IPADS ON WHEELS

They’re Not Cars. They’re iPads on Wheels.

We’re not the majority. But we’re not few either. And that’s not the same thing.

Some people look at a car and see transportation. Four wheels, a steering wheel, something that gets you from A to B. And that’s fine. Not everyone has to feel what we feel.

Because what we feel can’t be explained with spec sheets. It’s something visceral. Something that grabs you from the inside when you turn the key — or when you simply walk into the garage and stare at it. Still. Yours. Waiting.

The disease we don’t want to cure

Call it passion, call it obsession, call it a disease. I don’t care about the label. What I know is that every throttle blip is a shot of life. That there are days when the world is suffocating you — work, bills, the constant noise of a life that never stops — and the only thing you need is to sit inside, close the door, and drive. Or just start the engine and listen to it for a moment.

That’s therapy. That’s freedom. That’s what a car with soul gives you.

But here’s the problem.

The silent death of automotive personality

I look at today’s market and I ask myself: where are the cars with character?

Because what I see is a graveyard of personality. We have iPads on wheels. Some run on batteries, others on combustion, but the result is the same: giant screens, buttons that vanish, and a driving experience that could belong to any brand, any model, any continent.

And this isn’t opinion. It’s an industrial fact I’ve been witnessing for over 30 years:

Shared platforms. The same chassis, the same architecture, the same foundation for cars that supposedly compete with each other. Swap the badge on the grille and you’ve got “a different car.” Really? A Škoda Octavia, a SEAT León, a VW Golf, and an Audi A3 share the MQB platform. Each one used to have its own engineering, its own character, its own reason to exist. Now they’re variations on a theme.

Borrowed engines. Brands that no longer develop their own powertrains. That mix mechanicals with competitors and sell it as innovation. When did the pride of having your own engine disappear? When marketing departments gained more power than engineering departments.

Suffocating regulations. Euro 7, emissions limits, noise regulations. I understand the need to move forward, but the result is that each new regulation kills a little more mechanical diversity. Every engine ends up sounding the same, performing the same, feeling the same. Homologation has become homogenization.

Cloned designs. Line up ten mid-range SUVs from different brands and remove the logos. I bet you can’t identify half of them. Safe lines, designs by algorithm, approved by committee. Zero risk. Zero personality.

That’s why we chase classics

And so we turn to the past. Not out of empty nostalgia. Not because “the old days were better.” We turn to the past because that’s where we find what no longer exists: cars designed by engineers who loved what they did. Cars with flaws, yes. Cars that broke down, sure. But cars with SOUL.

A Lancia Delta Integrale wasn’t perfect. But when you drove it, you KNEW you were inside something special. A BMW E30 had an interior that would look spartan today. But that steering, that balance… you won’t find that in any current BMW with its 31-inch curved display.

A Volkswagen Corrado with its VR6 was a sound, a vibration, a statement of intent. It didn’t need 47 selectable driving modes via touchscreen. It needed a road and a driver who respected it.

Manufacturers lost their nerve

I’ll say what many think and few say publicly: car manufacturers have become cowards. They’ve let legal departments, safety committees, market analysts, and regulators dictate what they can and cannot build. And the result is they no longer build cars. They build consumer products on wheels.

Where’s the next Mazda RX-7? The next Renault 5 Turbo? The next Alfa Romeo 155 V6 TI? They won’t exist. Because no one in a boardroom will approve something like that. Too risky, too niche, too passionate.

And that’s exactly the word missing from the car industry: passion.

We’re a minority. But we’re not few.

Those of us who feel cars this way — we exist. We’re mechanics, engineers, enthusiasts, collectors, Sunday drivers, and track-day warriors. We’re the ones who restore what others abandon. The ones keeping alive a way of understanding the automobile that the industry wants to bury.

And we’re not going away.

Because as long as there’s a garage with a classic inside it, as long as someone starts an engine and feels the world stop for a second, as long as there’s a twisting road waiting for someone who’ll truly enjoy it — this doesn’t die.

The industry can manufacture all the iPads on wheels it wants.

We’ll keep searching for cars with soul.

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Do you feel the same, or am I exaggerating? I want your opinion — especially if you disagree.