Love It Or Hate It, the Cybertruck Has Merit

When I drove a Tesla Cybertruck recently, the owner told me he bought it because his kids thought it was cool. The kids knew their friends would, too. But when they showed up to school in the triangular Tesla, every other student whipped out their phone.

The Cybertruck was literally too cool for school. The kids told their dad if he ever took them to school in the Cybertruck again, they’d be dropped off down the street. That’s the perfect parable for a Cybertruck.

The Cybertruck is a long time coming. Tesla CEO Elon Musk said in 2013 he wanted to make a full-size pickup to compete with the Ford F-150, and he estimated the truck was about five years away.

Six years later, in 2019, the Cybertruck debuted. People weren’t just stunned by its looks—it was basically a giant, sharp, stainless-steel box—but by the presentation itself. Musk led a demo of the truck’s armored glass windows, which aren’t available on production models yet, wherein Tesla designer Franz von Holzhausen tossed a metal ball at the truck. The window smashed, so von Holzhausen threw a ball at another window. It smashed too.

Production Cybertruck deliveries began in late 2023, four additional years after the truck’s debut. The early models are part of the truck’s “Foundation Series,” which is a $20,000 package that gives buyers early delivery and a few extra features. The truck I drove was one of the Foundation Series models.

The Cybertruck currently has three trims to choose from. The base model is a single-motor, rear-wheel-drive truck starting at $61,000, but it’s scheduled for 2025. Tesla estimates it will have 250 miles of range and a 0-to-60 time of 6.5 seconds. 

After that comes the dual-motor, all-wheel-drive truck—the one I drove. It starts at $80,000. Tesla estimates 340 miles of range, with 600 horsepower, a 4.1-second 0-to-60, and a towing capacity of 11,000 pounds. 

Then, there’s the Cyberbeast. It starts at $100,000 and Tesla estimates 320 miles of range, 845 hp, a 2,500-pound payload, an 11,000-pound towing capacity, and a 2.6-second 0-to-60 time. That’s right: a 7,000-pound truck that can get to 60 mph in less than 3 seconds. That’s either impressive or terrifying, depending on whom you ask. 

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The Cybertruck is extreme, and so are peoples’ feelings about it. They love it or hate it. It’s either the future or a marker of societal regression. It looks like a spaceship or a poorly constructed refrigerator. 

The truck’s appearance is its most controversial feature. Seeing it in the flesh, I was dumbstruck. The truck looks different, and I can respect that—especially in an age where every American drives the same blob-like crossover or SUV. But I also couldn’t shake the safety concerns or the feeling that, to buy a Cybertruck, you must deeply crave being seen. And to be seen comes at a price. 

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Everyone stares at a Cybertruck, and thus, everyone stares at its driver. You don’t know if they’re staring in approval, disgust, or pity. You know that if you make a single mistake—a late turn signal, a last-minute lane change, a mis-estimation of size, or, Elon forbid, anything worse—you’re that Cybertruck driver. You know everyone’s rolling their eyes, thinking about how you should’ve just bought a Toyota Corolla instead, but your ego wouldn’t let you. 

Everyone stares at a Cybertruck, and thus, everyone stares at its driver. You don’t know if they’re staring in approval, disgust, or pity. You know that if you make a single mistake—a late turn signal, a last-minute lane change, a mis-estimation of size, or, Elon forbid, anything worse—you’re that Cybertruck driver. You know everyone’s rolling their eyes, thinking about how you should’ve just bought a Toyota Corolla instead, but your ego wouldn’t let you. 

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The truck’s exterior is also a grease magnet with its bare stainless steel. If you touch it, you’ll leave a print. Getting in requires pressing a button on the door to pop it open, then grabbing it from the inside so your fingerprints don’t show on the outside. To clean the grease off, you have to use a stainless-steel refrigerator cleaner. It’s silly.

The good news is that the Cybertruck drives better than it looks. While everyone gawks at the steel panels sharp enough to cut a brisket, the inside feels like you’re sitting in a home movie theater. It’s surprisingly serene. 

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The windshield is massive, the dashboard is minimalist, and the seating is luxe. There’s an interior dome light that matches the light bar on the front of the truck, and there’s a little party trick in the infotainment screen that plays audio of the windows smashing from the Cybertruck’s debut. There were times while driving the Cybertruck that I forgot I was in the most attention-getting car on the road. Those times were fun.

In “Chill” mode, acceleration is reined in and the Cybertruck glides up to speed. There’s a “Standard” mode that gives the full, stomach-churning acceleration (0-60 mph in 4.1 seconds). There’s a bit of wind noise on the highway once you’re up to speed, but road noise is minimal. 

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The Cybertruck’s ride is bouncy but not harsh, and its shape threw off my spatial awareness at first. Its dimensions are hard to grasp while driving—I found myself having to look over my shoulder several times while changing lanes, or slow down my parking maneuvers to make sure I was in the right spot. 

The mechanics of driving the truck were a chore around traffic and stoplights because of its size and pedal feel. The accelerator was heavy under my foot, which doesn’t mix well with the truck’s regenerative braking. 

Regen slows the truck down automatically when you take your foot off the accelerator, transferring the kinetic energy back to the battery to charge it, and I usually love that. It makes stopping for lights feel productive, and once you’re stopped, you can rest both feet on the floorboard instead of standing on the brake. But the pedal weight and regen slowdown make the Cybertruck truck feel sluggish, like it’s hard to get and keep moving. 

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The best part of the Cybertruck is how maneuverable it is for its size. The truck has two features that make it infinitely more nimble: four-wheel-steer and steer-by-wire. Four-wheel-steer means all four wheels steer, and I’d equate it to having swivel wheels on a suitcase. When your wheels swivel, you move better. 

Steer-by-wire is the Cybertruck’s greatest feature, to the point that every time I’m in another truck, I miss it. In most vehicles, steering-wheel inputs are mechanically connected to the actual wheels via a shaft. Sometimes, especially while parking or turning in tight spaces, you have to crank the wheel a bunch to get pointed where you need to go. 

When the driver gives the steering wheel an input in a steer-by-wire setup, there is no mechanical connection to the road. Instead, the truck’s computer relies on sensors to gauge steering position, wheel speed, and any number of other factors, then instructing a motor to direct the wheels. That allows the steering ratio to vary constantly, removing the need to crank the wheel to maneuver the truck at low speeds. 

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Going from a steer-by-wire back to normal steering in a large vehicle feels like a chore. The Cybertruck doesn’t make maneuvering a large vehicle easy, but it makes it easier than most. That’s a big advantage. 

The Cybertruck isn’t all great or all bad, like people on either side of the debate will tell you. When you ignore the looks, context, and some of the problematic features, it’s actually a decent vehicle. But much like the owner’s kids, the attention I got while driving felt like too much. There was always pressure to not be a jerk in a giant cheese grater. Even though I drove it well, I still wondered what everyone around me thought. 

If you can tolerate—or even desire—the spotlight, maybe the Cybertruck is for you.