suitable Benz-basher, the new Jaguar XJ looks exactly like… the old Jaguar XJ. Wow! Who would have expected stately Jaguar to push the boundaries of the "retro" design trend to its logical limits? I mean, you can't get more "retro" than total stasis.

Of course, there's at least one important change: adults can occupy the rear seats without risking deep vein thrombosis. Otherwise, the large and small headlights have swapped positions, the bumpers have chrome strips, it's a bit bigger, taller and rounder than the old car and… that's about it. As current XJ buyers tend to view change as only slightly more desirable than HIV infection, the new/old car's reactionary non-design is bound to delight its core clientele. As long the big cat stays off J D Power's shit list, they should sell 'em by the boatload.

Still, you have to wonder why Jaguar didn't go for a less, er, boring design. Let's face it: XJ buyers were old when the car was new. By now, most of them are probably dead. And many of the ones who aren't pushing up the daisies switched to Lexus years ago (which is a kind of living death). Given Lara Croft's popularity, I reckon that well-heeled members of the Playstation generation would have been receptive to a re-designed XJ. The Type-R concept, a cool Britannia car if there ever was one, pointed the way forward. Jaguar never left camp.

So who killed the possibility of genuine design innovation for the big cat? The BMW 7-Series is the prime suspect.

When BMW introduced its re-skinned range topper, it was an instant flop. With a few keystrokes on the old CAD/CAM computer, designer Chris Bangle and The Boys from Bavaria surrendered their company's position in the luxobarge pantheon. Personally, I think the 7 looks purposeful and elegant– aside from the car's ungainly butt. But I couldn't help noticing the ten-foot pole marks on the doors of a local dealer's demonstrator. Anyway, Jaguar must have clocked the new 7's reception and thought, "If it ain't broke, don't Bangle it."

The decision to leave the XJ as is may also spring from corporate politics. When designer Geoff Lawson bought the farm, Jaguar promoted Ian Callum to the top spot. In some ways, Lawson was a tough act to follow; he created the stunning XK. In other ways, he wasn't; Lawson also penned the ungainly, vagina-nosed Jaguar S-Type and the witless, Mini-Me X-Type.

By the time Callum replaced Lawson, the new/old XJ design was well on its way to production. Denied a clean sheet of paper, Mr. Callum probably figured leaving Lawson's legacy alone was the best way to protect what any Ford employee values above all: his job. According to Autocar, Callum "doesn't claim authorship of the car". Which is a fancy way of saying, "If it bombs, don't blame me."

It won't. But neither will the new/old XJ do much to maintain Jaguar's explosive growth. Which has stopped exploding. The man in charge, Bob Dover, blames sagging growth rates on re-invigorated German competition (a.k.a. "We're a victim of our own success") and a pressing need for Jag diesels. Wrong. There is a direct relation between Jaguar's stagnating sales figures and the fact that two out of four of their models are so ugly they'd make a train take a dirt road.

These days, the differences between cars of a similar class are so small even car magazines are hard-pressed to state a clear preference. Everybody's got everything: air bags, four-zone climate control, sat-nav, ABS, traction control, air suspension, ventilated seats, extended warranties, your choice of engines, the lot. Luxury car buyers would be equally at home in a VW, Mercedes, BMW, Audi, Jaguar, Lexus or Cadillac. The big difference is style.

When Ford bought Jaguar, they didn't buy the company for it's engineering prowess, labour relations or production capacity. They bought an image. A design heritage. The S-Type pissed on it. The X-Type plundered it. The new XJ, beautiful as it is, does nothing for it. Modern Jag products offer world-class engineering, but sales will, inevitably, reflect customers' preference for cars that delight the eye.

There is but one way for Jaguar to dig itself out of the enormous hole they've dug for themselves. They must give Ian Callum his head. Let him redesign the entire range. And why not? This is the same man who created one of the most beautiful cars of this or any other era: the svelte, marque saving, Aston Martin DB7. Callum's genius will either restore Jaguar's tarnishing lustre with desperately desirable products, or make Bangle's bungle seem like a silly faux pas. Either way, unlike the "new" XJ, the result will not be dull.

It's called "the halo effect". A range-topping super model allegedly inspires punters to buy the low-end variant. I can't afford an M3, but I can buy a Compact, which shares the same engineering bloodline. I might not be able to get to sixty under six seconds, or lap the Nuremburgring in less than an hour, but hey, it's still a BMW!

God knows how you measure the halo effect's precise impact on "brand image", "market positioning" or any of the other vague concepts that keep people in suits employed. Common sense says there's something to it. If you're a parent looking at a new school, your attention is immediately drawn to the cheerful, bright-eyed student, and away from the listless dullard endlessly exploring the entertainment possibilities of a rubber band. As an automotive journalist, I welcome any trend that justifies (not to mention subsidises) my own obsession. I'm delighted that manufacturers are cranking out expensive, powerful and exclusive models. After all, I can drive them without having to pay for the privilege. Still, for certain manufacturers, the halo effect has clearly gone to their head.

Case in point: Volkswagen. Their very name defines the company as chariot makers to the plebs. Given the marque's bread and butter brand image, Vee Dub's £100k mid-engined supercar is destined to be a lost leader, rather than a loss leader. Can you imagine a Polo buyer being impressed by a car that can crest 200 miles per hour without being able to carry a single bag of shopping? Volksie's upcoming D1is another violation of everything the company stands for. The existence of a £60k sedan on the showroom floor is guaranteed to piss off their "What Car?" clientele. Besides, anyone with even a subliminal appreciation for the German car industry knows that Mercedes makes cars for dictators!

Unfortunately, Mercedes is busy Mclarening the SLR. While I'm a great believer that too much performance isn't enough, the idea that a traditional Mercedes owner needs more show and go than an AMG SL500 is ludicrous. Granted, the £250k SLR is aimed at a market well above customers who enjoy nodding their head at road users discerning enough to purchase the exact same car. But Mercedes is taking a real gamble with their wealthy customer's less than robust egos. The fact that there are poor people larking around in SMART pedal cars is galling enough for members of the S-Class. The existence of a model above their mortgage money Merc will do nothing to bolster the sense of smug satisfaction they currently enjoy.

Mercedes is so big you can just about forgive their stupidity. Porsche has no such excuse. Although the industry's most profitable (per car) company claims there's a business case for building their £250k Carrera GT, and has the deposits to prove it, Jaguar made the exact same noises before the crash that transformed their gorgeous XJ220 into an automotive paperweight. Even if Stuttgart's bean counters are not kneecapped by the upcoming supercar glut, the GT is yet another uber-model bound to upset owners of the current range topper. Like the Cayenne, the GT makes a mockery of the marque's formerly tight focus on doing very little very well. The aesthetically unsuccessful attempt to graft the Porsche family nose onto both machines drives the point home– and, in the fullness of time, residuals down.

Jaguar is one of the few prestige manufacturers that seems to have resisted the temptation to build something monumentally unaffordable. And yet, if you look a little more closely, the story is depressingly familiar. What is Jaguar's F1 car but the world's fastest haloeffectmobile? Unless your name is Ferrari and you build thoroughly impractical sports cars, the link between racing and showroom success is a myth as ridiculous as the one that says a full-size adult can sit comfortable in the back of a modern Jag. Not to put too fine a point on it, even if Jaguar annexed the winner's podium, their F1 fortunes will never sway a Lexus, Mercedes or BMW owner into a Brown's Lane barge. If Jag want to sell sporty, they should build the F-Type and call it good.

Again, I'm not against the halo effect per se. Every company should have at least one model that says, here, this is the very best we can do. Sometimes, the harder you try to do something, the worse it is. Manufacturers who go too far to dazzle their customers risk alienating rather than impressing them. Some companies understand this. BMW has quietly dropped their plans for a mid-engined extreme machine, in favour of slowly expanding its core models. Some companies don't. Audi's rumoured uber-coupe shows that the Lambo-loving, Bugatti-boasting, Bentley-building VW Group doesn't "get" restraint. At the end of the proverbial day, all carmakers should realise that you don't set out to make yourself a halo. You earn it.

On one hand, we have the Lotus Elise. It goes like stink, stops on a 5p piece, corners like a roller coaster, sits lower than your shins, rides harder than a tea tray surfing down a mountain of medium-sized rocks, and is harder to get into than a Latin textbook. It's the automotive equivalent of tequila slammers. On the other hand, we have the Lexus SC400. J D Power's poster child is more car-coon than car— cosseting its occupants in so much luxury that discussing "handling" and "braking" seems churlish. It's a vodka martini, stirred, not shaken.

So, is that our lot? Must we choose between performance cars that punish us for our passion, and luxury cars where passion mandates indecent exposure?

Hopefully not. Hopefully, evolving technology (epitomised by the switchable sports mode) will provide a world without compromise, where all my people may arrive refreshed and relaxed after screaming around the Welsh borders. Meanwhile, luxury car makers are getting better and better at making their cars handle, while sports car makers continue to violate the Geneva Convention.

Take TVR. The Blackpool Bodgers make a car with so much personality it should have its own chat show. Yet the creature comforts are so appalling that Catholics consider driving one in London traffic adequate penance for anything up to and including raping a nun. Thanks to a clutch almost as heavy as the engine itself, TVR drivers are easily identified by the fact that their left thigh is twice as big as their right.

TVR is not alone in torturing you for buying their car. Ferrari, Maserati, Lotus, Morgan, Noble, Lotus— they're all ergonomic disasters. In a "who can clear a fogged windscreen faster" contest, continental drift wins. In a "which one would you like to drive for 700 miles" contest, National Express wins. I know: "real" drivers embrace their sports car's "quirks". Which is like saying that "real" MP's love being whipped. Which, of course, they do. Yes, well, anyway, inadequate driver comfort is more than an enjoyable exercise in motoring masochism. It actually makes sports cars slower.

We all know this much: to make a fast car you need a great engine, superb brakes and fantastic chassis. But to actually drive the thing quickly you also need…

Visibility. In most real world situations, a BMW X5 is faster than a Ferrari 360M. In Beemer's behemoth, the visibility is so good you can almost see your destination. You can certainly see far enough to determine how fast you can go to get there. In a low-slung Ferrari, on a wet day, you might as well study Zen and wear a blindfold. If people had as many blind spots as the average supercar, they wouldn't be allowed to leave the house unaccompanied. Sports car drivers who cannot see the road are condemned to leave it.

Ventilation. Even Paul Ripley might agree that fresh air is a high priority when operating a motor vehicle at high speeds. I'm not saying that most high performance cars have less ventilation than a vacuum-sealed jar of coffee, but I have heard that NASA use a Noble M12 to study the effects of oxygen deprivation on hand-eye coordination. If a Mercedes can get cold enough to hang meat in the time it takes to find the handbrake release, why are so many sports cars still stagnant saunas?

Seats. Michael Schumacher may have won his last four Grand Prix after having his spine removed, but I doubt it. It's more likely that Mikka's Merc comes with a titanium version of the S Class Butt Massager. Serious miles require serious seating. Most sports cars still use knobs, bars, latches and largely immovable steering columns to place the prospect of a comfortable sitting position forever out of reach.

Good acoustics. Everyone knows you can drive more quickly, more safely, listening to your favourite music. Everyone except the Ferrari salesman who answered my complaint about the pathetic radio in his £100,000 car by saying "Ferrari drivers listen to the music of the engine." Sure, but when you're through thrashing, you want your sports car to shut up for a bit. Like fellatio, you can only take so much aural excitement.

And there you have it, my recipe for the perfect sports car: combine the raw ingredients from the world of performance with the creature comforts from our luxury cousins. Obviously, it's a constant struggle to cook up the right combination. Porsche makes the Carrera faster, safer and more civilised, and its core market accuses it of going soft. BMW makes a luxury barge handle, and its core market buys it and enjoys it. The point is this: you CAN have the best of both worlds— just as soon as they make a Fercedes or a Murrari. Roll on the Mercedes SLR!

David Icke believes that blood-drinking lizards from the fourth dimension secretly rule the world. Owners of the Subaru Impreza Turbo believe their car is attractive. Uh sorry, but no on both counts. Still, there's no arguing with some people. Once they get an idea about their car's physical appeal stuck in their head, even a steroid-crazed Marine drill sergeant couldn't brainwash it out. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but some beholders are as mad as the government's nominal transport policy.

Why else would anyone buy a Fiat Multipla? Search the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, and you'll find a picture of a Multipla owner under the heading "automotive dysmorphia". As in someone who can't see that the Multipla is so ugly that if it was a dog, you should shave its ass and make it walk backwards. Except that the only thing uglier than the front end of a Fiat Multipla is the rear. So, if the Multipla was a dog, I reckon you should just go ahead and shoot it.

The Multipla is only the latest in an ignoble tradition of ugly cars. Henry Ford's Model T was no catwalk babe. Anyone heard of the 1935 Tempo? For the sake of your breakfast, I hope not. What about all those post-war, three-wheeled "bubble cars"? They look like nothing more than insects in need of a good smack with a rolled-up newspaper. And anyone who is nostalgic for the 70's should consider the hideous Nissan 300 ZX and the monumentally bizarre Aston Martin Bulldog. Both cars are so angular that their toy versions make ideal (and strangely satisfying) doorstops.

Evolving technology is responsible for a lot of today's automotive eye pollution. Headlights used to be big and round, to throw huge light beams down the road. Gas discharge lamps now do an infinitely better job with an aperture no bigger than an Escort exhaust pipe. But just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. Check out the front end of the new Volkswagen Microbus. Two sets of tiny bi-xenon headlights have transformed the friendliest face in motoring history into an empty robotic grimace. Alfa Romeo's designers also exploited the modern lighting technology when they drilled four small holes in their Spider's bonnet and called it good. I call it the "ecstasy look": the world's first car with drug-dilated eyes.

New technology— in the form of advanced aerodynamics— has created a whole new genre of ugly: blandmobiles. Pop any car into a wind tunnel and shave off the bits that stop the wind from slipping past the metal. No matter what you shape start with, you'll eventually end up with the same thing. Download the Porsche screensaver (www.porsche.co.uk), and you'll see the classic 911 shape slowly evolve into a suppository. It's no surprise that today's Carrera shares a virtually identical front end with the Honda NSX and Ferrari 360. Ask the same question—how do we get this damn thing to go faster? — and you get the same answer: make it look like a bullet. Bullets are fast, but they're better at piercing hearts than capturing them.

This aero-blandification has all but destroyed the venerable design tradition known as the English "flying brick". The best examples of this style, the agricultural Land Rover and the aristocratic Rolls Royce, have both surrendered their distinctive battering ram front ends for something altogether more slippery— and about as exciting as dry white toast. Only the Welsh or the culturally ignorant would deny that this ongoing process of "modernisation" has robbed the cars of valuable "British-ness". Unfortunately, the trend is just as pervasive in the mainstream. The MondeoC5LagunaS60KiaA4 look is a direct result of engineers messing about with giant hair-dryers. While the finished product is undeniably fuel efficient, it's the automotive equivalent of elevator music.

Luckily, manufacturers occasionally manage to answer the demands of engineering whilst delighting aesthetic sensibilities. I'm sure that the TVR Griffith will someday be displayed in London's Design Museum. OK, so a Griffith's answer to the "demands of engineering" is "huh?" But the fact that TVR or Aston Martin or Lotus sells any cars at all shows that good design is ultimately more important than silly little things like reliability and economy. Perhaps other carmakers will learn this lesson, and refuse to sacrifice visual thrills on the altar of new technology. Meanwhile, we have to put up with some very odd, terrifically ugly cars. I mean, has anyone else noticed that "new" cars like the Mondeo and Previa look increasingly reptilian? Maybe David Icke wasn't so wrong after all… But I still ain't buying an Impreza.

The first time the lorry locked-up its wheels, I was entering the 'u' in 'Weston Super Mare' into the satellite navigation system. The second time, I was trying to switch the suspension from 'comfort' to 'sports' mode. The last time, I was splitting my attention between the 'Entertainment' screen and the road ahead. So I was free to watch the eighteen-wheeler's back end swing gracefully into the opposite lane- where it missed the front of an oncoming car by inches. God knows what would have happened if I'd been driving.

I probably would have survived. If you have to rear end an articulated lorry, you couldn't ask for a better car for the job than the new BMW 7-Series. As you'd expect, it's a bloody great vault, with enough deformable steel and high-speed airbags to protect its occupants from anything short of a SAM missile strike. But not from yourself. Thanks to its revolutionary iDrive controller and centrally mounted colour information screen, BMW's top-of-the-line motor encourages you to take your eyes off the road long enough to plough into a solid object.

The iDrive controller's intended mission was to let 7-Series' owners adjust over 700 functions. How many? Quick! Name all the things you want a car to do: accelerate, brake, turn, play the radio, play a CD, raise and lower windows, maintain a comfortable temperature, lock the doors, um, tell you how to get somewhere, tell you when the next service is due, um, um, wipe the windows and turn on the lights. That's a dozen. Which leaves 688 things you never knew you needed to do while driving that you can now do in a Seven Series by twisting and pushing the iDrive controller.

How about assigning a function-air re-circulation, satellite navigation or automatic handbrake- to a steering wheel-mounted button? Or firming up the dampers and steering? Or finding the nearest curry house in Milton Keynes? Impressive stuff. Yet common sense suggests that anything that distracts a driver from monitoring the outside environment is a bad thing. A device that requires you to take one hand off the wheel while distracting you from the road ahead is positively Darwinian. BMW's previous 'comms pack' was dangerous enough: challenging you to enter 'Cwmavon' into the sat nav on the trot. The iDrive is in a different league: challenging you to check your tyre pressure in the middle of a skid.

It seems unlikely that the Seven's target market- slightly older than middle-aged plutocrats- will be bothered about using iDrive. They're the kind of successful, techno-wary people who pay someone else to do their email. They'll just get in, curse themselves for forgetting to put their foot on the brake when pressing the start button, fiddle with the stalk mounted gearshift for a bit, curse themselves some more for not pressing the button that releases the parking brake and, finally, drive off. And that's it.

BMW knows this. They have so much faith in the iDrive system that you can operate all the car's major functions without touching the controller. Traditional rotary knobs regulate airflow and temperature. All the usual buttons operate the windows, seats, central locking, defrost, etc. If BMW believed that iDrive was the intuitive future of driver control, why did they equip the new Seven with two CD players? Maybe it's because the dash-mounted single CD can be operated manually, while the six-stack system requires iDrive.

I have no doubt that BMW will 'rectify' iDrive- if only because an army of shysters stands ready to enrich the relatives of Americans who iDrive themselves straight into a tree. BMW has already announced it will offer yet another way to control the techno feast that is the Seven Series: voice activation. Disenabling the screen when the car's in gear would have been the easier solution: iNotinDrive. A simplified 'heads-up' windscreen display would have been the better answer. But I guess BMW doesn't want to play second fiddle to a Chevrolet Corvette.

Like the customers who will eventually use it, iDrive will either adapt or die. As my review of the Seven will reveal, the actual car-the bit that all this trickery is designed to control-is a superb work of automotive engineering. By adding an uber gizmo, The Boys From Bavaria have revealed a bizarre lack of confidence in and focus on their core values. The company that builds 'The Ultimate Driving Machine' is the one company that should know an over-complicated and dangerous distraction when it sees one. The iDrive is not, as BMW claims, 'A New Way to Drive'. It is, in fact, a new way to die.