It’s not.
“Ford is now cool, while Tesla is no longer cool” is the gist of Ezra Dyer’s guest column in the New York Times which starts with the line, “Tesla had me convinced, for a while, that it was a cool company.”
Everything that follows just don’t make no sense.
For those unaware, Dyer is a prolific automotive journalist. And he’s prolific because he treats cars like the fun, ridiculous contraptions they are while simultaneously conveying a pragmatic blue-collar appreciation for what they can offer as beasts of burden and industry. So I’m puzzled by this Times piece of his — the best I can figure is that the NYT editors got to this copy and ran it through their SoulSapper (the 4000-series with the optional champagne flute holder) in the basement a few dozen times.
Despite the oddity of the column’s tone, I think Dyer’s argument is worth considering. What does make a “cool” company, especially when it comes to cars (the foremost consumer item associated with the word)?
That debate must start at the beginning of all things — the Clarkson/May/Hammond-era Top Gear “Cool Wall,” where cars of all builds and specifications became a collage of varying coolness. What we find there, at the Tree of the Knowledge of Cool and Uncool, is Clarkson observing that the “Uncool” category is pre-populated by “lots of Vauxhalls and Fords and so on.” A dirt hill-climb for Ford’s purported coolness from then until now, then.
Ford as an entity can never be cool. Organs of the Detroit behemoth can be, of course — like its tuning labs and muscle groups — but an organization that produces the most milquetoast lineup in the world, each vehicle stuffed with pre-smudged piano-black finish and more buttons than the Starship Enterprise, is doomed to stay well within the “meh, it’s a car” categorization. No man or beast has ridden in a Ford Explorer and thought, “This is the pinnacle of automotive engineering.” He thinks, “The kids, their junk, and the dog fit in here, and it’s not a minivan. Good enough for now.”
Tesla, like Alfa Romeo and Alpina, is cool by dint of its exclusivity, cult following, and peculiarity. Formlessness and technological hiccups in Teslas? Yeah, of course. Alfas delight in repair bills and head-scratching design decisions. Alpinas are for BMW drivers (the vain) who want to feel superior to other BMW drivers (so, vainer). Each brand is eccentric, adds interest to the roadways, and denotes a lifestyle unlike any other.
Perhaps the biggest mark against Tesla’s coolness has become its ubiquity, with Tesla Model 3s (the entry-level offering) scooting around every corner and populating Whole Foods parking lots. But Dyer doesn’t make that argument.
To support the claim that Ford is hipper than its Texas/Silicon Valley rival, Dyer points to the structure of the organizations — Ford recently implemented flexible scheduling and hybrid work models, as well as constructing “collaboration centers” where work is free-form and food is delivered to employees. He compares this to Tesla, an outfit that is close-lipped and “an old-fashioned corporate autocracy” with a required 40-hour week in the office.
Dyer writes:
Tesla’s veneer of irreverence conceals an inflexible core, an old-fashioned corporate autocracy. Consider Tesla’s remote work policy, or lack thereof. Last year, Mr. Musk issued a decree that Tesla employees log 40 hours per week in an office — and not a home office — if they expected to keep their jobs. On Indeed.com, the question, “Can you work remotely at Tesla?” includes answers like, “No,” and “Absolutely not, they won’t let it happen under any circumstances,” and “No, Tesla will work you until you lose everything.”
But on the other hand, the cars make fart noises. What a zany and carefree company!
Ford’s work-from-home rules for white-collar employees, meanwhile, sound straight out of Silicon Valley, in that the official corporate policy is that there is no official corporate policy — it’s up to the leaders of individual units to require in-person collaboration, or not, as situations dictate. There are new “collaboration centers” in lieu of cubicle farms, complete with food service and concierges. That’s not the reality of daily work life for every person at Ford — you can’t exactly bolt together an F-150 from home — but it’s an attempt to provide some flexibility for as many people as possible.
What the article becomes is an anti-Elon Musk piece, with paragraphs spent on how his antics with Twitter have become a lightning rod for controversy (a cliché, but we’re talking EVs here).
The piece ends with this:
I just bought a Jeep, and I have no idea who the C.E.O. is there. That’s cool with me.
Would Ford be what it is today if there wasn’t a similarly divisive figure at its head? Chevy? Dodge? American car brands are the result of arrogant buggers who each thought he could make a better vehicle than anyone else. Musk is but the next of that bunch — all of whom eventually saw the coolness of their companies atrophy as their profits expanded.
The price of success is to become uncool, and Ford has a century head start on Tesla.