If you care about style, cred, or the look of pity on the face of the girl passing you in the 6-Series convertible, the answer, sadly, is no. 

by Ezra Dyer

Once upon a time, the van was a masculine thing, a canvas upon which a man could express his affinity for wizard murals and shag carpeting. A rolling symbol of virility, vans were known to be a-rockin’. But the van’s image problems began right about the time Chrysler introduced the prefix mini, cementing the connotation that the minivan represents diminished expectations, a form of stylistic poverty. Whatever the connotation, the minivan market is healthy enough that the three Japanese vans — the Honda Odyssey, Toyota Sienna, and Nissan Quest — have all received recent redesigns. And I drove each of them in pursuit of a fundamental truth about my own automotive vanity: Am I cool enough to drive a minivan?

There are a ton of compelling reasons to drive one: They are huge inside. The Sienna has more cargo room than a Chevy Suburban. And since minivans don’t have thundering V-8s or towering ground clearance, they tend to get decent mileage. What they do have is power doors. You know what else has power doors? The Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead, and it has them because power doors are a luxury. 

So why did I reflexively disdain the minivan for so long? Mostly because I’m selfish: Minivans relegate the driver to the role of chauffeur, sacrificing fun at the altar of convenience. And why should I care about anyone but myself? 

I have plenty of time to contemplate the subject while grinding my way through Manhattan in the 2011 Quest. Occupying two of the Quest’s six other seats are my friends Tim and Scott. We’re headed to a beer hall in Brooklyn, and I’m playing chauffeur. I’m curious to see what they think of the Quest, because they both own vehicles that are essentially minivans in SUV garb — the Mazda CX-9 and Audi Q7. 

I think the Quest is the most stylistically successful of the new vans. The Odyssey tries to cloak its boxiness in avant-garde slashes and creases, while the Sienna advertises its (relative) raciness with lower-body aero cladding. The Quest, though, sports a defiantly square roofline, as if the designers said, “This is a van. Let’s make it the vanniest van on the road.” I like it. Aesthetic honesty has its appeal.

The drive to Brooklyn is barely six miles but takes the better part of an hour. In this scenario, the Quest’s continuously variable transmission keeps the 3.5-liter V-6 loafing at low revs until it’s time to cut someone off, at which point the tach surges and the engine races toward its 260-horsepower peak. The Quest seems happier at mellow speeds, but in a stoplight sprint, it’ll surprise the guy in the next lane. 

Just slow down before you reach a corner: The Quest’s motor may be a version of the V-6 found in the Nissan 350Z, but its suspension is tuned to isolate passengers from the rude reality of the street. You can buy minivans with stiffer suspension (like Dodge’s Caravan R/T “Man Van”), but that’s just asking for vomit on your captain’s chairs.

We make our way into Williamsburg, Brooklyn, one of the most image-conscious places on Earth. This is a neighborhood where adults ride skateboards, Dumpsters double as swimming pools, and everyone puts a lot of effort into acting as if he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. In Williamsburg terms, the Quest is like the ironic mustache of transportation — we’re skewering conformity by embracing it, man — except that, unlike a fixie bike, the Quest is actually useful. It has a mirror aimed at the backseats, the climate-control system filters out bad smells, and you can program the rear doors to open with one push of a button. In its way, the Quest is just as optimized for its mission as the Porsche GT3 is for track duty. But what does a minivan say about its driver? 

“However cool you are,” Tim says, “if you’re driving a Ford Windstar, it definitely takes you down a notch.” But I’m not sure that driving a van makes as much of a statement as its detractors think. Since I test cars for a living, I get to try on identities that I might not otherwise consider. And on my second date with my wife, I showed up driving a Sienna. We still had a third date.

—

FERRARI FF

You know the drill. You’re heading to Tahoe and the forecast calls for snow, so you’ve got to park the Ferrari 599 and take the Bentley. So annoying. Luckily, Ferrari now has another option: the FF, an all-wheel-drive, 651-horsepower, V-12 four-seater. Purists will whine about an all-wheel-drive Ferrari, but look at it this way: This 208-mph hatchback is probably the closest Ferrari will ever get to building an SUV. And that’s OK by us.

-

-

-

—

This article originally appeared in the May 2011 issue of Men’s Journal.

Follow us on Twitter: @MensJournal and on Facebook