My (huge) Tesla Model Y Review
By: Marc Hoag
Tags: Self Driving Cars, Autopilot, Autonomous Cars, Tesla, Cars

And that’s really the best way I can describe the Y: it’s the 3 done right. It’s almost as though the sedan form factor of the 3 shouldn’t even exist; or the Model S, either, for that matter. And obviously, that’s sort of my point. Not only does a sedan in America in 2020 make about as much sense as a sugar cube on cauliflower, nevermind, say, in Europe where sedans are about as common as truthful tweets from a certain orange-faced president, but the Y’s dimensions just work better. And if you disagree with me, you’re wrong.

Where the 3 looks a bit odd from certain angles — to be polite — the Y has a sort of techno chic stance, its rounder, more bulbous shape giving it a counterintuitively more planted look despite riding 2.8 cm (1.1 in) taller than, and towering a not inconsiderable 18.3 cm (7.2 in) above, its smaller sibling. But it’s not just the Z-axis that’s increased; it’s a surprising 5.6 cm (2.2 in) longer and 7.1 cm (2.8 in) wider, too. So a merely lifted Model 3 this is not; it’s a lifted, stretched, slightly widened, hatchbacked, and yes, decidedly enfattened Model 3.

If this all sounds a bit like a beginner learning the non-uniform scaling tools of 3D modeling software like Maya or Blender, well, you’d be right: while many expected the Y to certainly ride taller than the 3, I’m not aware of anybody who expected it to grow in all three dimensions.

And as for being hatchbacked — that hatchback is glorious! It is absolutely cavernous, to say nothing about the so-called “sub-trunk” that holds maybe four full bags of groceries under the trunk floor. Without getting overly metric-y about all this, suffice to say that our Model Y can swallow substantially more stuff than our previous car, 2017 Mercedes-Benz GLC 300.

If ever there was an example of minimizing external dimensions while maximizing internal volume — a hallmark trick of engineering for which Teslas are famous thanks to their EV chassis design that eliminates wasted space — the Model Y is surely it. Need more space? Get a Model X. Get rid of a few kids. Or just stop hording so much stuff, I don’t know.

The end result is basically a real life version of the exaggerated car props you might see in a sci-fi movie set some 10 or 20 years hence, except that this thing just looks better, even if it is, admittedly, tricky to photograph well (for me, anyway).

Focusing only on car measurements, though, doesn’t actually reveal the full picture; measurements are a funny thing. Sort of like airplane seats — if you remember those days long ago when we still used to fly pre-COVID — where an extra two inches of seat pitch is the difference between agonizing and bearable, you can be sure the Y’s increased size over the 3 pays off massively, to a degree that simply cannot be appreciated on paper.

So allow me to use myself as an illustration. Standing about 6-foot-4-inches tall with a fairly slender frame of about 200 pounds, I find the Model 3 tolerable at best, and almost painfully uncomfortable for anything more than a one-hour drive at worst. And I basically can’t fit in the back seat at all for anything other than demonstrating the fact that I, uh, can’t fit in the back seat.

Granted my experience with the Model 3 is based on the standard black seats rather than our Model Y’s premium white seats which are at least anecdotally said to be vastly more comfortable, but the volume delta between the two vehicles simply cannot be ignored. While on paper the Y appears just marginally more spacious than the 3, in practice, it goes from feeling like a cozy, compact sports sedan (which to the 3’s credit, is precisely what it is), to a properly spacious people-and-stuff hauler. It feels dramatically roomier inside.

Photo by Marc Hoag. Copyright © 2020 All Rights Reserved.

And those seats! I’ve been spoiled/fortunate/blessed to experience some extraordinarily comfortable car seats in my life, both in cars that I’ve owned, but also cars I’ve sat in. The thing about car seats is, the comfortable ones really stand out; you simply can’t forget them. In no particular order, then, cars like our aforementioned 2015 Volvo XC90; my wife’s 2015 New Beetle (seriously); our previous 2017 Mercedes-Benz GLC 300; even my old 2005 BMW 645 had extraordinarily comfortable, supportive seats.

But these so-called premium white faux leather seats of the Y take seat construction suppleness and extended drive ride comfort to an altogether new level. If you’re hesitating whether to check the upgrade box to grab them for an additional $1000 (as of this writing, anyway), don’t worry about whether they’re difficult to clean — they aren’t; they’re no different than the black seats in this regard, nor do they stain any easier — so just get them. They’re absolutely gorgeous and make the car look like a Star Trek shuttle pod.

I won’t go into detail about the infotainment design, about which tomes of reviews have been written, and eons of YouTube minutes produced, but to describe the Y’s interior— or any Tesla’s interior for that matter — as barren, or sparse or perhaps even Teutonic, would miss the point entirely: it is indeed decidedly minimalist to an extreme which, let’s face it, as with minimalism in art, it’s a potentially polarizing affair. But given Tesla’s hockey stick sales growth curve, the majority of which is thanks to Model Y sales, it appears most people love it, as do I.

At this point I’m sure many of you not yet convinced will be shaking your fists, white knuckles and all, faulting Teslas for not being luxurious enough, or for their (occasional) subpar build quality (more on this later). But here’s the thing though: while other cars surely do provide more opulent, tangible luxury — don’t think for a moment that I haven’t been lusting after the latest 2021 Mercedes-Benz S-Klasse from Sindelfingen; or, for something less dissimilar to our Y’s price point of just over $60,000, an E-Klasse wagon, arguably the greatest vehicle in the world, full stop — that’s like complaining that Times New Roman has more elegance than Helvetica; it’s an argument that misses the point entirely. The real point is that luxury has a finite life span; classic is by definition eternal.

If ever there were a sans-serif automobile, this is surely it. Want proof? Just consider that the Model S is essentially unchanged from its introduction eight years ago; in car years, that’s an eternity to go without a major design upgrade. The only cars I can think of to go so long between model years might be the Mercedes-Benz SL; the Corvette; and … that’s about it, honestly.

Forget the iPhone analogies, Tesla’s vehicles are basically the Helvetica font of the automotive world: clean, simple, functional, and utterly timeless.

FUTURE IMPERFECT

Right, so the Y is a prettier, roomier, hatchbackier, and comfier Model 3; what’s not to love? (And before some of you comment that I’m not well acquainted with the 3, just check out this video I made nearly two years ago.)

Well, nothing, really, though there are a few curious issues, if I’m honest. And when I say “curious” issues, I mean precisely that: while they impart some nontrivial faults to Model Y, they would be pretty trivial to resolve.

Suspension

First, there’s the suspension. It’s really good: firm without being jarring, comfortable without being floaty. If this sounds somewhat Bavarian, then you know your cars: it does remind very much of Germany’s finest marques, perhaps rather more BMW than Mercedes, and even then, think the harder BMWs of the 90s and early 2000s; so more E36 or even E46 than F32.

Except that this impressive fourth opus by Team Elon suffers a bit from cut corners, something you’re likely to experience while literally carving up your favorite mountain roads. On straight roads —whether Autobahn-smooth or San Francisco moon craters — the car does a fine job soaking up both long wavelength undulations and higher frequency vibrations alike. And yes, our Model Y, anyway, is utterly devoid of shakes, rattles, or vibrations; the build quality is astounding, full stop.

But two peculiar bits of spring dynamics come into play when hitting a bump mid-corner or when executing sudden directional changes. Simply put, the car’s otherwise fantastic, seemingly unflappable composure misses a beat; or rather, it beats one too many times, with a sort of echoing rebound that makes the car sort of flop about.

It’s not quite unsettling, but it is a bit jarring for such an otherwise planted ride; and I know it’s not just me; my wife, too, has complained, even when sat in the passenger seat. Even entering the admittedly too-large driveway ramp to our garage at anything other than perfectly perpendicular to the ramp induces a severely unpleasant wobble, the likes of which I haven’t felt since my painfully sprung 2001 BMW X5 4.4i. I suppose it feels like an incredibly stiff, unadjustable rear sway bar tying both sides of the rear together, and then attaching them to not-quite-right springs.

And that’s the thing: it took me nearly the entire 16,000 km (10,000 mi) of ownership thus far to even convince myself I wasn’t imagining things. But for my wife’s comments on the same, which never quite rise to the level of outright complaint, I was starting to wonder whether it was all in my head. And then I read somewhere — and frustratingly can’t find it now — that the Model Y and the Model 3 inexplicably share the same, totally unaltered springs, and that’s when it hit me: besides the Y’s dimensional surplus over the 3, most crucially raising its center of mass, it also carries a further 156 kg (344 lbs) of heft. I suspect it is this suboptimal pairing of the 3’s springs to the Y’s heavier and larger frame, and taller ride height, that is responsible for the Y’s marginally sub-par suspension dynamics. But if this is the only consequence of any necessary cost-cutting on Tesla’s part, I’ll take it.

Turning radius

Second — and there really isn’t much to say about this — there’s the turning radius. How shall I put this simply… it is woefully, abysmally poor, turning what should be simple U-turns into 17-point contortions. I’ve seen full-length coach buses with rear-steering turn tighter circles than the Y. What should be trivial becomes a desperate act of planning in all but the largest parking lots. There’s a drive-up ATM near our home which requires a U-turn to access, and it is simply impossible to do so. I now find myself driving all the way around rather than embarrass myself and risk holding up traffic.

I know that all-wheel drive systems by their mechanical nature, all things being equal, will impart a penalty on turning radii; I get this. I’ve also owned other all-wheel drive vehicles like the aforementioned 2001 E53 BMW X5 4.4 and, more recently, our 2017 Mercedes-Benz GLC 300 4Matic (which was replaced by our Model Y, actually, when its three-year lease expired on Valentine’s Day). I don’t remember thinking the X5 had a poor turning radius; and the GLC could practically turn inside its own length.

But let’s dispense with hyperbole for a moment. I googled the actual turning radius numbers, and here they are: GLC: 11.8 m (38.7 ft); X5: 11.6 m (38.1 ft); Tesla Model Y, a whopping 12.1 m (39.8 ft), despite being just 10.2 cm (4 in) longer! Ok so if I’m honest, I expected a significantly larger delta between the Y and the two Germans, but the truth is, the 33 cm and 52 cm (1.1 ft and 1.7 ft) delta between the Y and Munich’s finest makes all the difference between pulling off that U-turn or not, and it’s something quickly learn to plan around.

Tires

Third — and this is indeed truly trivial but worth mentioning if you’re planning on taking your new Model Y to play in the snow — while the stock Continental ProContact RX 255/45R19 rubber is good enough in the dry, the same cannot be said for the snow (though weirdly enough I haven’t yet had the chance to test them in plain old rain, because California).

We just had our first experience in the fluffy white stuff a few weeks ago when the first snow of the season hit the Lake Tahoe area and — there’s no way to mince words here — the tires were bad to the point of being scary; and I’m a fairly competent, if not particularly experienced, driver in the snow.

While the traction- and stability-control systems proved telepathically instantaneous at regulating torque to each of the four wheels via the dual electric motors, the tires’ apathetic cold weather performance proved no match for physics, and I soon found myself threshold braking instead of relying on ABS, and slowing excessively in advance of anything that showed even a modicum of accumulated snow and ice.

Regenerative breaking proved particularly tricky. I had forgotten to reduce the regen seetting from “Standard” to “Low.” Big mistake. Having lifted in anticipation of a particularly menacing patch of icy snow, the resultant rapid deceleration caused the wheels to slip as though I’d foolishly hit the brakes. The stability computer went wild, and I somehow remembered to compensate by counterintuitively applying some power, the Tesla equivalent to reducing braking force. Admittedly, once I changed the regen to “Low” this was less of an issue, but I have never driven a vehicle less confidence-inspiring in the snow and ice than our Model Y with these particular tires.

Again questioning my own sanity though — but my wife too said she could feel the slipping traction to an almost nauseating degree at times — I thought to pull up the reviews for these tires on Tire Rack, and, well, see for yourself: “winter/snow performance” scored an overall rating of “4.8 — Fair,” broken down to 5.4 for “light snow traction,” 4.5 for “deep snow traction,” and 4.3 for “ice traction.” For comparison, the tires I intend to replace these with — Bridgestone Turanza QuietTrack — scored 9.3, 8.4, and 7.9 respectively, for a combined “winter/snow performance” rating of 8.5. That’s a huge difference no matter how you look at it; so it wasn’t just our imagination.

I get that this was likely just another way to cut costs and, crucially, to keep the price of entry into a Model Y as low as possible — the OEM tires are indeed about $34 less per tire for a combined savings of $136 — but when you’re talking about a car that starts at $48,490 (as of this writing; the prices are always fluctuating, because Elon) and can balloon up to $71,490 (and even $74,490 once the 3-row/7-seat option becomes available), unless I’m missing something, it seems foolish not to have kitted out the car with the better shoes.

AUTOPILOT

If you were expecting this review to have been a deep dive on all things Autopilot, well, you’re not alone: so was I. But since my aforementioned Model 3 video already covered Autopilot which, apart from markedly increased competence since then is essentially unchanged, I decided to wait until I receive the so-called Full Self Driving beta, or FSD beta as it’s affectionately (and infamously) called and I’ll do a full review then.

That said, yes, Autopilot hasn’t just improved since my Model 3 review nearly two years ago, it’s also better than when we first took delivery in June of this year. It’s subtle, but it makes all the difference between trusting it (however misplaced that trust may be; more on this in a moment) and not using it at all.

There are, however, four really pesky scenarios where Autopilot still essentially fails: merge lanes; new lanes; left turn lanes; and phantom braking.

Merge lanes — especially with traffic in both lanes — seem to present the greatest challenge to Autopilot, at least of the current version (2020.44.25). And when I say “greatest challenge,” I mean Autopilot just doesn’t work, reducing first to a twitchy bout of uncertainty, and eventually a convulsing, drunken mess of haphazard steering flicks, brake jabs, and acceleration spikes. Suffice to say, I disengage Autopilot at every upcoming merge.

Similarly, the formation of new lanes seems to turn Autopilot into a deeply disturbing, indecisive jumble of aggressive corrections, its AI- and ML-powered neural net completely unsure how to behave as the present lane suddenly splits into two. Again, in these situations, I almost always preemptively disengage Autopilot.

Left turn lanes are another, less common, but no less unsettling use case where Autopilot just seems to make something more complex than it should be. Imagine you’re driving along a one-lane road which has a dedicated, protected left-turn lane at the intersection above. You’d assume — especially since the car can see the left turn arrow as indicated by the on-screen visualization— that the car would stay in the default lane, but no: inexplicably, it almost always tries to dart left into the turn lane, in some vain attempt at escaping your control.

Which leads to a related point: Autopilot’s peculiar refusal to hug — or at least prefer — the inside of corners. I’m pretty sure I mentioned long ago (perhaps in my Model 3 video, too) that carving the “optimal racing line,” the geometrically straightest path through a series of bends, starting wide, clipping the apex, and then exiting wide, wouldn’t just be more efficient, it would be vastly more comfortable for passengers. While the latest software update does indeed seem to somewhat improve on this, I find the car still tends to float in the dead-center of the lane instead of choosing a more optimal inside path.

Then, there’s the dreaded “phantom braking,” where Autopilot will mistakenly fear an imminent collision and slam on its brakes in a desperate attempt to save your life — or perhaps its life? — due to a false positive. This is annoying at best and extremely dangerous at worst since it could cause a driver to rear-end you; and because they’d reasonably assume you were brake checking them, you’d likely soon be staring down the business end of a gun (a US-only feature).

Finally, I’d be remiss not to discuss the rather less tangible, less obvious risks associated with Autopilot. Here’s the problem: notwithstanding the several gripes above, some of which are decidedly dangerous issues, for the vast majority of the time, Autopilot actually works spectacularly, magically well. It works so well, in fact, that my wife and I find ourselves driving far more often; much further; and in worse traffic than we would ever have driven otherwise. (This personal anecdote corroborates other evidence that Tesla owners in the UK also drive further and more often than drivers of any other car.)

If I were to venture a guess, I’d say that I’ve relied on Autopilot for probably 90–95% of the 16,000 km (10,000 mi) we’ve driven so far. (It would be great if a future software update showed the actual percentage of Autopilot engagement; I just tweeted this suggestion to Elon.)

Please, Elon?

Granted, the vast majority of our driving is freeway based which obviously skews this data, but so be it: freeway driving is where you want Autopilot the most, and where Autopilot truly shines (though preliminary tests of the aforementioned FSD beta show astonishing promise at Autopilot’s city driving capabilities).

As I’ve mentioned previously on my podcast, there is also is the very real increased risk of falling asleep at the wheel because Autopilot is just convincing enough that you do eventually tend to let your guard down, at least when you’re tired. Train your brain to continually mange the machine like an Airbus A350 pilot, and the continuous mental checks should keep you conscious; but allow your concentration to falter late at night on a dreary, straight stretch of road, and you could very quickly run into trouble.

And that’s the double paradox, really, of this interim state of autonomy. First, the additional safety can cause people to be less careful, therefore netting greater risk. Second, although you’re more like to fall asleep at the wheel, you’re probably less likely to die or to kill others because the Tesla will presumably come to a stop if it senses you’re no longer attentive.

Before continuing deeper into a quick discussion on Tesla’s endeavor to full autonomy, it’s worth providing a quick crash course (pun not intended) on the five so-called levels of autonomy. I had planned to share a popular graphic I often share when giving talks on this stuff, but I think I’ve finally come up with a simple way to explain it:

Level 0: no electronic driver assistance at all

Level 1: cruise control or steering assist

Level 2: cruise control and steering assist

Level 3: in limited scenarios like traffic jams, the car can drive it self fully autonomously, and while the driver can tune out in these limited scenarios, they need to be on alert and ready to take over at a moment’s notice

Level 4: the car can drive itself fully autonomously everywhere except when and where it can’t (think geofenced areas or adverse weather conditions), but it will give the human a long heads-up before that occurs, hence, the human can tune fully tune out

Level 5: no steering wheel, full autonomy; the holy grail of self-driving vehicles

SOURCE: IEEE Spectrum

Bearing all that in mind, I’ve argued several times that the gap between Level 2 autonomy and Level 4 autonomy — the dreaded Level 3 Gap, or L3G as I call it— is the autonomous vehicle equivalent to the Gartner Hype Cycle’s so-called trough of disillusionment; or the uncanny valley in computer graphics and movie special effects, where a cartoon that starts to appear too human, without being quite right, shatters the suspension of disbelief. We can either accept something obviously inhuman like a robot, a machine, or a cartoon; or something definitively human. Something between the two doesn’t work.

In the case of movie special effects, the greatest risk is being subjected to the horrors of Tom Hanks’ animated train conductor in Robert Zemeckis’ The Polar Express.

In a not-quite autonomous vehicle, the greatest risk is death.

The point is, Tesla is getting precariously close to Tom Hanks’ soulless, digital marionette from the beloved children’s story-turned-creepy CGI disaster, and unless it can safely jump that chasm and reach something more Commander Data and less Frankenstein’s monster, say, things could start to get very messy indeed.

CHARGING

You’ll notice I haven’t discussed anything about the charging experience, whether using our home charger or the now impressively (mostly) ubiquitous Supercharger stations that Tesla has installed across large swaths of the world. That’s because it works so well, it’s so effortless, so normal, so totally inconsequential — and, frankly, just so cool it becomes fun to charge up — that it doesn’t merit any discussion.

Yes it’s true that, at typical California freeway speeds — to say nothing about the Autobahn — you do need to budget in additional charging time every 320 km (200 mi) or so. Granted our Long Range AWD is rated at 508 km (316 mi) — thought it annoyingly shows just 495 km (308 mi) when fully charged — but at freeway speeds, you should realistically expect between 320 km to 402 km (200 to 250 mi) of driving before you’ll want to pull in for a charge up, with 10% remaining.

If this sounds a bit disappointing, a few things to consider. First, I can tell you that my 2005 BMW 645Ci managed just 402 km (250 mi) or so around town; and perhaps 560 km (350 mi) on the freeway; my wife’s Beetle eeks out just 482 km (300 mi) on the freeway. So really the Model Y isn’t far behind. And considering that 320 km (200 mi) of driving is nearly three hours without a bathroom break, it’s a pretty prefect driving range when you think about it like that.

Second, most people rarely need to travel the maximum range of their car, Tesla or otherwise. And the few times that you do, well, as my wife and I say, “if this is the worst part about owning a Tesla, we’ll take it.” The truth is, if you can find a 250kW charger, you’ll likely rarely need more than 20 to 30 minutes of charging time; and from the time it takes to walk to the store, grab some water, use the bathroom, and walk back to the car — in my experience, most Superchargers tend to be placed about a five minute walk to the nearest conveniences — you’ve probably already recharged more than enough. The point is, range anxiety simply isn’t a thing anymore. It just isn’t. If you’re still stressing out over it, probably figure out how to handle your anxiety issues and practice better daily time management. Seriously. A charging pit stop shouldn’t derail your entire day.

FINAL THOUGHTS

So, the Model Y looks good; it’s Tesla-fast; it’s practical; it’s comfortable; preliminary reports suggest it costs less to own over five years than a Toyota Camry; Autopilot continues to improve; and its range is more than adequate. Sure, nothing will ever beat an S-Klasse for luxury; the suspension is marginally mismatched; the OEM tires are awful in the white stuff; the turning radius is laughably bad; and Autopilot still has a long way to go before achieving even proper Level 3 capabilities, let alone Level 5. But as a whole package the thing is otherwise just so damned perfect it just doesn’t matter, and it makes any other car seem utterly pointless as a daily driver.

And that’s my point. This is actually the biggest problem with the Model Y, at least for a car guy like me: it’s such a basically perfect daily driver inasmuch as an iPhone is basically the perfect mobile device, that it’s totally ruined other cars for me. Cars that I would have otherwise bought as a substitute in a heartbeat — like the sublime Volvo XC90 (which we actually did own, briefly in 2015, for about two weeks, until a software glitch thoroughly bricked it and it was repatriated back to Sweden), or the impossibly relaxing if decidedly unexciting Audi A4 wagon that we recently drove on our last trip to France — these are cars that I will never get to enjoy on a daily basis now that we have a Tesla in our garage.

And that’s a shame. Because while Tesla has indisputably produced the perfect Goldilocks car for most people with the Model Y, there are plenty of other wonderful cars out there.

Unfortunately, they’re just not wonderful enough anymore, even if, subjectively at least, I still lust after them.