For years I held one thing dear: that perfection was attainable, as evidenced by the Aston Martin DB9.
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Ideal in its proportions, the DB9 looked so good that I could never find anything wrong with it. No detail was excessive. No line was unnecessary. It was a vision to strive towards. And now, the dude who penned that car has his name on one of the ugliest, most-suspect cars in recent history. What am I supposed to make of this? Where am I supposed to turn for direction?
Reader Vin gives us guidance as we noted that Fisker now envisions himself some kind of Muskian figure:
When your visionaries let you down, remind yourself you never needed them and grab the popcorn. Who knows what will happen in the future? Trust that you’re fine, and you’ve been fine all along. The DB9 is in your heart.
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