As I drove home from the dealer that day, some years back, I couldn’t believe the magnificent machine at whose controls I was sitting was really mine.
I had dreamed about owning a Saab since I was in my late-teens. While my buddies at the 7-11 would fantasize about Camaros and Chevelle Super Sports (both of which I actually ended up owning), I was somehow taken by the quirky lines and strange shape of this mysterious import from Sweden. It turned out that you either hated the Saab (my buddies) or loved it (me).
Yes, its unusual lines were antithetical to the sleek lines of the American muscle cars of those days. And, yes, the people sitting behind the wheels of Saabs were – let’s face it – sort of dorky, often with horn-rimmed glasses and tousled hair (whether male or female) and, perhaps, somewhat “intellectual” and a bit strange. But I didn’t care.
I loved that car from the first time I saw it. To me, those weird, curvy slopes and angles were cool. I thought the Saab was “funky” before anyone I knew had even muttered the word. And I was thrilled as, during the late-nineties and early part of this decade, the car took on some sleeker, racier lines, while still (I thought) managing to preserve everything that was quirky and wonderful about it.
As it turned out, however, not a lot of other people ever loved the car. And eventually, during the past few years, hardly anyone loved it. At one point last year, American car dealers were selling less than a thousand Saabs a month.
Now Saab is closing up shop, orphaned by the Swedish government, a potential suitor from Holland, and its Ford corporate parent. And I’m very sad. Because the jet-black Saab I owned until seven years ago was the best car I’ve ever had.
When I turned the key and the engine emitted that low, throaty roar, I was in paradise. When I cruised at unbelievable speeds along the highways (only on very long drives!), I was thrilled. When I rubbed my hands on the wood along the dashboard and near the seat handles, I was thrilled. When I raced around country roads as if the car was attached to them, I was thrilled. And when I looked at (and fooled around with) the dashboard – which was the closest thing to a jet cockpit I had ever seen – I was thrilled. (Saab, after all, started out as an aircraft company. And the company still makes planes for the Swedish air force, as well as commercial jets that see service in many countries, including ours.)
In what other car, for instance, did your radio automatically reset to the stations in a distant city to which you had driven? In what other car could you have a station pre-set to the local National Weather Service station, so that you could be warned of natural disasters that might be occurring ahead of you? And in what other car was the ignition key located on the console, instead of the steering wheel?
Now it’s gone. But, as a public relations professional, I always wondered a bit about Saab’s PR approaches. I always wondered why, for instance, they constantly seemed to be appealing to a “hip” audience that loved racy-looking cars, rather than the core audience that had loved the car for so long. I always wondered why they didn’t make their perceived weaknesses into strengths.
I always wondered why, for instance, they didn’t publicize the car’s classically-funky lines, instead of making those lines “sleeker,” like everyone else. I always wondered why they didn’t promote the car’s “funky” factor, instead of using the same promo lines everyone else was using. Why weren’t Saab’s marketing campaigns aimed at the people who had loved the car in the first place?
Why wasn’t the car promoted for the things it did well, instead of pushed with sleek ads as if it were like every other car? For example, why didn’t the company run ads noting that the police department in Vail, Colorado – one of the wealthiest towns in America – used Saabs? (As one officer told me, “That thing takes a mountain like it was born to run. Incredible speed. And it hugs those curves. On these roads, nobody can outrun us.”)
Would these strategies – pitching to the choir, instead of commoditizing the product – have ultimately saved Saab? I doubt it. Increasingly, in today’s world, “mass appeal” survives, while niche products often don’t. But at least the car would have stayed true to its principles.
I must really like Swedish cars…because I now own another one. But there’ll never be another Saab.