Electric Cars Are Uninvolving, and Have No Soul and That’s Why I Hate Them

Let’s not beat around the (battery-powered) bush. I hate electric cars. Hate is a strong word, yes, but it’s the right one. They’re like high tech toasters on wheels. Sure, they work, they’re clean (not really), they’re quiet, but they have the emotional depth of a damp dishcloth. If you love driving the way some people love puppies or pizza, EVs feel like a personal attack.

Here’s why these overgrown golf carts are ruining the fun:

1. They’re Fat. Like, Really Fat

Let’s get this out of the way, EVs are chunky. Not thick in a good way, just heavy. The batteries that make them go also make them drive like a fridge with wheels.

You can slap a “Plaid” badge or “Turbo S” on it all you want, but the fact is, you’re lugging around something heavier than a sumo wrestler riding a buffalo. Try cornering hard in one of these and it feels like the car is thinking, “Are you sure ? This seems like effort.”

2. Driving One Is Like Playing a Racing Game on Easy Mode

Back in the good ol’ days, you actually had to drive a car. You’d heel toe downshift, feel the revs, listen for the right moment, and grin like an idiot when you nailed it. Now ? You press “D,” mash the pedal, and it launches like an iPhone having a midlife crisis.

There’s no drama. No feedback. No soul. It’s like eating bland tofu when you remember how good steak used to be. And don’t get me started on the fake engine noises coming out of the speakers. If I wanted a lie, I’d go on a dating app.

3. They’ve got the sex appeal of a tax form.

Internal combustion cars have character. They growl. They vibrate. Sometimes they stall or leak oil, but at least you know they’re alive. They’re like that friend who’s a bit wild but always fun at parties.

These battery powered boredom boxes have all the emotional pull of a beige wall at a government office. They’ve got the sex appeal of a tax form, cold, clinical, and something you only engage with out of guilt or environmental pressure.

Sure, they’re quiet… but so is a funeral. The acceleration’s quick, sure, but it feels like being launched by a passive aggressive librarian. Precise, efficient, and completely joyless.

4. Range Anxiety Is the New Constipation

Here’s how road trips used to work, full tank, snacks, music, and vibes. Now ? You spend half the time sweating over your battery percentage like you’re defusing a bomb.

“Can we make it to the next charger ?” “Will it be working ?” “Will we have to talk to strangers at the venue for 45 minutes while it charges ?”. I miss the days when the only thing you worried about on a road trip was which petrol station had the cleanest toilet.

5. EVs Are Basically Giant Smartphones with Wheels

You don’t get into an EV, you log in. You don’t start the engine, you wake it up. There are updates, settings, apps, profiles… I didn’t buy a car to feel like I’m rebooting a laptop every morning. I just want to drive. Cars used to be metal, grease, fire, and noise. Now they’re touchscreens, sensors, and politely chime when you do something naughty, like enjoy yourself.

In Conclusion, Bring Back the Vroom

Yes, the world is changing. Climate. Regulations. Your neighbour’s smug face because he bought a Tesla. But driving doesn’t have to become another chore managed by software and shame. Some of us still like the smell of petrol and the sound of an angry exhaust first thing in the morning. Electric cars might be the future, but that future looks boring, feels heavy, and smells like… nothing. Sometimes I dream of a glorious day when a pack of snarling ICE muscle cars, all chrome, rage, and unapologetic exhaust fumes, rise like mechanical wolves and gobble up EVs one by one, like EV’s were tofu cubes at a barbecue. I want to see American, British, Europeans and Japanese cars barrel through city streets with the roar of thunder, devouring those smug little silent sockets on wheels. Not out of spite (okay, maybe a little), but because deep down, I believe a car should growl, not hum politely like it’s afraid to offend your neighbour’s poodle. Let combustion engines be the glorious dinosaurs they are, if we’re going extinct, let’s at least go out with a burnout.