The new Aston Martin Rapide is a lovely car, to be sure, and driving one around town creates precisely the same effect on the populace as would a young Paul McCartney striding through Waterloo Station in 1964. Never mind the panties. Investment bankers throw their tighty-whiteys at this car.
But what does it prove? It proves that if you care absolutely nothing about outward visibility—the Rapide has the sightlines of a Normandy pillbox—and that you don’t care that the front roof pillars (the A pillars) are thicker than a Clydesdale’s fetlock; and that in order to get in the car rear passengers will be obliged to remove their heads and feet; and that once there they will have their noses grinding against the entertainment system’s headrest-mounted screens; and that the car’s sun visors are three fingers wide and virtually useless; and that the rear quarters have blind spots the size of libertarianism; and that the “trunk” offers the capacity of a refrigerator’s vegetable crisper…if you don’t care about any of that, then you too can design a beautiful four-door super sports car. It’s easy.
Read the rest of the review at the Wall Street Journal.
