Recently, while traipsing from showroom to showroom in search of a used car for my growing clan, the iconic line from Christopher Nolan’s seminal Batman movie The Dark Knight came to mind: “You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” And by villain, of course, I mean an SUV driver.
Because, if you haven’t shopped for a secondhand family car recently, I’ll save you the shock: wherever you look, it’s SUVs.
It’s no surprise when these giant cars now make up 30% of all cars on the road and were 50% of all new car sales in rich countries in 2023. The look has been so popular that traditional body styles have been modified into taller, wider frames. Even Volvo, the defining family car brand, now only offers SUVs in the UK. All of which means that if, like me, you want a car under 10 years old, hoping it lasts another five, your options are “tank” and “tank-ette”.
Driving the same small city car for nearly 10 years has felt, overall, like a net good. Cheap to run and clean-air-zone-compliant, the compact car is the sociable motor. The people pleaser of the road, at this size a tight parking spot is rarely a worry. Even its horn, a pipsqueak of a beep, conveys more “toodles” than threat. Yes, fine, on a windy motorway it can feel like it might become airborne. But this precious little donkey is reliable and humble. Unlike the flashy warhorse, the SUV, with its ever-widening size (0.5cm wider each year) intimidating other drivers and pedestrians, causing chaos on narrow roads and reducing parking spaces when lines are redrawn to accommodate them. Also, a special mention of the branding: so much military language (the Jeep Commander or Land Rover’s Defender, apparently “built to conquer”) – for a vehicle whose main enemy is the roundabout outside Sainsbury’s.
So when it came to buying my first family car I figured I’d find an estate, a saloon or a hatchback: something that was safe, since it would carry the most precious cargo of all, children; fuel efficient; wipe-down seats; and a big boot big enough for strollers and bikes, and all the hopes and dreams for a happy family life. But my dreams would soon be dashed.
One thing’s for sure, it has been a memorable month hunting for a “normal” family car. The experience of saying “I’m not interested in an SUV” and still being shown one … then a small one … and then one that just looks like one, but technically isn’t because it can’t go off-road, is the closest thing I’ve experienced to performance art in some years.
How can I forget the forecourt so dominated by these cars that the best on offer was a black “mid-size” SUV, a Lexus RX450H, so huge that I genuinely mistook it for a hearse. Or the gentle, sympathetic nature of the used-car salesman showing me a grey and dowdy people carrier. “But, but … I’m in my 30s. I’m still young, I can’t drive this,” I protested, as he gave me a smile conveying “this is all that’s left for you, my friend”.
Yet, I’m not sure what it is about this that deflates me. Is it the illusion of consumer choice, and how we are funnelled into the same purchases and lifestyles even when we don’t really want them? Or the corrosive quality of fear: against your neighbour’s SUV, your regular car looks flimsy, so you arm up, too. The car lobby has pushed the message that these vehicles are fortresses to keep your children safe inside, with no care for how unsafe they may be outside. The increased height of these bonnets means a child is three times more likely to be killed if hit by an SUV rather than by a conventional vehicle – and, as transport writer Christian Wolmar observes, more likely to be hit at all, since the driving position is often too high to see a child ahead.
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But mostly I suspect it’s to do with our modern parenting culture, where everything – buggies, cars, technology for baby socks to monitor their breathing – has scaled up to capitalise on our need for safety in a precarious world. Yet the best thing to keep us safe will always be one another, collectivism over individualism. But here we are, driving around in Batmobiles, thinking ourselves heroes, blithely unaware we just might be the baddies.
Needless to say, I still haven’t found the right family car. I do (reluctantly) have an SUV test drive booked, though. Perhaps I should embrace the chaos. It could be my Joker moment.
