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I’m not arguing that these types of cars are unattractive as a rule, although many of them are. Whatever or not they’re pleasing to the eye, the one common visual quirk is that their design has dated itself very rapidly.

What constitutes a transitional model? They can be tricky to pin down at the time since they necessarily define themselves in part with respect to the models that follow them. That said, the main tip-off that a car’s styling falls into that category is a hesitancy in its design, details that lack conviction, that are neither here nor there. Here are a few examples:

Mercedes W203 C-Class. The proportions are well-executed, but the headlights are a dead giveaway of its transitional model status, being neither totally separate nor together but in a sort of “amoebas dividing” limbo.

Nissan Z31 300ZX. The same goes for the Z31 300ZX. Neither fully exposed nor legitimate pop-ups, the Z31’s headlights reveal a lack of resolve on Nissan’s part, and make the car look far more “’80s” than its contemporaries like the Toyota Supra and Mazda RX-7.

Audi B7 A4. The German automaker’s first entry-level model with their now-signature “deep” grille, the B7 generation’s styling suffered from a rare tentativeness, odd for Audi, whose designs typically bristle with confidence.

Volkswagen CC. The first time I saw a CC in the flesh, I admired VW’s attempt to bring the “four-door coupe” aesthetic down into the family car segment, but I also remember thinking, “That design will look very old in 5 to 10 years.” I still stand by that statement—its rear is afflicted with the same malady as that of the W203’s nose: Free-form blobs of taillights, barely related to any of the car’s other design elements.

Image credits: wikipedia.org, netcarshow.com

The 2011-Present Cayenne

…in which the German performance automaker shows that when it wants to, it can fix exactly what’s wrong, while augmenting what’s right.

Admittedly, I’ve never been a fan of the Cayenne. I’ve always seen it as something of a necessary evil, a cash cow for Porsche to milk for development capital to fund its more enthusiast-focused offerings like the 911, Boxster and its racing program. The first-generation car did absolutely nothing to dissuade that notion; it was massive (~5,000 lbs), barely functioned off-road and was breathtakingly ugly, cursed with awkward proportions, an array of lesion-like intakes on its nose and an anonymous, truck-like rear aspect. Sure, it was fast and its manufacturer did an amazing job of making such a juggernaut corner, accelerate and brake like a sports sedan, but at the end of the day, its looks were the real deal-breaker, to the point where Jeremy Clarkson famously refused to drive one home at the end of a Top Gear review, but simply left it in the middle of a field (Series 3, Episode 7).

The 2004-2010 Cayenne

Porsche certainly seems to have taken the criticism to heart. The 2011-present, 2nd-generation car has leapfrogged all others to become the best-looking SUV on the market; more importantly, its revised nose, tail and overall proportions actually make it look like a proper Porsche, like it belongs in the same stable as the 911, Cayman and Boxster, among others. Sure, it still weighs north of two tons, but instead of looking like a girthy automotive cinder block for status-minded country club denizens, the refreshed car looks exactly as an SUV from Porsche should look: An automotive capsule, an all-terrain bolide, ferrying its occupants anywhere in a cocoon of speed. And it manages to bend the laws of physics in delivering startling performance for something so tall and heavy, same as its predecessor.

Well done, Stuttgart. Now perform the same feat on the Panamera.

Image credits: netcarshow.com

Much better looking than its Rubbermaid-like sedan version, the first-generation Toyota Camry Solara is blessed with a remarkably cohesive, pleasing shape, neither too restrained nor too overdone like its successor.

Toyota finally decided to spin off the coupe version of their best-selling Camry in 1999, giving it a distinctive name and distancing it styling-wise—without completely severing all visual connections—from the Camry sedan. While most consider the Solara’s design just as bland as that of its four-door sibling, I think the (slight) bit of added design dash serves the shape very well, elevating it from “completely anonymous” to the realm of “tasteful and tailored.” The strong character line emphasizing the car’s beltline and tying its two ends together relieves what would otherwise be a very slab-sided, bathtub-like shape and gives the Solara just the right amount of visual detail.

The first-gen Solara had the added bonus of being available with a 5-speed manual transmission, generating a bit more interest as far as enthusiasts are concerned, though it will be said that particular option seems to be as scarce as hen’s teeth, the vast majority of buyers having decided to forgo the pleasure of rowing their own gears.

It’s a delightful shape. Find me a stickshift and I’ll happily assign it to commuter duty.

Image credits: edmunds.com, autos.msn.com, cardomain.com

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series featuring cars whose design we find appealing, in contrast to mainstream opinion. Read the other installments here:

• ’89-’91 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Coupe
• ’99-’04 Toyota Solara Coupe
• Mazda CX-7
• ’93-’01 Subaru Impreza
• ’96-’98 Chrysler Sebring Convertible
• ’86-’91 Mazda RX-7
• ’92-’97 Cadillac Seville STS
• ’95-’96 Nissan 240SX
• ’87-’88 Ford Thunderbird
• ’94-’97 Lexus LS400
• Subaru SVX
• ’03-’04 Infiniti M45

I was against it before I was for it.

The standard line of argument against debadging hinges on pride in a particular make and model. I’ve heard variations to the tune of “such-and-such car is one of the most prestigious and revered models to be made by this-and-that automaker; you should leave it on as a tribute to the car’s pedigree,” and so on.

I understand that; it used to be my very own line of thinking, but several years ago, during an online forum discussion about the subject, a contributor gave me a new perspective on debadging. He wrote:

Take it off.

I take any adhesive badges off my cars. If there weren’t holes/indents on some, I’d take them all off.

In general, I’m sick of corporatism and being constantly marketed to. Why should I carry and display a corporate logo wherever I go?

I like the cleaner look. I don’t know why I need to clutter up the rear, just to make sure everyone knows it is what it is. Who cares? It really is silly when you think about it.

I wouldn’t go as far as removing the actual brand logos like roundels and emblems—larger design elements of the car are often built around them and don’t work without them—but his overall point really struck a chord. After all, who are the model badges intended to inform? Those who don’t know what the car is; true enthusiasts are aware of what they’re looking at by the car’s lines and details alone. Why festoon my car’s decklid just to advertise what I have to those who aren’t interested in the first place? Like the contributor points out, from a certain perspective, it is a bit ridiculous. And, like him, I appreciate the cleaner no-badge look as well.

Needless to say, all my cars receive the dental-floss-and-adhesive-remover treatment soon after the title is signed over.

I realize some of you will always be partial to beauties such as the delectable E9 coupe, the exquisitely-proportioned E31 8-Series or the swoopy 507 roadster, but to me, BMW hasn’t made a better-looking car than the E24 6-Series. They just nailed it.

Frankly, the bumpers make or break the styling. Up until the final two years of the car’s long 13-year model run, the E24s bound for the US were fitted with hideous, protruding “diving board” crash bumpers—functional to be sure, but an order of magnitude worse to look at than the lovely, discreet Euro-spec pieces. But in 1988, BMW standardized the design across all markets with their so-called “world bumpers,” fitted to the E24 seen here. They still don’t complement the car’s lines quite as well as the Euro bumpers, but if the example seen in these photos is any indication, they do a fine job in their own right.

As an aspirational car, fit center caps to the 17″ wheels and position the badges correctly, and wouldn’t be ashamed in the least to be seen behind the wheel of this machine. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The rest of this photo collection can be viewed on the BigCoupe.com boards.

Image credits: Gregory Markarian

As much as I covet the quattro Concept, I’m actually kind of glad Audi decided not to put it into production.

Why? It’s too retro. It’s a developmental dead-end. As a nostalgia piece it’s a brilliant tribute, echoing not only exterior details like the classic Quattro‘s aggressively stubby proportions and box flares but also its businesslike interior and especially its iconic turbocharged 5-cylinder engine. No mere automotive sculpture, it’s a real working car, driven in anger by more than a few automotive publications.

But had Audi produced it, even as a limited-run model, as many implored them to do as it graced the auto show circuit in 2010, the quattro Concept would have met with the same fate as other unabashedly retro concepts like the Plymouth Prowler or the 2002-2005 Ford Thunderbird: Constrained to its niche and not really relevant to any of the other cars in the manufacturer’s lineup. One of Audi’s greatest assets as an automaker is their brand cohesiveness; some may call it lack of creativity but there’s real value in their cars’ messaging consistency across the model line, and a production quattro Concept would have been a bit of an outlier, even as a halo car.

That said, even as a one-off homage, the car demonstrates a few aspects of Audi’s way forward. The grille shape and headlight treatment, for one, seem to represent the direction those of the rest of the marque’s lineup are headed—with the logo moved up above the grille onto the hood for a cleaner look. The 402-hp, 2.5l 5-cylinder engine, lifted from the TT RS, seems in tune with the latest trends in engineering and has a considerable amount of development potential remaining. Most significantly, the quattro Concept signaled Audi’s newfound commitment to lowering their cars’ weight, tipping the scales at a lithe 2,850 lbs. After several decades of ballooning car mass, via the quattro Concept, Audi’s statement was, “We’re fighting back.”

Audi showed commendable self-restraint in not producing such a desirable car. I can admire it as a hat tip to its creator’s legacy, infused with a few glimpses of the future.

Image credits: fourtitude.com

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series discussing Audi’s rich history of noteworthy concept cars. Read the other installments here:

• TTS
• Rosemeyer
• Avus quattro

This is the best-looking American car to come along in the past 10 years. Maybe longer.

Aggressive, fleet, tailored, expensive… Visually, the 2014 CTS is a quantum leap ahead of its predecessor. A lot of credit has to be given to the new upright grille, which gives the nose a crisp, commanding appearance. Proportionally, the 2014 CTS echoes the latest Mercedes E-Class, but without that car’s baroque extremities and glitzy detailing. The new midsize Caddy has presence in spades; it looks chiseled and confident, borrowing its German rivals’ overall themes but imbuing them with a uniquely American swagger. It’s sub-zero.

Amazingly, even more than its looks, the best part about the new CTS may be its chassis. Left Lane reports that Cadillac may be taking a page from Audi’s recent weight reduction efforts with their luxury car lineup, targeting a curb weight that would undercut its competitors from BMW and Mercedes by at least 200 lbs, flashbacks of decades past when a trim, 3,600 lb luxury sedan was the norm rather than the exception. Lighter weight benefits every performance- and economy-related quality, especially handling; when an automaker choose to “add lightness,” as Colin Chapman famously put it, it’s huge in my book.

As far as the powerplant is concerned, Left Lane continues:

[T]he big news for 2014 is the introduction of a 3.6L twin-turbocharged V6 in the new Vsport model. The twin-turbo mill is based on Cadillac’s naturally aspirated 3.6L V6, but boasts a number of improvements, including a new block casting, updated cylinder heads, stronger connecting rods and a 10.2:1 compression ratio. As a result of those changes, the twin-turbo V6 cranks out 420 horsepower and 430 lb-ft of torque, good for a 0-60 time of just 4.6 seconds and efficiency of 17 city/25 highway mpg.

Other Vsport goodies include Brembo disc brakes, a driver-selectable track mode for the standard Magnetic Ride Control system, an electronic limited-slip differential, a heavy-duty track cooling package, a quickened steering ratio and 18-inch wheels shod with Pirelli summer tires (19-inchers with all-season rubber will be available).

However, sadly:

The slow-selling six-speed manual option from the current CTS has been deep-sixed.

Here’s hoping they choose to resurrect it for the range-topping CTS-V performance variant. Until then, between the new CTS’s design, emphasis on chassis lightness and fantastic new engine options, I’d say Cadillac has their latest winner on their hands.

Image credits: netcarshow.com

Left-mounted. A common arrangement, the only practical disadvantage has to do with the fact that the fuel filler door is almost always located on the opposite side of the car from the tailpipe. The configuration makes pulling up to a gas pump a bit trickier for those of us in LHD countries. Many Toyotas, Nissans, BMWs and Mercedes locate their cars’ tailpipes on the left side.

Right-mounted. My favorite arrangement, for the simple reason that when observing a LHD car from the rear, looking through the rear window, the silhouette of the driver’s head is located on the left side of the car. This visual asymmetry is neatly balanced by locating the tailpipe on the right side, under the rear bumper. Mazda particularly seems to favor this setup.

Dual. Once confined to exotics and high-end sports cars, the dual tailpipe arrangement has trickled down into every car category, from luxury SUVs to hot hatches. Its ubiquity has diluted much of its visual impact, and now dual tailpipes seem rather cliche and unoriginal, especially when added to cars with transverse or inline engines, where there isn’t a direct correspondence between a longitudinal, V- or flat-engine’s cylinder bank and one tailpipe side.

Center-low-mounted. The Porsche Boxster (shown above) and Cayman, along with Mini’s performance line, among others, feature the center-low-mounted tailpipe setup. Advantages include perfect visual symmetry (so long as the driver isn’t in the car); a downside is the tendency for the arrangment to make the rear of the car look taller and narrower than it is—and most performance cars would prefer to project a lower, wider image.

Center-high-mounted. So far, this layout has only appeared on high-end exotics like the McLaren MP4-12C (above) and Pagani Zonda. A full-width, perfectly-optimized rear diffuser can be developed for these cars without having to work around tailpipes. The weight of the muffler(s) and tailpipes does have to be mounted higher in the chassis, though, raising the CG somewhat, and any risks to passers-by from a thigh- vs ankle-level exhaust outlet have yet to be assessed.

Whatever. Vintage BMWs (among others) make me smile. Featured most prominently on cars such as the classic 2002 and E24 6-series, in that golden era BMW obviously had higher priorities than tucking their cars’ tailpipes neatly into one particular corner of the bumper. The slightly off-center layout says “I don’t really care where the exhaust comes out; I’ve got bigger fish to fry development-wise, like perfecting the suspension design and harmonizing all the controls.” I love it.

2003-2009 Subaru Legacy. Every time I come up behind one of these, I make a mental note to look for a nice 5-speed on Craiglist when I return home…and then I pass it and catch a glimpse of the nose in my rear view mirror. The concave rear treatment combined with the inswept taillights and general stance give the ’03-’09 Legacy a taut, arrow-like presence from the side and rear. But the fascia is so awkward, so anodyne it completely undercuts the effect.

2007-2012 Nissan Altima. While maybe not attractive in the conventional sense, the ’07-’12 Altima’s rear gets major points for being immediately recognizable and adventurous. The way the tops of the taillights flow into the horizontal surface of the trunk recalls a sports car’s low, wide rear—even if the Altima’s isn’t; the visual effect is there. Come around to the nose, however, and all the adventurousness melts away, replaced by a yawn-inducing, stock corporate grille treatment. Unfortunate.

1997-1999 Acura CL. The 1997 CL’s lovely rump was actually featured on a Car and Driver cover back in the day. The nose, however, was buried further in the story, and for good reason. Compared with the distinctive taper of the trunklid and elegant simplicity of the taillights, the fascia was depressingly conventional. The grille, the headlights—they were all in the usual places, but none of it converged with the same eye-catching grace as the elements in the rear.

Image credits: netcarshow.com, motortrend.com, theautochannel.com