We’ve waited ages to drive it – not
just the year or so since Jaguar unveiled the new F-type, but the 50+ years
since its ancestor, the E-type. Worth the wait?
Sports cars used to be for men. From Blower
Bentleys to MGBs, you had to be a chap to drive an open-top sports car – it
showed you were daring, virile and (if you owned a Jensen Healey) handy with a
pair of pliers. Then something strange happened: the sports saloon came along
and suddenly real men wanted Subaru Imprezas and BMW M3s. Soft- tops became
‘hairdressers’ cars’, like the MX-5 and the MR-2 or they grew paunchy and
ostentatious like the Mercedes SL – boulevard cruisers, driven by trophy wives.
Real men stopped wanting real sports cars around July 15, 1976.
Jaguar
F-Type front
There was one exception to this trend, of
course: TVR, in the 1990s, built old-fashioned sports car so terrifyingly raw
and untamed, you had to inject testosterone like Lance Armstrong just to drive
them. And forget a measly pair of pliers – you needed a whole toolbox and a MIG
welder in the boot just to get home. TVRs were proper macho. And a bit DIY.
But I digress. We’re here to drive the new
Jaguar F-type, which has been teasing us for months since its launch at the
Paris show last September. What kind of sports car would it be when we finally
got behind the wheel? Yes, yes, there’s the whole E-type heritage thing going
on in the background, but Jaguar’s iconic, 1960s babe-magnet – the archetypal
penis-on-wheels – is now half-a-century old.
Jaguar
F-Type side
Things have changed since then, the world’s
moved on: Jaguar build comfy cruisers and fast saloons these days. They are not
likely to build a proper handful of a sports car in 2013, are they? The F-type’s
just going to be another flabby, drop-top cruiser, right? Surely, you’re not
suggesting Jaguar’s strayed into TVR territory? A scary, rear-drive, over
steering monster that’ll have you gripping the wheel like a boa constrictor
strangling a goat?
Well, they did. And it’s not. And I am. And
you will. (Grip the wheel I mean. Not strangle a goat.)
Hang on, this is remarkable, unexpected –
shocking even. Let’s rewind and start again.
So when our white Jaguar F-type first pulls
into the lay-by on one of our favorite roads in North Wales, I’m completely
transfixed by it. Chances are, by the time you read this, you won’t have seen
one in the metal yet, but I promise, when you do, you’re going to stop and
stare as I did for about 10 minutes. The rear end might just be Jaguar designer
Ian Callum’s finest moment, with its slender lights and complex, muscular
curves. Never mind the E-type, there’s something about those rear haunches that
reminds me of the second-generation Corvette Sting Ray (that other penis-on-wheels
from the 1960s). The front is, perhaps, less successful – instead of looking
all horizontal and wide-hipped like the rear, the nose feels a bit vertical and
gaping-fish-face. As a result, the front and the back look like two different
cars. Still, no matter, because the overall effect is head-turning handsome,
blending bang-up-to-date with old-fashioned 1960s sexiness.
Jaguar
F-Type back
Open the door (using the pop-out handle –
lovely detail) and slide into the strictly two-seater cockpit. It’s pretty snug
in here, more Boxster-sized than 911, but the details are all top-end premium.
I love the big, rotary heater dials, the copper-colored starter button and
gearshift paddles and the swept-in passenger-side grab handle (a crafty,
knowing reference to the E-type’s grab handle, suggesting driver prowess and
weak-kneed passenger submission). The optional ‘performance’ seats are
excellent, too, with wide shoulders and waist-hugging bolsters.
