When the Car Gets Too Big: Desire, Design, and the Death of Sexy

I recently rented a Maserati Ghibli from Turo. On paper, it sounded perfect—Italian flair, a hint of exotic badge prestige, and just enough aggression to feel luxurious without being obnoxious. My partner and I planned to use it for a photo shoot along the California coast. We imagined something sultry and cinematic, a visual love letter to speed, style, and sensuality.

But the car was...big. Too big. 

Not in a commanding ‘own the road’ way. In a disproportionate way. The Ghibli looked bloated, stretched beyond its natural form. In the photos, it swallowed my partner entirely. Instead of accentuating her elegance, it made her look miniaturized, like a doll posed next to a prop meant for someone else’s fantasy. The car wasn’t sexy. It was awkward.

And that got me thinking: if so many modern cars, especially those built to attract, no longer connect visually, emotionally, or physically...who are they really for?

A Design Out of Sync

The Ghibli wasn’t always like this. Early models were low-slung and lithe, shaped by wind tunnels and intuition. But like many modern luxury sedans, the current version has been upsized to meet bloated expectations, longer wheelbase, wider hips, heavier everything (1,820kg). And to compensate for its girth, the designers scaled up the wheels, stretched the grille, and added drama where balance used to reside.

The result is a car that performs presence instead of embodying it.

It’s not just the Ghibli. This is a trend across the luxury space, overbuilt machines with swollen dimensions and exaggerated styling cues, all trying to communicate status through size. But in the process, they lose something essential: proportion. And proportion is everything. Not just in design, but in attraction, in how we experience the world.

The Masculine Machine, Misfiring

At some level, many men still buy cars like this to attract women, or at least to project desirability. It’s the continuation of a myth: horsepower equals sex appeal. But if the woman you’re hoping to impress looks absurd next to the car, if she’s not moved by its presence, then who is this performance really for?

Other men? Old paradigms?

This disconnect isn’t just aesthetic, it’s emotional. Modern masculinity is still chasing size when what’s actually attractive is fit. Connection. Symmetry. Power that listens. Presence that invites, not overwhelms.

But the Ghibli didn’t listen. It shouted. It demanded you let it in. ‘Do you know who I am?’

What Happened to Taste?

There was a time when sexiness meant subtlety. Curves, not bulges. Confidence, not compensation. The original Maseratis, Ferraris, even early BMWs, weren't trying to dominate every square inch of asphalt. They were designed with restraint. With tone. With the idea that allure lives in what you suggest, not in what you shout.

Modern design seems to have forgotten that. The pursuit of “more” has replaced the pursuit of meaning. It’s not about moving the soul anymore, it’s about filling the frame.

A Mirror of Modern Life

Maybe it’s not just car design that’s out of proportion.

In dating, in work, in how we present ourselves online, we often reach too far. Try too hard. Enlarge the profile, the pitch, the ego. We lose balance. We over-style, overthink, over-post. And then wonder why we still feel disconnected.

The oversized car becomes a symbol of the oversized life: all performance, no poetry.

Scale Isn’t the Problem, Disconnection Is

There’s nothing inherently wrong with a big car. The problem is when the size exists instead of intention, not because of it. When volume replaces vision. When the proportions no longer serve the experience, just the image.

Because real beauty, real sexiness, is not about more. It’s about coherence. Proportion. The way something makes you feel seen, not small.

That Maserati left an impression, unintentionally. It showed me what happens when a product tries to signal desire but forgets to connect with it. And it left me wondering:

If a car was built to attract, but fails to connect, what was it ever really for?