Elon Musk’s unveiling of the Tesla Cybertruck at a Blade Runner-themed event in Hawthorne, California, sparked immediate and widespread reactions. While initial media coverage often zoomed in on the infamous window-smashing incident during the launch, a more profound question remains underexplored: Could the design and ethos of the Elon Musk Truck, the Cybertruck, actually hinder our collective ability to envision and strive for a truly desirable low-carbon future?
This question might seem unconventional. However, it’s rooted in the crucial role of imagination in shaping our future. For years, experts have highlighted the declining state of our collective imagination, arguing that its health is as vital to societal progress as nutrition or education. Just as a malnourished population suffers health decline, and an uneducated populace fails to reach its potential, a society with a diminished imagination risks failing to create the future it needs, especially when facing monumental challenges like climate change.
Our education systems, often increasingly standardized and test-driven, leave less room for imaginative thinking. Many modern work environments stifle creativity, and the pervasive ‘Age of Anxiety’ further constricts our imaginative capacity. Simultaneously, public services that once fostered imagination, like libraries, face austerity measures. This erosion of imaginative space occurs precisely when we need it most. Addressing climate change, and transitioning to a sustainable future, fundamentally depends on our ability to “see things as if they could be otherwise” before we can take meaningful action. Neglecting to nurture our collective imagination is a profound oversight.
Elon Musk, the visionary behind Tesla, SpaceX, and other ambitious projects, is often lauded as a modern-day “imagineer.” His endeavors have significantly contributed to the ongoing dialogue about sustainable futures. Yet, the Cybertruck 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 Cybertruck’s aesthetic is strikingly unconventional.
Constructed with grey stainless steel body panels, punctuated by black triangular windows and robust wheels, the Elon Musk truck defies traditional automotive design. Its angular form evokes comparisons to blocky Minecraft creations or a pixelated image struggling to render. It embodies a brutalist architectural sensibility, reminiscent of 1960s concrete structures – a style not universally beloved for its warmth or human-centric appeal. For those old enough to remember, it might trigger memories of the tanks from the 1980s arcade game ‘Battlezone’ or the austere lines of a Stealth bomber. It’s plausible that if presented with a clay model of the Cybertruck, the vast majority would instinctively soften its harsh angles, seeking to reintroduce a more relatable, humanized form.
Maya Angelou famously advised, “when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” If the Cybertruck were personified, it might project an image of distance, arrogance, and aggression, perhaps even untrustworthiness. Creating a better, more sustainable world – a just, biodiverse world actively addressing the climate emergency – hinges on our capacity to cultivate longing. We must generate a deep yearning for a positive future, crafting narratives that vividly portray this future and ignite that desire.
Research, such as the ‘Functional Imagery Training’ approach developed by Jackie Andrade and Jon May at the University of Plymouth, demonstrates the power of multi-sensory future visualization. Imagining a desired future – its sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and textures – helps create “memories of the future.” These mental imprints can significantly influence our present actions, tipping the scales towards making those envisioned changes a reality. Conversely, certain stimuli can effectively shut down this sense of possibility.
Imagine encountering an Elon Musk truck while cycling. Picture the Cybertruck pulling up beside you at an intersection. What feelings would it evoke? Intimidation? Unease? A sense of insignificance? Would it inspire your imagination or stifle it? Consider the vehicles of beloved children’s book characters. Noddy’s car, for instance, is colorful, whimsical, and reflects his personality. It’s difficult to picture Noddy driving a Cybertruck. The disconnect is stark.
Furthermore, the Cybertruck doesn’t align with a vision of future transport systems that prioritize human connection and reduced car dependency. A truly forward-thinking future envisions cities with significantly fewer private vehicles, boasting exceptional public transport that negates the need for personal car ownership. Roads, once dominated by cars, could be transformed into vibrant spaces – gardens, playgrounds, social hubs, and art installations. If private vehicles remain necessary, they should ideally be lightweight, customizable, aesthetically pleasing, repairable, and recyclable. As urban speed limits decrease, the potential for diverse and imaginative vehicle designs expands.
The most inspiring and imagination-fueling solutions often emerge from humbler, smaller-scale innovations than Musk’s grand visions. Consider suitcases equipped with electric motors that double as personal transporters, or the burgeoning cargo bike revolution, beautifully documented in Liz Canning’s film “Motherload”.
French company XYT is developing ultra-modular electric vehicles designed for easy customization. Their philosophy centers on empowering “clients to compose their own tailored vehicles to their image, needs and desires.” Imagine cities where cyclists enjoy dedicated, traffic-separated networks rather than just painted lines. Or picture buses designed to encourage conversation and reading, or trams that also distribute locally-grown produce. These seemingly simple ideas broaden our perception of future possibilities.
In Argentina, artist Raul Lemesoff created the ‘Weapon of Mass Instruction,’ a tank-like vehicle with a rotating turret, ingeniously repurposed to carry around 900 books. He drives through Buenos Aires, lending books with the sole condition that they be read. Envision that vehicle pulling up next to you at a traffic light. How might it spark a sense of “what if?” and “why not?” in addressing the climate emergency?
During a recent visit to Paris for international car-free day, I participated in a Critical Mass-style bike ride with around 300 people. We were accompanied by an electric “lighthouse” vehicle, complete with seagull sound effects, cycling through a neighborhood that had temporarily reclaimed its streets from cars, renaming them for the occasion. Streets became ‘Street of Play,’ ‘Book Street,’ ‘Dance Alley,’ ‘The Boulevard of Resilience,’ ‘The Road of the Future,’ and my personal favorite, ‘the Street of Improbably Meetings.’ This event offered a tangible glimpse into the streets of the future – a future vastly different from the one suggested by the ‘Elon Musk truck’.
The narratives we construct about the future, and the emotions they evoke, are profoundly influential. They can either unlock or restrict possibilities. The decades-long narrative of space travel, fueled by a powerful longing for lunar exploration, preceded and arguably contributed to the actual moon landing. Similarly, design choices – shapes, colors, forms – matter deeply. The ability to “see things as if they could be otherwise” is not automatic or inherently robust. It needs nurturing, requiring the right conditions to emerge and flourish. The Elon Musk truck, with its current design and implied ethos, unfortunately, cultivates precisely the opposite conditions.
