Last night, we reported on a new –um, we’ll call it a car, sure – that was called Roadster. The Roadster that was shown was, and I want to make this very clear, not a roadster. This is because words have meanings, specific meanings, and while words can evolve and change over time, you can’t just change the meaning of words arbitrarily. That’s not how language works. And the word “roadster” does not mean what that car called a Roadster is.
Words matter! I feel like we’re already in danger of losing the fight for the word “coupé” which is – and I want to make this abundantly clear – a two door car. If it has four doors, it’s not a coupé. In much the same way, a roadster has a clear definition: it’s a small, open-topped car.
The open-topped thing is a big deal! It may be the biggest deal, the whole raisons d’etre of the car itself! It’s open! Here’s how I described roadsters in our definitive taxonomy of sports cars, which is, I believe, ratified by the UN or UNESCO or the National Bureau of Weights and Measures or something as the official guide to such things:
Roadster:
Perhaps the first true category of sports car. Quite small, open-topped, power is less important than the overall handling and driving experience, which leverages the small size and light weight to create a very visceral and connected experience. Sometimes the power can be comically low, like how a Bugeye Sprite makes only 43 horsepower.
Examples: 1898 Bollée, Mazda Miata, Toyota MR-2, Porsche Boxster, Speedster, 914, MGB, Austin-Healey Sprite/3000, Triumph Spitfire/TR series, Crosley Hot Shot
Sure, you can add a hard top onto a roadster, and there may be some variants with closed roofs, but fundamentally, a crucial aspect of roadsterhood is the openness.
See what’s going on there? In a roadster, you can drive somewhere and have a comfortable, casual conversation with the local honeys that are roaming all around you in their swimwear. This is because in a roadster, you’re not inside your car so much as you’re out in whatever environment you’re driving in. Being in a roadster is like going for a walk, just much faster and more fun, and you can bring a friend. Like our friend Mr.Tweednuts here, in his Austin-Healey:
That’s prime roadster behavior right there; sure, they usually have some kind of top, should it rain or hail or whatever, but you only would put up the top because you absolutely had to, because, again, the point of a roadster is not to be ensconced in some little travel pod, it’s to be whizzing along through wherever you are, seeing everything, smelling the world, catching peoples’ envious eyes, all of that.
Not crammed, alone, in a little wedge-shaped box that can flip around with reaction-control rocket jets to the point where your drink dumps onto the headliner and you puke on your own pants, then face.
How are you going to see wild herds of polo-centaurs if you’re cooped up in some closed car? You’re not, that’s how. Real roadsters make this happen, because, again, they are open.
Look at this little MG! Prime roadsterhood! And what’s going on in this picture, anyway? Did British Airways once offer a roll-on/roll-off service for small roadsters? Drive on the back of the plane in Liverpool, drive off in Paris or Milan or Pisa? That sounds pretty fun.
Also, I had to include this famous Triumph Spitfire ad/brochure image because I always thought it sent the wrong message. Even if we ignore the somewhat misogynistic notion that the lone woman doesn’t care about the workings of the car, when I see a group of dudes clustered under the hood of a British car, my assumption isn’t that they’re all admiring the engine, but rather wondering Why the Hell Won’t This Thing Start? or something along those lines, maybe Should That Wire Be Smoking Like That or Is It Normal For That SU Carb to be Dumping All That Petrol on the Exhaust Manifold?
Anyway, the Tesla Roadster is not a roadster. Words have meanings. Anyone who has a problem with this can go, as my dad used to say, scratch.
Top graphic image: Triumph
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