Imagine you were creating a GT from scratch, out of one solid billet of aluminum. That’s this car, the Aston Martin V8. You won’t find crumple zones or insurance dictated modules to swap out. Look at this thing They only cut it for doors and
hood bonnet and trunk boot and gas petrol tank fillers. Inside you’re surrounded by creamy mashed potato-colored leather seats with red piping. You’re a London gentleman blasting up to the highlands for a weekend of scotch and kilt lifting. You can even fit real humans in the back to join you and your Italian confidential secretary…
If you’re a cruel bastard.
Not unlike Mustangs, the AM designed the rear seats as if they might sometimes carry actual people with legs, not simply picnic baskets or little yippie dogs. Just don’t try it on an 8-hour* jaunt on a Friday.
*Only 8, because you’ll, uh, need to “clear out the Webers.”
But this outward style and underhood power and the buttery carriage in the veal cutlet of leather seats is the glory. Much like Joan Collins, this car does best in soft focus. With a little distance or some judicious aperture and it’s sexy as hell. Look at the grill. The mesh material is straight out of Home Depot. That origin story the one part that is actually straight. Otherwise, it looks like some of the artwork from a 10th grade geometry proof.
Look at the rear “diffuser.” I suspect it is there more for aesthetics. It balances the front piece, plus it hides the de Dion rear suspension. Look at the seam between that glorious body and the clunky (up close) addon. Handmade is great, but Guinness at lunch doesn’t happen with robots.
Inside you are swaddled with leather-covered panels and thick rugs. But here is where things get a little bit back room at the butcher shop: