I mentioned in the previous article that I was doing some simulated car research and decision-making. I chose this topic partly because I was thinking of switching cars recently. After a rather long period of research, comparison, and deliberation, I finally took physical delivery of the new car. I’ve been driving it for a while, and there are quite a few unexpected insights I’d like to share. Over the past few months, I’ve been busy exploring AI development courses, writing mostly about computing-related topics without much time for reflecting on day-to-day life. This seems like the perfect chance to take stock. After all, the blog is called Computing Life.
The most surprising discovery has been that people and cars shape and influence each other. I used to think it was a one-way street. I do my research based on my preferences and needs, choose a car, and that’s that. Afterward, I just use it as a tool. But after driving my new car for a while, I’ve realized my driving style has changed dramatically. And it’s not because the car’s performance imposes limits—it’s because my mindset has shifted. To explain, I need to start with the reasons behind my decision to change cars.
The truth is, my decision to buy another car wasn’t out of necessity. My old vehicle was a performance car (Audi RSQ8) that handled daily commutes, grocery runs, and kid pickups with ease. So why think about getting a new one? The main reason is something I’ve emphasized often on this blog: curiosity. We only get maybe a hundred years on this Earth, and we can’t take anything with us in the end. None of us little nobodies are likely to go down in history, so we might as well try different things in life. That’s the main reason I wanted a change. It also informed my thinking: I wasn’t looking for practicality as much as something fun or different from what I had before. And because my old car was a performance SUV, I turned my attention this time to a luxury SUV. My financial situation and life experience being what they are, I’ve always been skeptical yet curious about what real value these high-end luxury brands claim to offer. After plenty of waffling (especially considering the bans on gasoline cars by 2030 and the discontinuation of V10 and V12 engines), I ultimately settled on the Rolls-Royce Cullinan. Still, even though I was mentally prepared for a very different driving experience, the car’s driving style was a real eye-opener once I actually got behind the wheel.
First, the throttle and brake tuning feel entirely different from a performance car. My previous performance SUV had an 8-cylinder turbocharged engine, and even a slight tap on the throttle would send it lunging forward. A heavier press would make the car downright frenetic, with a loud roar and a huge surge of G-force. Flooring it on the highway felt like a rollercoaster. The luxury car, on the other hand, feels completely different. Though it’s got a twin-turbocharged V12 with a bigger displacement, the tuning is all about precise control, not raw force. It lets me fine-tune how much acceleration I want when speeding up or slowing down, and it does it so smoothly that you can’t feel the gear changes. A performance SUV can’t really offer that level of finesse. Of course, even if you floor it, this new car can accelerate hard, but it doesn’t give that blood-pumping thrill. Instead, the power feels effortless and composed. If you look at the underlying engineering, it’s actually very interesting. It reflects two totally different design philosophies and technical goals for the engines. We’ll talk more about that in another article someday.
A second difference is the chassis. My Audi SUV had electronic anti-roll bars, so when cornering hard, the body stayed almost perfectly level. Combined with heavily bolstered seats, you’d feel the G-forces but still be held snugly in place, without much body roll. You never felt out of control. That encouraged me to push the car’s limits, driving even more aggressively into turns. In contrast, the luxury SUV’s chassis tuning is completely different. The moment you corner just a bit more sharply, you notice a distinct lean in the body. That’s essentially the car telling you that your driving is already at the edge of being too aggressive, suggesting you dial it back a little for a smoother ride.
There’s another related factor: road feel. Performance cars often have stiffer suspensions designed to transmit every bump in the road to the driver. In plain language, the seats are firm. Luxury cars place much more emphasis on damping out those bumps. Even on rough roads, the car just floats up and down like gentle waves, without the high-frequency jolts you get in a performance car. If you compare it to music, driving a performance car is like listening to fast-paced percussion, whereas a luxury car is more like slow, soothing tunes. And that changes how you drive. Only after switching between these two types of cars did I understand why performance cars have such stiff suspensions. It’s not just that a cushier suspension can’t go fast. The sharper road feel itself stimulates your adrenaline, encouraging more spirited driving to make the most of the car’s performance.
So once I directly compared these two cars, I realized that when driving a performance SUV, it wasn’t just my personal style prompting me to choose that kind of car. The car’s own design elements also shape or even steer my driving style. Now that I’m in a luxury SUV, it’s not that the engine or chassis are weaker so I can’t corner quickly or accelerate aggressively. It’s that, in all sorts of subtle ways, it nudges me to calm down, to be more composed, so I end up driving in a more refined, elegant manner. This kind of mutual influence between user and product is really fascinating. If in the future we want to create a product with a particular “feel,” we might not only think about how the product can attract the right user but also how the product can influence and educate the user, guiding them to use it in a way that matches that desired feel.
This is a lot like photography. I’ve always felt that Leica is a great brand for beginners or for anyone who just wants to slow down and appreciate the art of photography. A big part of that is how its design encourages you to lower your shooting pace. Take the Q series, for example. Yes, it has autofocus and auto exposure, but there are all these dials, buttons, and parameters out in the open, practically begging you to fiddle with them. You get curious about what will happen if you turn one dial or press a certain button. As a result, you naturally start to understand the three essentials of photography (aperture, shutter speed, and ISO), which leads you to think more deeply about what makes a good photo. Eventually, you develop this calm, composition-focused approach to photography. From that perspective, there’s a certain similarity among shooting on film, shooting manually, driving a luxury car, or using a fountain pen.
Beyond just the tuning, though, the overall impression of this car is elegance—serious elegance. Anywhere there can be a powered mechanism, there is one. The doors aren’t closed manually; the trays and screens are operated by a button. The door has a built-in umbrella with a heater and blower so you don’t have to awkwardly figure out where to store a wet umbrella. One thing I love is how it doesn’t rely on trendy touchscreen panels as the main interaction. Whenever possible, it uses mechanical elements like knobs, toggles, and buttons—even a column shifter. Compared to the popular new EVs, it’s nice and rare to be able to operate controls by touch without having to look down at a screen (curse you, Tesla). Plus, it’s great for music, both because the cabin is so quiet and because the audio system itself is superb. There’s even a CD player so I can finally break out my old CD collection. The starry headliner is a surprising treat. In Seattle, it’s either still bright outside in the summer or raining all through the winter, so my kids hardly ever get to see a real starry sky. The first time they saw “stars” at all was inside the car, which is kind of ironic.
But as a middle-aged man, I don’t get to enjoy many of these luxuries. For instance, the rear seats are supposed to be the highlight of a luxury car, with all kinds of features like massage, heating, and cooling. But we don’t really use any of that because no matter how lavish those rear seats are, my two kids are strapped into ninety-nine-dollar car seats, with a grown-up wedged in between. And no matter how meticulously engineered the NVH or sound insulation is, the biggest noise sources aren’t engine or tire noise but the crying of those two little “bosses” in the back. Likewise, we had to choose the SUV model because we need space for the kids; something like the Spectre coupe might be more interesting and fun, but with only two doors, buckling kids in and out would be a chore, so we had to let that idea go. In the end, for a middle-aged man, a luxury car is basically a big toy with a terrible cost-to-enjoyment ratio. That’s the paradox of owning a fun car: family is the driving force behind our pursuit of success and wealth, but ironically it also prevents us from fully indulging in the perks of that success. It’s bittersweet.
Image: A middle-aged man’s simple happiness is finding an excuse to go out (say, to withdraw cash), sneaking off to McDonald’s to use some points for a free ice cream cone, and then sitting quietly in the car to enjoy some music while he finishes it.
In the end, no matter what car I buy, it’s just a way for an old guy to find a bit of joy amid life’s challenges. A twin-turbo V12 may be awesome, but the most common destinations are still the grocery store around the corner and the kids’ school. The engine oil isn’t even warmed up, the cabin heater barely kicks in before you arrive. All the NVH engineering might block out every sound from outside, but it can’t shut out the crying from the back seat. The kids look up at the “starry sky,” only to find it’s just hundreds of fiber-optic strands. Maybe the greatest value in switching cars is the subtle way it calms me down—both behind the wheel and in my daily life—helping me become a bit more patient, a bit more resilient. Here’s hoping that extends to the rest of my life, too.
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