Why I hate my husband's new electric BMW

Telegraph

4 days ago

The small Welsh fishing village of Aberdaron is, to borrow the language of a thousand tea towel slogans, 'my happy place'. Slumbering on sweeping sands below soaring grassy cliffs, the wild beauty of the destination more than makes up for the fact that it's a three-hour drive from our north Manchester home.
I've been to this gorgeous part of North Wales many times. But our latest trip was to mark something of a milestone, since it would also be the first time my husband, Martin, would be giving his new car – a BMW iX40, his very first electric motor – a proper chance to stretch its legs.
It doesn't overstate the case to say that Martin is obsessed with this car. With uncharacteristic poetry he rhapsodises that it is a 'thing of great beauty', raving about the cathedral quiet of the electric propulsion, the smart minimalism of the lounge-like interior and – oh! – the elegance of its curves.
However, our journey to Aberdaron would prove to be a turning point in our (well, my) relationship with his shiny new baby. For barely had we left Manchester than I found myself yelling for him to pull in (or for the purposes of accurate reportage, I actually shrieked 'Stop this bloody thing now before I throw up all over your f---ing thing of beauty').
Here, you see, is the rub: the BMW iX40 may well be 2.5 tons of sleek, intuitive technology and electrified innovation, but the damn thing also makes me feel as sick as a dog whenever I'm a passenger. And on this particular trip I'd had enough, vowing not to step back inside its plush interior unless I was behind the wheel. Only driving the car myself seems to mitigate the nausea it causes – but then only just.
Even when I'm driving it, everything about this car seems geared to make the world spin, from the bouncing holographic heads-up display (HUD) information projected on the windscreen to the fact that I can feel every little imperfection in the road. Whatever happened to ride comfort?
And don't get me started on the stupid faux acceleration noise created by film composer Hans Zimmer, who collaborated with BMW to create the 'soundscape' for its range of electric vehicles.
However, it's far worse when I'm a passenger. For all the car's aesthetic appearance the jerky stop/start nature of the drive makes the bile rise as my stomach feels like a washing machine on final spin. My body simply cannot tolerate being driven around in it.
Like a defensive showbiz parent, Martin refuses to hear a bad word about his car, casting around for more environmental reasons to explain my reaction. He talks of unpredictable speed limits – a real zinger in Wales, where 20mph is the default. He also says that the problem could be me (admittedly I've never been a great traveller).
Yet my queasy reaction is hardly a singular experience. Electric cars may be soaring in popularity, with BMW alone selling approximately 33,785 all-electric vehicles in the UK, representing 26.9 per cent of its total sales. But studies are increasingly pointing to the fact that EVs are far more likely to induce motion sickness than petrol or diesel-powered cars.
One piece of research last year concluded that there were strong correlations between motion sickness severity and the seat vibrations of electric vehicles, while a 2020 study found that the lack of combustion engine noise in an EV might be a major contributing factor to increased feelings of carsickness (Zimmer is not on my Christmas card list).
Regenerative braking – a feature that converts a car's momentum into electricity when slowing – has also been flagged as a culprit, according to a study published last year in the International Journal of Human-Computer Interaction.
All of which seems like a spectacular own goal for electric cars – not least at the luxury end of the market. Surely £60,000 of cutting-edge technology should be an enjoyable ride, not one to be dreaded.
To be fair, I'm not a car person. Having hung on to a lumbering Volvo XC90 for 16 years – hitherto the family workhorse – I've never really cared about what I drove or travelled in, as long as it got me from A to B.
Which explains why I took so little interest when Martin said he was replacing his own car, a zippy Volvo V40 which I have now inherited, with a swankier model. Ironically Martin has never been a car person either, preferring to cycle whenever he has the chance. But he also works long hours running his own accountancy practice and decided one day, after nearly 40 years of hard graft, that the time had come to treat himself to something special (namely a BMW).
Canny accountant that he is, he also recognised the tax advantages of going electric. The Government's green incentives made the iX40 not just beautiful but financially sensible.
Admittedly I do feel guilty about my reaction to his car, which is his reward for decades of hard work. But my guilt doesn't change the fact that the BMW – with all its bells, whistles and orchestral flourishes – makes me feel wretched. How can something that's meant to be the last word in smart luxury motoring, and which can help save the planet, be so thoroughly awful?
Environmental considerations aside, I could tolerate the other annoying quirks of life with an EV, not least hanging around a service station when we're only 30 miles from home because the battery is running low on charge. Or stewing over lousy motorway coffee as Martin merrily shares anecdotes with other EV drivers as they top up their cars' batteries. I just hate feeling sick.
Moves are potentially afoot to redress the problem. A 2023 study in the journal Ergonomics explored the idea of incorporating a visual cueing system to help passengers anticipate motion and reduce sickness.
But with four years remaining on the lease of the BMW, I seem to have little choice but to keep riding in (and occasionally yelling at) this marvel of modern engineering.
Aberdaron may be my happy place, but my husband's EV is anything but.