The word “cute” was uttered no fewer than five times when I test-drove the Mini. This is a car that appeals to my natural fascination with rounded objects. All those buttons and knobs on its dashboard? Cute. The big, round whatchamacallit, which is a tachometer, as my driving mates reminded me, but which is also, more important, reminiscent of a Swatch watch—super cute! On the exterior, the Mini has these adorable little dimples for exhaust pipes, and I couldn’t help but note the cuteness of these as well.
But “cute” had to go a long way before I could actually get excited about this car, or any car, for that matter. I suffer a form of “auto-aversion,” common among city-dwelling females and partly attributable to the increasingly complex nature of automobiles: the infinite possibilities for malfunctions, breakdowns, and repairs, not to mention crashes. But it’s also partly due to the men in my life—from dad to brother and boyfriends and now, finally, the boss—who have always been poking their noses into my purchasing decisions.
That said, being as it is so adorably compact and curvaceous, with ovular details in every little nook, I found the Mini rather un-intimidating as vehicles go. I had similar sentiments about the Volkswagen Beetle back when it was re-issued in 1998. Both of these cars look more like fashion accessories than insurance liabilities. As I slid behind the wheel of the Mini Cooper—an electric blue convertible S Series, to be more precise—I caught myself wondering: How do I look? And why on earth hadn’t I remembered to bring my Jackie O. sunglasses? Cruising by Highland Hills in Bloomington on a spring afternoon, I downshifted to second and slowed to a crawl, just to give all the good-looking joggers cause for checking me out. —Christy DeSmith
This scheduled test drive was slightly worrisome. There was some question whether the Road Rake and I, both horsepower heads, would be able to overcome the femme factor and just drive. We did, and the Mini did not let us down; although Christy did let out some worrisome noises when we tested its cornering ability.
As Sarah Britney, the salesperson at the dealership, said, this is a “BMW go-cart.” And if there are two things the Road Rake and I like, they’re BMWs and go-carts. Especially go-carts that will do eighty in third-gear, like this one.
This car definitely displays its BMW lineage when you take it somewhere near the limit. Acceleration, cornering, and braking are all in the wow zone. (Christy might say the EEEEE zone, coined when we took our first high-speed turn.) The handling is maybe the best I’ve ever experienced in a front-wheel-drive car. If you take a closer look at the car, the reason for this is obvious. The wheels are actually placed at the corners of the chassis, instead of being inset from the front and back, like most cars. So there is almost no lean in the turns, because there just isn’t much to lean out there beyond the wheel base. Unfortunately, this also means there’s damn near no trunk, but there isn’t much of one on a Porsche, either. If you want trunk, buy a Buick.
When Christy took the wheel, though, the Road Rake and I were holding our breath for nearly the entire ride. We both loved the car for what it was, but dreaded what Christy might say when it was her turn to drive. (If you want to know what that was like, here you go: I drove eighty-three miles per hour in third gear; Christy drove thirty-eight miles per hour in fourth gear.) We were finally able to exhale when it came. “This car is CUTE.”
Damn, and we—and the Mini—almost got away with it. —Tom Bartel
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