We love a big car. An eight-cylindered European job, ideally, the kind of machine where you're cruising along silently on a sleepy interstate at 70 and then you step a little harder on the loud pedal to overtake some mere mortal in his rusty Cavalier, and suddenly the distant sound of air being sucked into a sophisticated, multi-valve engine's hungry intake manifold grows louder, accompanied perhaps by the unmistakable cry of a supercharger spooling up, and a precipitous rise in speed. In milliseconds, you find yourself going 90, 110, 120, with plenty to spare. And such is the luxury and supreme panache of your continent-munching super-cruiser that your pulse has barely risen and your cosseted passengers are blissfully unaware that you're but one Ford Interceptor and an indignant state trooper away from being hauled off to the courthouse.
Yes, we love big fast cars, the only problem being that there's no occasion to exploit them properly within 400 miles of any metropolitan area we frequent, and never, ever an opportunity to exploit them legally. Which is why most of the time, when we don't have a lot of people to carry or huge distances to cover, we prefer small ones. We like little cars because they're easy to park, fun to drive at sensible speeds, and get serious gas mileage. They're cheaper to buy, cheaper to fix, cheaper to run, and, yes, call us green-symps, but they're better for the planet to boot. Even if they weren't, they're alert and responsive, the way you want to be in the urban jungle, and generally people don't stare at us like we're rich and vulgar the way they do when we're squeezing German battlecruisers through the streets of New York City.
Except now that we're driving a little Fiat 500 every day, we find people staring at us a lot, only in a non-hostile way. It may not always be so with something so aggressively cute, but we'll find out. GQ's long-term Fiat 500 Sport arrived last week for a year's test, and 700 miles in, we're considerably more impressed than we expected to be.
For a start, there's something about getting 37 or 38 miles per gallon in a driving mix that includes plenty of traffic, which only heightens the already palpable fun factor. But it's more than that.
We love the style, the color (verde chiaro, a pastel light green that harkens back to the '60s), and the surprisingly spritely character of the 1.4-liter, 101-horsepower motor that likes to rev more than we remembered, with a five-speed manual gearbox that sprouts from the dashboard to help extract the most from this mini-machine's motor. The steering is sharp, if a little numb, the handling is fine—in spite of this small car's tallness—and the ride far less busy than one might have supposed, considering the 500's super-short wheelbase (more than a half foot shorter than a Mini Cooper). Credit the lack of oversized wheels—even our Sport model only gets 15-inchers. And, unlike Minis, there are no run-flat tires to punish or abuse spines, even on NYC''s pocked FDR Drive.
The room in the rear seat isn't terrible, though you wouldn't want to drive to Denver sitting back there, and the 500 manages to hold one of today's modern child seats—those huge things that look like they were lifted out of the space shuttle—without discomfort to occupant or installer. Make no mistake, though: While it doesn't feel insubstantial—and it is, in fact, solid, commendably well-screwed together, and perfectly acceptable for highway use—this is a small car. Only a Smart is smaller. If you need the Fiat's rear seats, which otherwise can fold down to increase capacity, one big suitcase is all you'll be carrying. Unless you spring for a roof carrier, it's better suited for two-person road trips than traveling for four.
Here's what we don't like, so far: There's a wicked blind spot directly over your left shoulder—the post behind the door called the B-pillar in industry speak—that obscures your view when passing, so you need to use your mirrors diligently. We like the body-colored dash, but the interior plastics are a little hard in spots. Nevertheless, overall the 500 feels a quality piece, somewhere you wouldn't mind spending your commute or just setting a spell.
While the gauges are not as annoyingly cutesy as, say, the overstyled, oversized speedo on a Mini—being placed in front of the driver instead of in the center of the dash—they're not the last word in legibility, with many functions crammed into a small space. The lack of an easily accessed central door locking facility is vexing and the experience of folding the front seats forward to permit entry to rear is not confidence-inspiring; the mechanism feels feeble. The Sport model's upgraded audio system, with Bose speakers and satellite radio, rocks pretty hard, but iPod use is not easy, with a jack in the glovebox for your owner-supplied cable and a voice-activated command system that baffles us yet. We know less miserly, more user-friendly options are out there.
Over the course of the next year, we'll find out if the public's fascination with this new retro-shaped small car wears off, or whether the wave of fashion freshness it rides into town on peters out. Having tended for a year the very first VW New Beetle in NYC back in the late '90s, we've seen the phenomenon in action. Don't let your memory play tricks on you: The New Beetle actually was hip for almost a year, bud vase and all, before it become obvious that it was first and foremost a new variety of chick car, in this case, preferred transport for overweight women in their 50s and 60s. The ladies looked so pleased with themselves scooting around, but, with a lug of an old engine and soggy handling, driving the New Beetle was never ideal for serious drivers. We hate the whole chick-car premise—allow the car tospeak for itself, we say, and who cares who its most ardent proponents are; let the chicks fall where they may. Still, we suspect even after the novelty wears off, the 500 will be fun to drive.
The Official GQ Fiat 500 Sport
Date received: September 15th
Price, as tested: $18,600
Miles: 726
MPG: 37.1
Costs: none so far