It’s Time We Stopped Clowning On Convertibles

The automotive kingdom certainly has its fair share of misunderstood genres. The sport utility truck, the coupe SUV, even the sedan to an extent. However, as the decades have rolled by, cabriolets became one of the most misunderstood of all vehicle subtypes. Even though they were once common fixtures of the roads, as a society, we seem to have forgotten what they’re all about. Despite the vehicles themselves being at least mildly interesting, we’ve all heard the insults that get bandied about for drivers of convertibles. Mid-life crisis. Golfist. Poser.

Oh, and it often gets worse as the cars get faster. If a performance car offers the option of a fixed roof or a removable one, the one with the fixed roof is usually more desirable and the one with the ragtop is usually treated as a second-class vehicle. Why? Convertibles often cost more than their coupe equivalents, and people have proven willing to pay up for the privilege. What do these convertible buyers know that forum elitists don’t?

The truth is, they know a few things that are more overarching than outright technical expertise. They value experiences and involvement in the same way the slicktop, three-pedal-or-die brigade does, but their means of obtaining involvement are slightly different. Every convertible is, to at least some degree, an enthusiast car, it’s just that accepting this fact can be hard for some.

Granted, the elitists’ talking points aren’t drawn from thin air. Forty years ago, the average unibody had the torsional rigidity of al dente spaghettini, and cutting the roof off was a surefire way to make the cowl shake over expansion joints like it just took a polar plunge. Automakers attempted to compensate by welding in heavy bracing, but those mostly bloated curb weights without curbing apocryphal stories of air vents violently ejecting themselves from dashboards. However, we aren’t living in 1984 anymore, and for the past 20-some-odd years, convertibles have grown substantially more rigid. Sure, they’ve also grown substantially heavier, but in the real world, how much will you notice?

You may still be able to make this argument if you do a trackday every month and have teeth the shade of a freshly built model home’s walls, but most of us don’t commute to the office through carousel turns or think too much about what we eat in the context of lap times.

In fact, most of a typical car’s life will be spent sitting, followed by the daily grind on public roads at sensible speeds, and only a handful will ever turn a wheel on track. In the real world, with congestion and potholes and speed cameras conspiring to keep average speeds low, the sensations of letting the wind and sky in are more noticeable than a little extra chassis rigidity and a few dozen fewer pounds. It helps the car become an instrument of joy, and the Chrysler Sebring Convertible is one of the more telling examples from history.

Don’t get me wrong, the first-generation Chrysler Sebring was a perfectly okay car. Sure, the Ultradrive automatic gearbox wasn’t strong, but the Mitsubishi V6 was stout enough and the styling was perfectly handsome. When the second-generation model came along, it gained the abhorrent 2.7-liter Chrysler V6, frumpier styling, and a direct sedan version just to show everyone how truly uninspired the bones of the car were.

Despite this, the convertible variant took a subpar midsize sedan, removed two doors and a roof, and turned it into a little bit of an occasion. Sure, the interior was still an uncouth mishmash of shapes and materials, and the facelifted model still had the facial expression of a particularly bewildered rodent, but with the roof down and a breeze coming in, it was hard to care too much, wasn’t it? At that point, a dashboard is just a shelf for dust, after all.

Instead, drivers of these mediocre-at-best convertibles found themselves breathing in harmony with the universe, their senses fascinated by the machinations of Mother Nature. The rustling of hedges, the weight of the wind, an unfiltered view of 100 billion stars. A convertible reminds us that on a long enough timeline, we’re all just passing through, single-cell travelers in the universe’s largest terrarium. There’s a cathartic sense of insignificance that comes with such an experience, a freeing vulnerability that transcends metal and glass and reveals certain truths about humanity. Plus, it’s theoretically at least a little bit safer than a motorcycle, and you still get to meet some interesting people in the process.

Sadly, going roof-down is something fewer and fewer people are able to experience. Drop-top choices have been steadily dwindling since the turn of the millennium, with no signs of that trend reversing. There’s no more Chrysler Sebring Convertible or Toyota Solara Convertible or Pontiac G6 Convertible. No more BMW 2 Series cabriolet, or Mercedes-Benz SLK, or Audi A3 cabriolet. Mitsubishi doesn’t offer a convertible in America anymore, nor does Alfa Romeo, Chrysler, Dodge, Fiat, Honda, Infiniti, Nissan, Toyota, Volkswagen, or Volvo. Even Jaguar’s current convertible dies this year, with no guarantee of a replacement.

If you’ve ever wanted a cabriolet, buy one, and don’t let the haters convince you otherwise. Better yet, if you’ve hated on convertibles for technical reasons in the past, I encourage you to take a step back and query whether or not the universe is about more than just objective engineering truths.

Yes, cutting the roof off a car can make it a bit heavier, a bit floppier, and a bit slower, but it can also make it better, for “better” can’t always be measured. Every incremental improvement in tin-top car rigidity will eventually become outmoded, so it’s worth approaching things with an open mind and trying to let the sun in for an experience that will always be timeless.

(Photo credits: BMW, Ford, Chrysler, Audi)

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