The Jaguar F-Type Coupe.

First things first: I’m back baby! I lament not writing, but it’s been a fruitful semester for me in many ways, and I’m happy to be here now and even happier looking at my schedule knowing that I will be able to contribute more to this place (though Ozo Coffee getting better WiFi would also be a great help, alas).

Onto the single most pressing thing since the beginning of time. This:

F-Type R

The Jaguar F-Type Coupe. This post had many titles: The Best Thing since Sliced Bread. The Bees Knees. The Next Love of My Life. My Future Illegal Organ Sale. Discounted Kidney!!!!. But it has none of those things because this machine needs no introduction.

Those that have spoken with me recently know that I am madly in love with the F-Type Coupe, but let me explain to the lovely readers here: the day this car goes on sale with a manual transmission, I will be camping out in front of the local Jaguar dealer to place an order the second they open. Simply put, I think that the Jaguar F-Type coupe is the most beautiful car ever made. I believe it surpasses the Aston Martin DBS, the 288 GTO, the Alfa Romero 8C and the Toyota 2000GT. 

Because it just is. Every other car in this class right now focuses on Nurburgring and 0-60 times. Their marketing is so embedded in my head. The GT-R is sub-three seconds. The 911 Turbo S comes with features that the German words are four pages long. The Corvette has a seven speed gearbox and is available with fancy features so it can compete with the M3. The M3 has a TURBO and on and on and on. When you turn on the television and watch a Cadillac or BMW advertisement, they show off all of the fancy features of the car. How quick the shift times are. How good the brakes are. How many seat-massaging functions it comes with. The F-Type comes with none of those. There are no lap times. There are no 0-60 times. It doesn’t need them.

I don’t like things that try too hard. The GT-R has something to prove — that it out-911-Turbo’s the 911 Turbo. The Americans compete against the Germans. Ferrari has such a long waiting list that it doesn’t matter. But The Jag. I postulate that you won’t care about the lap times that the F-Type will do. (I don’t). You won’t care about 0-60, or any of that other garbage. It’s so drop-dead gorgeous I can almost actually look past it’s 8-speed automatic gearbox. The F-Type doesn’t try to impress me. I feel like it knows what it is and what it isn’t. It’s not a track monster and it’s not a reliable Japanese Econobox. I’ll cut to it:

This car makes me feel special just by looking at it. That’s what everything in life is supposed to do. Going out to dinner with the love of your life is supposed to make you feel special. Having friends over in your nice well-appointed house is supposed to make you feel special. Reading a good book is supposed to make you feel special. Yet, driving a GT-R would make me want to put a bag over my head, I’d feel like I was trying too hard to be a “boy racer” or something. The Jag though really just is. If it makes me feel special just by looking at it (I have goosebumps from writing this post), then while I can’t imagine what it feels like to drive, I don’t care — just look at it; God it’s Beautiful.


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