Driving the Tesla Cybertruck in Washington, D.C., turned out to be a more intense experience than I had anticipated. It was a beautiful spring Sunday, yet surrounded by blooming magnolias and charming row houses, I found myself facing a barrage of negative reactions. Before noon, I had already been subjected to numerous obscene gestures, a collection of insults in both English and Spanish, and even a lecture from a woman who felt I should be “ashamed.” All this hostility was directed at me simply because I was piloting a Tesla Cybertruck.
My mother’s initial reaction to my plan to rent and drive this vehicle around D.C. for a day was one of concern. “Wow. Be careful,” she texted, echoing the news stories we’d both seen about Cybertrucks being targeted with arson, Molotov cocktails, and various acts of vandalism. This animosity, it seemed, was not just about the car itself but also a broader protest against Tesla and Elon Musk’s controversial public image. Despite the warnings and perhaps driven by a touch of journalistic curiosity mixed with a hint of recklessness, I proceeded with my plan to spend a day behind the wheel of what some consider America’s most hated car. Cruising through the Mount Pleasant neighborhood with the windows down, I was met with a particularly vehement outburst from a woman on her porch. “Fuck you, and this truck, and Elon,” she yelled, escalating her disapproval by adding, “You drive a Nazi truck. I hope someone blows your shit up.”
Earlier, my day began at the Dupont Circle farmers’ market, a place where the focus was decidedly on organic produce, not futuristic vehicles. The Cybertruck, with its stainless-steel exoskeleton and purported bulletproof capabilities, was clearly an unwelcome spectacle. Every stoplight became an opportunity for public commentary. A cyclist, speeding past on P Street, yelled, “You fucker!” to the amusement and cheers of brunch-goers lining the sidewalks. Moments later, a woman enjoying her meal at Le Pain Quotidien offered a sustained middle finger salute, lasting a full 20 seconds, without missing a beat in her conversation.
Writer experiences public reaction to Cybertruck at Dupont Farmers Market, highlighting the controversial vehicle's interior from the outside perspective.
This intense reaction, while jarring, is somewhat understandable given the Cybertruck’s symbolic weight in today’s cultural landscape. This area of D.C. is, after all, deeply opposed to figures like Musk. In Mount Pleasant, a window sign read “CFPB” inside a large red heart, and I even drove behind a Tesla Model Y sporting an “Anti Elon Tesla Club” bumper sticker. The Cybertruck, however, is not just another Tesla; it’s a statement piece. It’s as conspicuous on American roads as a celebrity in an ordinary crowd. This vehicle has become a rolling Rorschach test, a potent symbol of the current political divide. For those critical of Trump and Musk, it embodies everything they dislike: a giant MAGA hat on wheels, a “Swasticar.” Conversely, for supporters, it’s equally symbolic, representing the same values. The political undertones are so strong that FBI Director Kash Patel has labeled Tesla vandalism as “domestic terrorism,” announcing a Tesla task force to investigate such incidents. Figures like Alex Jones have used Cybertrucks to troll protesters, while Kid Rock owns one with a custom Dukes of Hazzard theme, and Tim Pool boasts about owning one to “own the libs.” Even Trump’s granddaughter received a Cybertruck as a gift, underscoring its status as a right-wing emblem.
Parking for lunch in Takoma Park, amidst “support federal workers” signs, I overheard two women contemplating egging the vehicle – a testament to its provocative presence. Despite the constant stares and jeers, I tried to maintain perspective: It’s just a car. But beneath the controversial exterior, and from cybertruck inside, it’s undeniably intriguing. It’s a vehicle capable of outperforming a Porsche 911 in a race while simultaneously towing one, and it can power a home for days. My day wasn’t without its challenges, but the eight onboard cameras surprisingly eased city driving. Regardless of public perception, the Cybertruck is an emissions-free vehicle. Loren McDonald, an EV analyst at Paren, acknowledged, “The underlying technology of the Cybertruck is amazing.” The exterior, however, overshadows the advanced technology and surprisingly user-friendly cybertruck inside. Before returning the vehicle, I even took a Zoom meeting from the expansive in-car touchscreen, a testament to its modern, tech-forward interior. The single, massive windshield wiper, likened to a “katana” by Musk, is just one example of its unconventional design elements.
Tesla Cybertruck parked near Capitol Hill, showcasing its futuristic interior design against the backdrop of political symbolism.
Seeking refuge from the relentless public scrutiny, I retreated to an underground parking lot to recharge both the Cybertruck and myself. Even there, the political commentary followed; someone had affixed a sticker below the Tesla logo declaring, “Elon Musk is a parasite.” Yet, amidst the negativity, there were glimpses of positive reception, particularly in tourist-heavy areas. Near the National Mall, a man enthusiastically shouted, “That’s awesome!” Perhaps it was MAGA solidarity, or maybe genuine appreciation for the vehicle’s audacious design. Many simply seemed to find it visually striking. A young man, sporting a “make money, not friends” hoodie, eagerly filmed me making a turn. Even in liberal neighborhoods, children were captivated. A girl in Takoma Park shrieked with delight, “Cybertruck! Cybertruck!” and a boy on a scooter chased after it for a closer look. Later, near George Washington University, as I struggled with directions, two teenagers observed me and one remarked, “Must be an Uber.” These varied reactions highlighted the Cybertruck’s complex and often contradictory public image.
Read: Admit it, the Cybertruck is awesome
By evening, the constant attention had become draining. Valeting the Cybertruck at my hotel, known for its “Tibetan Bowl Sound Healing” classes, I received a nervous glance from the attendant, another subtle indication of the vehicle’s unsettling aura for some. It’s understandable why many view the Cybertruck as a symbol of the contemporary right. An Ohio sheriff recently defended Cybertruck owners against vandalism, associating vandals with negative stereotypes. However, it’s unfortunate that the Cybertruck has become such a partisan symbol, eclipsing even vehicles like the Prius or Hummer in its divisiveness. This meme-able and undeniably bizarre vehicle had the potential to boost EV adoption in America. Instead, it may be having the opposite effect. The backlash against Tesla is evident, with some even abandoning their vehicles. Senator Mark Kelly’s decision to trade his Tesla sedan for a gas-guzzling SUV further illustrates this trend.
However, the notion that Republicans are embracing the Cybertruck en masse is inaccurate. Its high price and unconventional aesthetics limit its appeal across the political spectrum. While owning a Tesla might be seen as a way to “own the libs,” the right has shown surprising resistance to electric vehicles. Analyst Loren McDonald noted, “Your average MAGA Trump supporter isn’t going to go buy a Tesla.” Musk’s pre-launch prediction of 250,000 annual Cybertruck sales remains far from reality, with actual sales figures significantly lower and declining.
Anti-Elon Musk bumper sticker on a Tesla, reflecting public sentiment contrasting with the advanced interior technology of Cybertruck.
Many of Musk’s promises regarding the Cybertruck have fallen short. The initial price point of under $40,000 has doubled for the most affordable model. Claims of “really tough, not fake tough” construction were undermined by reports of side panels detaching due to incorrect adhesive – just one of numerous recalls. The Cybertruck’s towing and amphibious capabilities have also been exaggerated, evidenced by incidents of rear ends snapping off during towing tests and vehicles sinking while launching jet skis.
In many ways, the Cybertruck mirrors Musk himself: a figure prone to grand pronouncements that often diverge from reality. X, envisioned as an “everything app,” has become a platform rife with controversy. DOGE, intended to modernize government services, has led to disruptions and public hardship. Musk’s wealth and influence continue to grow, while the consequences of his ventures often fall on others. The Cybertruck’s failure isn’t simply about its polarizing looks or eccentric design. It’s that, cybertruck inside and out, for many, it simply doesn’t justify the hype or the controversy.
