Hit Round the Head with an iPad

Today, my girlfriend wanted to visit a local Mercedes showroom to check out the 2025 E-Class. She currently drives a 2014 E-Class, a car that perfectly balances thoughtful design with understated luxury.

From the moment we walked in, the atmosphere hit us. Mercedes showrooms have this peculiar air, a sort of quiet condescension. It’s as if the sales staff are analyzing you as you walk through the door, like they’ve got some hidden scanner calculating your net worth based on how you’re dressed. We’d just come from playing squash, so we were dressed in shorts and t-shirts. The stares, on this occasion, were full of curiosity.

The 2014 E-Class is a reminder of a time when Mercedes interiors felt crafted rather than manufactured. The dashboard is a rich blend of polished wood, soft leather, and chrome accents. Right in the center, there’s an analog clock—a small but elegant detail that reminds you of a time when luxury was more about quiet refinement. The buttons and dials are tactile and satisfying, and the whole interior feels grounded in quality.

In stark contrast, stepping into the 2025 E-Class was like being dropped into a bucket of iPads, where you didn’t have much choice other than to acquiesce to the sensory overload. This is what Mercedes calls the MBUX Superscreen—a massive touchscreen that stretches across the entire width of the dashboard. MBUX stands for Mercedes-Benz User Experience, which makes sense because the whole thing feels more like a testing center for tablets than sitting in a car.

The materials felt like a downgrade, too. The "chrome" accents were clearly just silver plastic, and the overuse of glossy surfaces lacked the texture and depth of the 2014 model. That absence of eclectic detailing left you scrambling and wondering where everything was hidden. And the analog clock? Gone. In its place were app icons, including Spotify and others you typically see when buying a new laptop, tablet, or phone. Gone was that excitement of escaping screens to experience something fresh and inventive. It was just more of the same—like switching TV channels only to find every channel on a commercial break. Seeing the Spotify logo where the clock used to be felt almost offensive, reminiscent of a woke army tearing down historic statues.

The whole interior design felt like it was trying too hard to prove it’s Generation Z and X simultaneously, all while decimating that quiet, stealthy luxury that once made the E-Class distinguished.

There’s a growing reluctance in automotive design, not just in the choice of materials but in the way screens are being integrated into car interiors. It’s not exclusive to Mercedes—BMW, Audi, and other luxury brands are following the same pattern, slapping oversized tablet-like screens onto dashboards in the hopes of gaining approval from younger buyers.

This issue is amplified by the increasing size of modern cars. Safety regulations have made vehicles taller and bulkier, leading to interiors that feel more enclosed than ever. Add in massive, glowing screens dominating the cabin, and the result is suffocating.

The MBUX Superscreen is simply impossible to ignore, and not in a good way. It dominates the dashboard, glowing with menus and controls for every function in the car, including the speedometer and every other gauge. It leaves you with this anxious feeling that if this screen goes wrong, the whole car is in trouble. LED lighting accents the contours of the cabin as if you needed any more reminders about the giant tablets and glossiness, creating a look that feels like having to walk down a sleazy part of a city.

At the same time, Mercedes has managed to make it feel flat and lifeless, stripping away the warmth of feeling connected to a sophisticated machine through the physicality of dials and controls.

The solution is simple, and it doesn’t require abandoning technology—just rethinking how it’s integrated. Imagine taking the philosophy of the 1950s Mercedes 300 SL, a car that remains one of the purest expressions of automotive design, and merging it with modern technology in a way that preserves its essence. The interior of that car, with its sculpted dashboard, classic switches, and seamless craftsmanship, is what a true Mercedes should feel like.

Instead of cluttering it with screens, imagine a version of the 300 SL where technology is invisible until needed. Any function that doesn’t require physical engagement—navigation, climate control, even media playback—could be entirely voice-activated. A driver could simply say, “Set the temperature to 21 degrees” or “Give me directions to the nearest petrol station,” and the car would respond, eliminating the need to swipe through digital menus. No screens, no distractions—just a seamless, intuitive experience.

At the same time, the tactile elements that make driving enjoyable should remain. The feeling of turning a well-weighted dial or shifting a beautifully machined gear selector shouldn’t be replaced with haptic feedback or digital interfaces. These elements are integral to the connection between driver and machine.

This approach would achieve a rare balance—keeping the elegance and sophistication of classic design while incorporating the convenience of modern technology.

This concept of blending classic design with hidden technology is reminiscent of director Andrew Niccol’s approach in films like Gattaca and In Time. Niccol often features vintage cars in futuristic settings, creating a timeless aesthetic that grounds the overwhelming presence of technology. For instance, in Gattaca, vehicles like the 1965 Citroën DS 19 Cabriolet and the 1971 Buick Riviera are used to evoke a sense of enduring elegance amidst a high-tech world. This deliberate choice underscores the idea that advanced technology can coexist with, and even highlight, the beauty of classic design.

What we’re seeing now is the opposite. Screens are dominating interiors with no regard for their relationship to the car’s contours, replacing craftsmanship with digital noise. When you get into your car, it should feel like an escape from the devices we’re so used to—not create the same experience that you can just have scrolling on your iPhone.

Screens, tablets, and smartphones are universally accessible now—they no longer sit at the top of the hierarchy when it comes to luxury. By overusing them in cars, manufacturers are actually cheapening the experience rather than offering something that feels exclusive or distinguished. Instead of making a vehicle feel aspirational, these oversized digital panels make the experience indistinguishable from any other screen-based interaction we already have in our daily lives.

Cars should evolve, but they should do so with intention.

The 2014 E-Class is a perfect example of what Mercedes used to do best: timeless design, real materials, and thoughtful details like the analog clock. The 2025 E-Class, with its MBUX Superscreen, feels like a product of its time—designed for a generation raised on screens but missing the charm and character that made older models so special.

As technology continues to evolve, I hope designers will realize that it doesn’t need to be front and center. The best design is quiet, letting the materials and craftsmanship take the spotlight.

For now, though, stepping into a modern Mercedes feels less like luxury and more like being hit round the head with an iPad.