Lexus builds smooth, quiet, sensible cars for people who think the ultimate driving experience is merging onto the freeway without spilling their green tea. And fair enough. Lexus has earned a reputation and built a business on selling beige peace of mind.
Then came the LC500. Somehow, someone lost their mind in the best way possible. And out came the LC500, which doesn’t only break the mold, it ignores it entirely. This car doesn’t revise the Lexus playbook; it tosses it out the window at 7,000 rpm.
The LC500 makes no commercial sense. Under the hood lies a 5.0-liter V8 that cranks out 471 horsepower and howls all the way to 7,100 rpm. It’s loud, raw, and gloriously alive. Zero to 60 takes 4.4 seconds. Top speed hits 168 mph. It won’t outrun a Tesla, but that’s not the point. This car has soul.
The interior feels more like a spacecraft control room than a luxury coupe. The leather is hand-stitched, the Alcantara is just right, the metal trim feels cold, solid, and deliberate. You can’t go wrong with the seats. They strike a rare balance between comfort and precision, like something made by a Swiss watchmaker who enjoys long drives.
Then there’s the infotainment system—outdated and frustrating in an otherwise modern car. Instead of a responsive touchscreen, Lexus gives you a slow, awkward touchpad that feels years behind. Entering a destination is a chore. But it’s a minor flaw, because this isn’t a car designed for tech features or digital convenience. It’s about shutting out distractions and immersing in the drive.
It’s tough to pin down what the LC500 really is. It’s not a supercar because it doesn’t chase extremes. It’s not a grand tourer because it’s too sharp and deliberate. It hints at muscle car vibes but lacks the bravado. Instead, it feels like a product of another era, when design was driven by instinct rather than data, and emotion mattered more than marketing.
It feels closer to a classic Italian sports car, with striking design and character, but built with the precision and reliability you’d expect from Japan. The Mercedes SL may be a rival on paper, but it doesn’t have the same charm. The LC500 is made to be enjoyed every time you’re behind the wheel, wherever the road takes you.
As carmakers chase efficiency, range, and constant software updates, most new cars feel like they were designed by committees using spreadsheets. The LC500 is the outlier. It’s bold, loud, fuel-thirsty, and refuses to follow the script. It doesn’t care about blending in or ticking boxes. It won’t save the planet—but in a sea of soulless machines, it just might save your soul.
Of course it’s flawed. The trunk barely fits a bag, the interface is ancient, and the MPG is rated “don’t ask.” But the LC500 isn’t about practicality—it’s about connection. It’s built to be felt, not calculated. In a world of optimized, over-engineered machines, it’s a beautiful glitch in the system—one that delivers something you can’t code: emotion.