I’m obsessed with a car. It’s not a fast car. It’s not a beautiful car. It’s not a car that would realistically draw any attention whatsoever. It’s the Volkswagen T-Cross, and my strange obsession simply refuses to wane.
The Volkswagen T-Cross entered the market in 2018 as a Polo-based crossover, debuting as a global model across Europe, China, and South America. The diminutive SUV sits as an entry level option in the Australian Volkswagen range, marketed as “sporty & smart” in a range of vibrant colors.
It might look flashy in the marketing images, but it is, by all estimations, a mass-market subcompact crossover with nothing unique to offer. And yet, I want one more than anything else I’ve driven in the last year.
This pox first struck me as a nineties affliction. I passed a T-Cross on the street in a fine neighborhood and was struck by its eye-catching teal finish, a shade from decades past. Deep, saturated, and rich, the paint elevated the T-Cross far above comparable product from automakers like Toyota, Suzuki, and Honda. Somehow, Volkswagen had mastered a combination of trim and colour that created the impression of a far more premium vehicle.
It somehow looked more elegant and important than it should have, given its price and size. I wasn’t sure entirely why, but I was allured to this vehicle from that point forward.
No spec sheet could explain my interest. The T-Cross boasts only a humble 114 horsepower from its 1.0-liter engine, just 148 pound-feet of torque. No upgrade is available here, no greater power or capability; just three cylinders, a tiny turbo, and a DSG transmission driving the front wheels.
Nothing about this should excite me. Yet I saw that car time and again, and others much like it. Teal, gunmetal grey, all shiny, all glossy and clean. It wasn’t the T-Cross. It was what it meant.
Without my knowledge, my mind had created a person, wholesale. The owner of the Volkswagen T-Cross, along with the ordered universe they live in.
They are not a car enthusiast. They do not know what an engine is or does. They do not know what a cylinder is or how many they might have. They know they drive a teal Volkswagen, and they park it in their garage. Their car is an appliance. A stylish one, to be sure, and one of suitable refinement to match the others in their home—the Smeg fridge, the Kitchen-Aid mixer, all gleaming with chrome.
The owner of the Volkswagen T-Cross is not like me. They walked into a dealership and purchased a brand-new Volkswagen T-Cross because they had the money to do so and they wanted one. They signed the papers, picked up the keys, and pulled away in their comfortable, attractive subcompact SUV, all shiny and green.
Their mind plays host to no Earthly concerns. They worry not of timing belts, oil changes, or transmission services. Their car is an appliance, one they can easily afford. When the Volkswagen T-Cross tells them to visit the dealership, they make the call. They hand over the keys, leave in a loaner, and the next day they return to pick up their Volkswagen T-Cross. When the warranty period is over, they will trade it in. Perhaps on a new Volkswagen T-Cross. Perhaps on something larger.
I came to realize I didn’t want the Volkswagen T-Cross, not for what it was. I wanted it because I wanted to be the owner of the Volkswagen T-Cross. I wanted to own a car. A new car. Without thinking about service intervals and oil changes and whether or not I need to do something about the quickening pace of the power steering leak. I wanted to wake up and put on nice clothes and drive my shiny new Volkswagen T-Cross to my well-paying job in the city where the undercover parking keeps the birds away from my brand-new Volkswagen T-Cross.
My dreams of Ferraris died long ago; not long after, my fantasies of Skylines and Supras went with them. These dreams no longer had any connection to reality; one might as well wish of winning the lottery or taking a vacation to the Moon. Perhaps that’s why the Volkswagen T-Cross called to me so strongly. A car, a life… better, but perhaps believably within reach.
I could probably have one, if I really wanted to. I could save some money, sell my car and a guitar or two, take out a loan, and work hard to pay for a brand new Volkswagen T-Cross. Maybe if I took out some overtime I could even get the R-Line in a nice color with the fancier trim.
But it wouldn’t change anything. Because the problem isn’t that I don’t have a Volkswagen T-Cross. The problem is that I’m not the owner of a Volkswagen T-Cross. Picking up the keys would not—could not—make me that person.
I’m not able to stroll into a glassy dealership and pay sticker price for a brand-new car without thinking. I’m not able to simply hand over my keys to a dealer for a scheduled service without wincing at the four-figure invoice afterwards. I’m not able to keep my car spotlessly clean week in, week out, and I don’t even understand how anyone achieves that kind of dedication. I don’t go to work wearing crisp shirts and expensive ties, and I don’t effortlessly park my clean European SUV in my own dedicated space that has my name freshly painted in big white letters.
Beyond all that—beyond what I am not—I found out what the T-Cross is not, too. Part of the dream died some years ago. Volkswagen dropped the Makena Turquoise color after the 2023 model year. Even if I fell into money, I couldn’t become that which I idolized. I could buy a T-Cross in Grape Yellow, Kings Red, or Silver, but it’s not the same thing.
Still, when I see that Volkswagen T-Cross, I see a better life. It’s just not one that I quite yet know how to have.
Image credits: Volkswagen
It makes no sense, but I’ve bought a few cars just because I looked at them and said, “That’s my car and I can afford it.” No rhyme or reason. I can’t explain it. I don’t think it was greed. The cars just called to me.
You should at least test drive one. It’s pleasantly old school in a world of electrification and touchscreen everything.
It’s quite charming in its own way.
I think if you are a car enthusiast that also needs a reliable car yet you only have space for one vehicle in your life you can’t go past a well maintained Japanese car from the late 80’s – 90’s.
I’d choose a high spec version of a popular car.
You get fuel injection, 16v engines, electronic ignition. AC – electric everything but yet you can wrench on them – add a double DIN carplay unit and parts / mechanics are accesible and still around and reasonably priced. spend some money on good tyres / upgraded brakes / bushings and suspension and you will be surprised how well they can handle. Go deeper and weird JDM only parts are available not quite overnight from Tokyo. Need an air purifier overhead console, rain guards and seat lace doilies for your 88 Corolla? of course you do!
Also – many of them come in colour.
Channelling my Count Homer voice: “How does this compare to, say, a Golf, which I also can’t buy in my country?”
It is smaller.
NB for editors: “I was allured to” is not correct English.
Linguistic prescriptivism makes for poor writing and every word is where it should be.
We rented a T-Cross in Ireland last year. It was fine. Just the right size for the roads. A little tight for a family of four and their luggage, but once we dropped the luggage wherever we were staying, it was fine.
Manual transmission too. It was fine.
I often wonder what it would be like to be something other than a car dork as well. How much easier would my life be if I could just not care and be entirely content or even happy with a CRV? But like, a normal new-ish one, not the lowered abomination of a 1st gen with a vtec head and a manual… Maybe white on bronze te37s? Or red over white regamasters?
I feel like this crosses some sort of societal line and needs to be addressed further. Who is picking these color names, and is someone doing a wellness check on them?
I know right!
I always worked on my cars as my dad and his dad did. But would buy a new car from time to time. It always felt like that warranty period was the time to find all the flaws and try to get them fixed but as time went on it seems like the guys at the dealer have gotten worse and you end up having to either fix it yourself if it was small or find the right guy in the service department to explain what the issue is. It’s almost more stressful in a way. Not as stressful as an absolute shit box that will break down anytime anywhere. But cars have overall gotten better. I’ve taken to waiting to get a better deal on a used version.
This is how I ended up with an SX4 back in 2011. I couldn’t quite understand the allure, but I just really badly wanted one.
I enjoyed it, and I miss it. So sometimes just going for what you’re attracted to works, even if it doesn’t seem to make much sense on paper.
I too had an SX4. It was pleasant to live with. I like those things.
This is a good article. I spent decades wrenching on crappy cars, often wrenching late into the night because I needed the car in the morning. I’ve since moved into a position where I can afford nicer, newer cars, so I buy them for my family and keep the crapboxes for myself. I’ve had nice cars, but I can’t blissfully drive them like my wife can – she like cars, but the thought of working on them is a stress-maker for her, not a stress-reducer like me. I enjoy driving her cars, as it is nice to have features like AA/Carplay, heated seats, and functioning HVAC, but I enjoy the tinkering, fixing, and improving of older, under-appreciated vehicles just as much as I take comfort in knowing my wife’s car isn’t going to break down on her when I am not around. I sometimes feel like being an engineer raised by an engineer is a curse, because I am endlessly curious about how things work and trying to take a systems engineering approach to things I could just as easily ignore, but at the same time the value it has provided in my life is likely unquantifiable. I think we all daydream of a life different than the one we have, but I constantly have to remind myself to appreciate the life I have chosen and not dwell on the things those choices have caused me to miss out on.