News

Fiat’s Radical Idea for City Cars: Slow Them Down Instead of Loading Them Up

If you’ve priced a modern city car lately and wondered how something so small got so expensive, Fiat CEO Olivier François thinks he knows exactly why—and he’s got a solution that sounds almost heretical in today’s arms race of sensors and silicon. His proposal? Forget stuffing city cars with ever-more advanced driver-assistance systems. Just cap their top speed at 73 mph.

Yes, really.

Speaking candidly about the impact of EU safety regulations, François said he would “happily” limit the maximum speed of Fiat’s urban-focused models—the 500, Panda, and Grande Panda—as a way to avoid fitting them with costly ADAS hardware that he believes adds little real-world benefit for how these cars are actually used. The argument is refreshingly blunt: most of the mandated tech is designed for high-speed driving, while city cars live their lives well below that threshold.

It’s hard to argue with the usage case. These cars spend their days dodging scooters, hunting for parking spaces, and rarely seeing the far side of 50 mph. Designing them to safely cruise at autobahn speeds—and then loading them with cameras, sensors, and computing power to manage that capability—starts to look like engineering theater.

François’s frustration centers on cost. According to him, the cumulative effect of these regulations has driven the average price of a city car up by around 60 percent in the past five or six years. That’s a staggering increase for vehicles whose core appeal has always been affordability, simplicity, and accessibility—especially for younger buyers and urban commuters.

“I don’t think that city cars in 2018 or 2019 were extremely dangerous,” François said, pushing back against the notion that more hardware automatically equals more safety. From his perspective, the industry hasn’t so much improved city cars as overburdened them.

The irony is that even without a speed cap, Fiat’s smallest models aren’t exactly autobahn missiles. None of them can officially crack 100 mph, and the electric Grande Panda is already limited to 82 mph. Dropping that ceiling to 73 mph—118 km/h, which happens to be the average maximum legal speed limit across Europe—would be more symbolic than transformative.

And that symbolism is the point. François questions why a car should be over-engineered to exceed legal speed limits in the first place. Most ADAS systems, after all, are developed with high-speed scenarios in mind. Lane-centering on highways, adaptive cruise control at triple-digit speeds, complex sign recognition—all impressive, all expensive, and all arguably excessive for a car designed to commute across town.

In that context, a speed limiter starts to look like a refreshingly analog solution to a digital problem. By defining a hard ceiling aligned with legal limits, Fiat could potentially sidestep some of the requirements that drive up costs, keeping city cars closer to their original mission.

François also welcomed the EU’s proposal for a new “M1E” category for small cars, which would acknowledge that a one-size-fits-all approach to safety regulation doesn’t make sense across every segment. City cars aren’t compact crossovers, and they’re certainly not executive sedans. Treating them as such, he argues, undermines their sustainability—financially and philosophically.

That word, sustainability, matters here. François describes city cars as “democratic” vehicles: small, inexpensive, and accessible. Price them out of reach, and buyers don’t upgrade to something slightly larger—they often move to the used market or abandon new cars altogether. In a market already struggling with affordability, especially for younger drivers, that’s a problem regulators may not have fully reckoned with.

Of course, Fiat wouldn’t be alone in using speed limitation as a safety strategy. Volvo famously capped all of its cars at 112 mph back in 2020 as part of its Vision Zero initiative. The difference is scale and intent. Volvo’s move targeted high-speed behavior in premium cars; Fiat’s would reshape the definition of what a city car is allowed to be.

Whether regulators would accept a lower top speed in lieu of advanced safety tech remains an open question. Safety policy tends to move in one direction—more systems, more redundancy, more rules—and rarely backtracks. François’s proposal challenges that momentum by suggesting that smarter regulation might mean less, not more.

It’s a provocative idea, and one that cuts against the grain of modern automotive development. But in a world where simplicity has become a luxury and “basic transportation” is anything but cheap, Fiat’s suggestion feels less like penny-pinching and more like a plea for common sense.

Limit the speed. Lower the cost. Build cars for how people actually drive. It’s a very Italian solution to a very modern problem—and it just might be crazy enough to work.

Source: Fiat

News

Inside BMW’s Plan to Engineer Emotion Into the Electric M3

BMW has finally said the quiet part out loud: its first electric M car will cheat. Not on performance—Munich wouldn’t dare—but on sensation. Synthetic gearshifts and synthesized sound will be part of the experience when the electric M3 arrives toward the end of 2027, and BMW is unapologetic about it.

The car in question is an all-electric M3 built on BMW’s upcoming Neue Klasse EV architecture, closely related to the next-generation i3. And according to Dominik Suckart, BMW’s head of high-voltage batteries, this won’t be just another fast EV wearing an M badge. “We have a legacy to continue,” he says—corporate speak, yes, but also a clear acknowledgment that M cars live or die by how they feel, not just how hard they launch.

That philosophy explains why BMW is leaning into synthetic interaction rather than pretending physics alone will do the talking. The electric M3 will use artificial shift points and sound profiles to give drivers something familiar to lean on, much like Hyundai’s surprisingly convincing setup in the Ioniq 5 N and Ioniq 6 N. That comparison isn’t accidental. Hyundai’s N division was originally run by Albert Biermann, formerly of BMW M, and the electric Ioniq 6 N may be the closest philosophical rival the M3 EV will face.

Unlike the twin-motor Hyundai setup, BMW is going all-in with four motors—one per wheel—each with its own inverter and reduction gearbox. Everything is overseen by a single control brain, allowing precise torque vectoring that would make a mechanical limited-slip differential blush. BMW still isn’t talking numbers, but with a quad-motor layout and a battery north of 100 kWh, expect output that comfortably clears today’s gas-powered M3—and probably embarrasses it in a straight line.

But straight-line speed is table stakes now. BMW’s bigger concern is engagement. That’s where a bespoke software suite called M Dynamic Performance Control comes in. Suckart promises “never-seen-before handling and traction control,” which is a bold claim in a world where every performance EV already claims millisecond responses and infinite adjustability.

The trick here is flexibility. The electric M3 will be able to run as a full all-wheel-drive car, switch to rear-wheel drive for track use or drifting, and even operate in a range-extending RWD mode for everyday driving. In other words, it won’t just be configurable—it’ll be shape-shifting.

At the center of all this is BMW’s intriguingly named “Heart of Joy” control unit, first shown in the Vision Driving Experience concept. It consolidates drivetrain, chassis, and dynamics controls into a single high-performance computer, reducing latency and making the car’s responses feel more immediate and cohesive. BMW wants this EV to react like a great M car always has: intuitively, predictably, and with a touch of mischief when you ask for it.

The battery itself is doing more than just storing energy. BMW says it will be capable of delivering high sustained output—not just short bursts—and, crucially, will continue to recuperate energy even under extreme deceleration at the limits of grip. That’s an engineering flex aimed squarely at track-day credibility, where many EVs still fade or behave inconsistently once the tires and brakes are fully loaded.

Structurally, the M3 EV gets unique treatment as well. The battery housing is a stressed member of the chassis and will be mounted to both the front and rear axles, rather than only the rear as in the standard i3-based models. The goal is improved rigidity and more consistent handling—again, chasing feel rather than spec-sheet dominance.

Weight, however, remains the elephant in the room. Modern M cars are already portly—the plug-in hybrid M5 tips the scales at nearly 2.5 tons—and EVs don’t exactly help that narrative. BMW says it’s attacking the problem creatively, using natural-fiber composites in place of carbon fiber where possible, a technique already employed on the M4 GT4 race car. Besides reducing mass, these materials carry a 40-percent lower CO₂ footprint than carbon fiber, which neatly aligns with the Neue Klasse’s sustainability messaging.

Whether buyers are truly ready for an electric performance sedan that relies on synthesized drama is still an open question. The market’s response to high-end EVs has been enthusiastic but uneven, especially among traditional enthusiasts. Suckart, for his part, seems unconcerned. “We’re excited about it,” he says, “and I think you can be excited too.”

Perhaps the most telling detail, though, is what BMW isn’t abandoning. Alongside the electric M3, the company has strongly hinted that a more traditional gasoline-powered option will remain, using an updated version of the beloved B58 turbocharged inline-six. That’s BMW hedging its bets—and wisely so.

The electric M3 won’t replace the idea of an M car. It’s BMW’s attempt to translate it. And if that translation requires a few well-tuned digital illusions to keep the soul intact, Munich seems perfectly comfortable pressing “simulate.”

Source: BMW

NEW CARS

Pocket Bunny GT-R

The Tokyo Motor Show is always good for a few double takes. Between earnest production cars and sensible concepts, there’s inevitably something that looks like it escaped from an AI prompt that read “classic JDM legend, but make it tiny.” This year, that honor goes to a car that stops you mid-stride: a pint-size Nissan GT-R that absolutely is not a Nissan GT-R.

What you’re looking at is called the Pocket Bunny, and beneath its familiar scowl is a Suzuki Twin—a kei car last seen quietly minding its own business in the early 2000s. The transformation comes courtesy of the Rocket Bunny Pandem crew, working with designer Jun Takahashi and Saitama-based J Beat Custom Shop. The result is equal parts homage, parody, and love letter to one of Japan’s most revered performance cars: the R32 Skyline GT-R.

The Suzuki Twin, if you need a refresher, was never meant to stir emotions. Introduced in 2002, it was round, upright, and about as threatening as a toaster. But that blank-slate anonymity is exactly what makes it such a compelling canvas. Reimagined as the Pocket Bunny, the Twin sheds nearly all visual ties to its former self. Aside from the doors, windows, and roof, virtually every exterior panel has been redesigned, reshaped, or outright replaced.

The resemblance to the R32 is uncanny—and occasionally surreal. Pandem’s custom kit gives the car a shrunken Skyline face, complete with squared-off headlights and a hood that echoes the original GT-R’s muscular simplicity. The front and rear bumpers are bespoke, the fenders are widened just enough to sell the illusion, and the tailgate and rear wing mirror the Skyline’s greatest hits, scaled down to kei-car proportions. Even the taillights have been reworked to faithfully channel the four-circle GT-R signature.

Stand back a few paces and squint, and your brain fills in the blanks. This thing reads as a classic Nissan, just viewed through a funhouse mirror. It’s the automotive equivalent of seeing a perfectly accurate model train—your rational mind knows it’s small, but your emotions don’t care.

Pull closer and the craftsmanship becomes the story. This isn’t a bolt-on cosplay. According to the builders, installing the kit requires cutting into the original bodywork and sealing the inner fenders. Translation: this conversion is permanent. Once you commit to Pocket Bunny life, there’s no returning to stock Twin anonymity. That’s a bold move for a car that started out as transportation appliance, and it says a lot about the confidence behind the project.

The show car leans hard into the stance scene, riding on new alloy wheels and a dramatically lowered setup thanks to electromagnetic air suspension from Airmext Japan. Inside, subtlety is not invited. There’s a roll cage, bucket seats, a three-spoke steering wheel, and an extra infotainment screen—because why not? It’s part show car, part toy, and fully self-aware.

Performance, at least for now, remains pure kei car. The original 658cc three-cylinder engine carries over, producing a heroic 27 horsepower. Power goes to the front wheels through a five-speed manual, just as Suzuki intended. In stock form, the Twin was available with a hybrid option as well, though neither version was ever accused of being fast.

But that may change. Automotive photographer Larry Chen reports that the Pocket Bunny team has far bigger plans: a rotary engine swap and a conversion to rear-wheel drive. Yes, really. It’s an audacious idea that sounds either brilliant or completely unhinged, which means it’s perfectly on brand. If it happens, the Pocket Bunny would graduate from visual joke to genuine mechanical statement—and probably become terrifying in all the right ways.

As for the kit itself, the price lands at €3,622, not including paint or installation. At the time of writing, it’s officially sold out, though Pandem has promised more runs in the future. Given the attention this tiny GT-R magnet is pulling, that promise will be tested quickly.

The Pocket Bunny doesn’t make sense in the traditional automotive way. It’s not fast, it’s not practical, and it’s certainly not subtle. But it captures something essential about car culture: the joy of reinterpreting icons, the willingness to commit fully to an idea, and the understanding that sometimes the best builds exist simply because someone asked, “What if?”

In a hall full of serious machinery, this little kei car dares you not to smile. And that might be its greatest performance figure of all.

Source: Larry Chen

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