There are luxury cars, then there are German luxury cars, then there is the Mercedes Benz S-Class. It is a monolithic brick of teutonic engineering. The S-Class is a car designed to place your comfort above all else. These days it seems that everyone’s interpretation of a luxury car is to try and beat the BMW M5 at its own game. An admirable goal as the M5 is a staggering feat of engineering, but the answer to every question does not have to be rock hard suspension and Nurburgring lap records. The S63 is luxury in the classic definition. Soft leather, wood inlays, and an effortless drive.
Cars these days are heavier than they’ve ever been. It is not unheard of for a sedan to weigh over two tons. A decade or two ago, that was the weight of a Suburban, but now an Audi S8 weighs nearly the same. Most manufacturers use heavily assisted electronic steering racks to mask this bulk. You can lightly spin the wheel with one finger, completely forgetting the thousands of pounds of steel wrapped around you. That is not the case in the S63. It is heavy. Unabashedly, unashamedly so. Within the first dozen feet you are very aware of the mass at your control. But mass does not mean unwieldy. It feels solid. Stable. Monolithic.
What happens, then, when you give this paragon of old-world luxury over to the frothing lunatics at AMG? It would be easy for them to ruin the formula, but they actually keep it reined in. Well, reined in for AMG. The ride is still compliant, and the stereotypical raucous exhaust has been dialed down. Until you really put your foot in it, the performance capabilities are fairly innocuous.
Oh, sure, you can dial the Active Body Control over to Sport, and shift using the paddles behind the wheel, but that just misses the point. Manual shifting takes an eon to relay your request, and the big girl never feels light on her feet. This is not some lithe and agile track weapon, it is a bruiser of a grand tourer. The sole purpose of all that power to allow you to leave the peasants behind, choking on your aristocratic dust. For remember, you are better than them, because you have an S63 and they don’t.
The S63 was well over $100,000 when new. It may not be the most expensive car I’ve ever driven, but it certainly feels like it. But, more importantly, it looks like it. People have a primeval response to a blacked out S-Class rolling up on the curb. You instantaneously become a person of distinction. Not necessarily one of class, but one of note. Being human, occasionally you have to play up the role.
While the S63 does not encourage quite the flagrant disregard of all restrictions in the manner of a sportbike, there is the subtle suggestion that certain things are beneath you. Not because the rules are flawed, it’s just that you are important, and everyone should cater to your whims.
Surely that speed limit doesn’t apply to you.
You own an S63.
Of course you can park there.
You own an S63.
The front passenger should move out of your way when you’re in the back.
Because fuck them, you own an S63.
That’s right, the rear passenger can move the front passenger’s seat. Because the person being driven is the one with the power. With one little button press, you commandeer their seat controls. If they could have legally allowed the rear passenger to control the driver seat as well, I’m sure they would have. From the luxurious back, you also can control the shade on the rear sunroof (because of course it has two) as well as the shades on both rear side windows and rear windshield.
With some cars, it is difficult to tell where all the money has gone. Within the first hundred yards in this, it is blatantly obvious what you are paying for. The S63 just feels expensive, in the most glorious way. There is something to be said for a car that is worth more than your house, that can easily cruise at double or triple any speed limit in the nation. Whether in the front seat or the back, you feel just that little bit more important than the other plebeians on the road. Because you are. After all, they’re not in an S-Class.