Elon Musk’s unveiling of the Tesla ‘Cyber Truck’ at a Blade Runner-themed event in Hawthorne, California, sparked considerable media attention. While much of the coverage zoomed in on the embarrassing shattering of its supposedly unbreakable windows—not once, but twice—a more fundamental question remains largely unaddressed. To what extent could the Cyber Truck actually hinder our collective ability to envision and, more importantly, deeply desire a low-carbon future?
This might seem like an unusual angle. For the past couple of years, I’ve been deeply engaged in exploring the state of our collective imagination in 2019, arriving at a rather concerning conclusion: it’s in critical condition. We readily acknowledge that a malnourished population suffers health declines and increased susceptibility to preventable diseases. We understand that inadequate education limits a population’s potential. Yet, we’ve seemingly overlooked the crucial role of the human imagination, and this oversight could have dire consequences.
Elon Musk unveils the Tesla 'Cyber Truck' at a Blade Runner-themed event in Hawthorne, California
Our current education system increasingly marginalizes imagination, once defined by John Dewey as “the ability to see things as if they could be otherwise.” Many workplaces offer scant opportunities for imaginative thinking. We inhabit an ‘Age of Anxiety,’ demonstrably shown to stifle our imaginative capacity. Government austerity measures have further eroded imaginative spaces like libraries while simultaneously amplifying societal anxiety. Ironically, at this critical juncture, when challenges like climate change demand peak imaginative problem-solving—requiring us to “see things as if they could be otherwise” before acting—our collective imaginative muscle is at its weakest. This neglect of our shared capacity for imaginative living represents a profound dereliction of duty.
Elon Musk, in many respects, is a significant contemporary visionary. His brilliance is undeniable, and many of his creations are remarkable contributions to the ongoing dialogue about shaping a low-carbon future. However, the Cyber Truck presents a unique challenge. As Jessica Caldwell from Edmunds, a vehicle marketplace, pointed out to the BBC, “people probably won’t get past the look of it.” For those unfamiliar, the Cyber Truck’s aesthetic is striking, to say the least.
Its body is constructed from grey stainless steel, accented with black triangular windows and wheels. Its form is aggressively angular, reminiscent of something constructed in Minecraft or deliberately pixelated to obscure its true shape. It’s the automotive embodiment of brutalist 1960s architecture, and history has shown us the limitations of that design philosophy. To those who remember, it bears a striking resemblance to the tanks from the 1980s arcade game ‘Battlezone’ or perhaps a Stealth bomber’s less refined sibling. It’s highly likely that 99% of individuals, if given a clay model of the Cyber Truck, would instinctively soften its lines, round off its harsh angles, and re-humanize its form.
Maya Angelou famously said, “when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” If the Cyber Truck were a person, it would project an aura of distance, arrogance, aggression—perhaps even psychopathy—certainly not trustworthiness. I firmly believe that cultivating a deep sense of longing is crucial to our efforts in creating a better, more sustainable, and more just world—a biodiverse world that wholeheartedly addresses the climate emergency. We must foster a profound yearning for the desirable future we envision, crafting narratives that vividly depict this future and ignite that longing.
Research by Jackie Andrade and Jon May at the University of Plymouth, detailed in their ‘Functional Imagery Training’ approach, demonstrates that vividly imagining our desired future through multiple senses—engaging smell, taste, sound, and sight—allows us to create “memories of the future.” These mental imprints can be powerful catalysts, tipping the scales towards actually implementing those changes in our lives. Conversely, certain stimuli can extinguish this sense of possibility.
Picture yourself cycling down a street, and a Cyber Truck pulls up beside you at an intersection. How would that encounter make you feel? Intimidated? Uneasy? Insignificant? Would it spark your imagination or stifle it? Consider the vehicles of beloved characters from children’s literature—often colorful, quirky, and integral to their personalities. It’s difficult to imagine Noddy, the archetypal friendly character, driving an Elon Musk Truck. It simply doesn’t fit. Neither do these iconic vehicles:
Noddy's car and Postman Pat's van, examples of characterful vehicles.
Furthermore, the Cyber Truck doesn’t contribute to our vision of future transportation systems. We aspire to cities characterized by rich connectivity, significantly fewer cars and trucks, and public transportation so exceptional that private vehicle ownership becomes largely unnecessary. Roads, once dominated by cars, could be transformed into vibrant spaces—gardens, playgrounds, social hubs, and art installations. If personal vehicles are still needed, they should ideally be lightweight, customizable, aesthetically pleasing, intriguing, repairable, and recyclable. As urban speed limits decrease, the potential for diverse and innovative vehicle designs will flourish.
The most inspiring and imagination-fueling solutions I’ve observed are often far more modest and grounded than Musk’s grand visions. Consider suitcases equipped with electric motors that double as rideable scooters. Or the burgeoning cargo bike revolution sweeping the globe, beautifully documented in Liz Canning’s recent film “Motherload.”
French company XYT is pioneering ultra-modular electric vehicles, designed for easy customization. Their philosophy: “clients can compose their own tailored vehicles to their image, needs and desires.” Imagine cities where cyclists enjoy dedicated networks, separated from car traffic by more than just a painted line. Or buses designed to encourage conversation and reading. Trams that also distribute locally-grown food. Why not? Simply envisioning these possibilities broadens our perception of what the future could hold.
XYT's modular electric vehicles offer customizable transport solutions.
In Argentina, artist Raul Lemesoff created ‘Weapon of Mass Instruction,’ a tank-like vehicle with a rotating turret, housing approximately 900 books. He drives through Buenos Aires, inviting people to borrow books, with the sole condition that they read them. Imagine that pulling up next to you at a traffic light. How might it inspire you to embrace the climate emergency with a spirit of “what if?” and “why not?”
Recently, I experienced Paris’s car-free day firsthand. I cycled through the streets with around 300 others in a Critical Mass-style ride, accompanied by an electric vehicle transformed into a lighthouse—complete with seagull sound effects—leading us to a neighborhood that had temporarily pedestrianized its streets and renamed them for the occasion. We encountered a ‘Street of Play,’ a ‘Book Street,’ ‘Dance Alley,’ ‘The Boulevard of Resilience,’ ‘The Road of the Future,’ and my personal favorite, ‘the Street of Improbably Meetings.’ It was a glimpse into the streets of the future, a vision that the ‘Cyber Truck’ can only aspire to.
A vibrant street scene from Paris car-free day, showcasing pedestrianized streets and community engagement.
The stories we tell about the future, and the emotions they evoke, are profoundly important. They can either unlock or restrict possibilities. Decades of storytelling about lunar voyages preceded our actual moon landing, fueled in part by the longing these narratives ignited. Similarly, our designs and the design process itself—the shapes, colors, and forms we employ—matter deeply. The ability to “see things as if they could be otherwise” is not automatic, nor is it inherently robust. It requires nurturing, the right conditions to emerge and flourish. The Cyber Truck, with its current design ethos, unfortunately cultivates precisely the opposite environment.
My thanks to Julien Dossier for sharing some of the examples in this piece during a recent train journey.
