2025 Genesis G80 - $85,000...for a Hyundai?

Got to hand it to Hyundai's luxury division, Genesis, for designing some of the best-looking cars, cross-overs and SUVs on the road today. Yes, they shamelessly borrow styling cues and design philosophy from some of the world's most prestigious luxury brands, but isn't imitation supposed to be the sincerest form of flattery?

I'm not sure exactly what inspired the design of this 2026 Genesis G80, but it certainly looks like an expensive, prestigious automobile.

Then again, isn't looking the part more than half the game? "Act as if," as they say. I've never quite mastered that trick but judging by how many people are willing to spend eighty grand or more on one of these, Hyundai—sorry, Genesis—ought to be teaching master classes on the subject.

At roughly $80,000, inflation or not, this is an expensive car. Very expensive. So expensive, in fact, that the value proposition upon which Hyundai built its reputation flies right out the panoramic sunroof.

Harsh? Perhaps. Then again, an argument could be made that a Cadillac is nothing more than a fancy Chevrolet that costs twice as much. The notion, though that this car can go tire-to-tire with anything from Lexus, Toyota's luxury division, still strikes me as a bit amusing. Seems someone's been huffing brake cleaner again. 

Forgive my skepticism. I've never been a Hyundai fan, and my prejudice goes back decades.

My first experience with one came in the late 1980s. A woman I worked with asked me to drive her year-old Hyundai Excel because the steering wheel wouldn't return to center after making a turn. That's not merely annoying—that's unsettling. I told her to take it straight back to the dealership and have them inspect the steering rack and front suspension. Again, this was on a car that wasn't even a year old.

To make matters worse, I thought it rode like a dumpster with square wheels, handled poorly, and was about as attractive as a cinder block. First impressions matter, and every Hyundai I've driven since has done little to change mine. Their slanted "H" emblem has always looked less like "Hyundai" and more like shorthand for "horrible."

 

Hyundai arrived in the United States in 1986 with the Excel, and I'll give them this—their marketing was brilliant. The message was simple: you could buy two Hyundais for the average price of one then brand-new car. What they didn't mention was that, in my opinion, you got two poorly built cars for the price of one. 

It didn't matter. Americans flocked to them. Hyundai sold more than 168,000 Excels in less than a year, setting a first-year sales record for an imported car in the U.S.

To be fair, they weren't quite as dreadful as the Yugo, the bargain-basement hatchback built by Zastava in the former Yugoslavia and imported by the ever-entrepreneurial Malcolm Bricklin from 1985 through 1992. Yugos were so poorly assembled they could almost make a Hyundai Excel seem like a Toyota Corolla.

Somehow—and I say this with genuine amazement—Hyundai kept improving. The company expanded its lineup with cars like the Sonata and XG300 before introducing the Equus. Eventually it launched Genesis as a standalone luxury brand, much as Toyota did with Lexus and Honda did with Acura. Today Genesis offers an impressive lineup of sedans, including this G80, along with a range of luxury SUVs.

I still don't buy into it.

Genesis unquestionably builds handsome automobiles, and many reviewers praise them for their features, refinement, and value. Even so, I remain unconvinced. My experiences with Hyundai products over the years have left me skeptical of the brand, and that skepticism naturally extends to Genesis and Kia.

Every new Hyundai, Genesis, and Kia comes with one of the industry's best warranties: a 10-year/100,000-mile powertrain warranty, a 5-year/60,000-mile bumper-to-bumper limited warranty, and complimentary scheduled maintenance for three years or 36,000 miles. Some people see that as a tremendous vote of confidence from the manufacturer. Cynics like me see it as something they may need to offer.

One important caveat for used-car buyers: if you're shopping for a Hyundai, Genesis, or Kia, buy a Certified Pre-Owned example from one of the manufacturer's dealerships. That's generally the only way the remainder of the original 10-year/100,000-mile powertrain warranty transfers to the next owner. Buy one from an independent used-car lot or a private seller, and the original powertrain coverage is greatly reduced. You may think you're getting a bargain on a feature-packed luxury car, but if something expensive breaks, that bargain can disappear in a hurry.

At seventy-five, eighty, or even eighty-five thousand dollars, this is playing in BMW, Mercedes-Benz, and Lexus territory. While I have my own reservations about many modern German luxury cars, spending that kind of money on what is, at its corporate roots, still a Hyundai completely undermines the value equation that made the company successful in the first place.

Now, if this G80 consistently matched or surpassed Lexus in long-term durability, reliability, and resale value, you could certainly make a compelling argument for it.

But for me, despite the styling, luxury appointments, and premium badge, it's still a Hyundai.

 

1967 Chevrolet Camaro - Sorry Not Sorry

 

I cannot believe how much first-generation Camaros are going for these days. Even the non-SS cars, like this numbers-matching, L30 327 cubic-inch V8-powered, Powerglide-equipped 1967 base coupe. The asking price was $36,500. Holy schnikes! 

It has power steering and brakes, a 12-bolt Posi rear end, a deluxe interior, and supposedly just 44,000 miles. on its 59-year-old ticker. It was repainted 30 years ago in its original factory color.

For years, you could pick these up cheap, and then all of a sudden, around 2000, values skyrocketed. They've stayed way up there ever since. Figures. If someone was say, 16-, 17-years-old in 1967 and wanted one of these, in 2000, they would have been pushing 50. Theory goes that flush with disposal income, first-gen Camaros are what they treated themselves to. 

These were never on my wish list, but I wouldn't kick one out of my garage if one magically appeared in there.

About 10 years ago, maybe 12, I got some quality wheel time in a '68 Camaro RS convertible. Best was, the owner egged me on to really get on it. Hoo-boy. It had a built 350 in it, and it was stinking fast. While it handled like a truck with square wheels and had felt like it had the structure of cardboard box, this coupe no doubt would feel like a rollling bank vault in comparison, the real problem was the brakes. Not only had they not been upgraded, but they were also manual drums. Terrifying. Sorry, not sorry, but I wasn't impressed. Of course, I didn't tell him that.

1967 was the first year for the first-generation Camaro, the Camaro General Motors answer to the Ford's game changing Mustang that came out more than 2-years prior. 

Fun fact: the way to tell a '67 from a '68 Camaro is by the vent windows. The '67s have them; the '68s don't.

1961 Ford Galaxie and 1980 Buick Regal - My Kind of High School Reunion

The other morning, I had a flashback to 1982. For a moment, I was back in the student parking lot at Oceanside High School on Long Island when I spotted this 1961 Ford Galaxie parked next to a 1980 Buick Regal. The only difference? This wasn't the high school parking lot—it was the lot shared by the transmission shop next door to my office in Youngstown, Ohio.

Now this is my kind of high school reunion.

Back when I was in high school, while it wasn't an everyday occurrence, it wasn't unusual to see a big old Ford like this parked next to something brand-new, or at least relatively current, like the Buick. I may be more aware of this than others since my wife and I drive 17- and 22-year-old vehicles, but people generally didn't use cars that were 20-plus years old as daily drivers back then. Besides the fact that they simply weren't built to last that long, older cars also stood out much more than they do today—for better or worse, depending on your point of view.

As far as I was concerned, that was a good thing. The cars of my high school years were mostly boring, drab appliances like this Buick. This Regal is so uninspiring that I'm hard-pressed to find much of anything positive to say about it—and you'll find no bigger fan of two-door cars than me. I'll throw it one bone, though: beneath its forgettable styling lies the same basic G-body architecture that would later underpin the now-legendary turbocharged Buick Grand National and GNX. There's something to be said for becoming famous by association.

In fairness, the designers and engineers who created the Ford Galaxie weren't constrained by the emissions, safety, and fuel economy regulations that shaped the Buick nearly two decades later. With far fewer guardrails, Ford's stylists were free to take chances. Whether they grabbed the proverbial brass ring, missed it entirely, or fell off the carousel trying to do so is open to debate, but there's no denying the Galaxie is a far more interesting car to look at.

While tame compared to some of Ford's flamboyant creations from the 1950s—and positively restrained next to some of GM's and Chrysler's wildest designs of the era—the Galaxie still has a "throw caution to the wind" aesthetic that the derivative, purely functional Buick simply can't match.

The Regal is part of General Motors downsized 1978-1987 A/G-body intermediate lineup. Without question, it's the better transportation appliance. But viewed through my admittedly foggy nostalgia goggles, it's a car trying to be something it simply isn't.

The Ford, meanwhile, embraces its longer-deck-than-hood proportions—styling that would be all but forbidden by the end of the 1960s. It's dramatic, unapologetic, and overflowing with charm and élan. The Buick? Not so much. Even today, if a teenager drove one of these to school, it wouldn't attract nearly the attention—or the smiles—that the Galaxie would.

This Buick Regal is simply an old car. The Ford Galaxie is a rocket-powered time machine, transporting us back to a time and place that many Generation Xers—myself included—would love to visit again.

Riding the wave of America's fascination with the Space Race, Ford introduced the "Galaxie" name as the top trim level of the Fairlane for 1959. Beginning in 1960, the Galaxie became its own full-size model and remained in production through 1974.

Buick's Regal enjoyed a much longer run. It debuted as an upscale trim level of the all-new midsize Century in 1973 before becoming a standalone model in 1974. The Regal remained in Buick's lineup through 2004, when it was effectively replaced by the LaCrosse. Buick revived the Regal for the 2011 model year as a rebadged Opel Insignia, and it remained in production through 2020.

 

1984 Chevrolet Corvette - I Must Have Cursed the Poor Kid

This 1984 Chevrolet Corvette started showing up recently in the parking lot of the business next to my office in Youngstown, Ohio.

One day I had a few spare minutes, so I wandered over for a closer look and snapped a few photos. Naturally, that was the exact moment the owner of the business—a vinyl graphics manufacturer—stuck his head out the door and asked what I was doing.

The obligatory apologies followed, along with me awkwardly explaining that I worked next door, I was "a car guy" and owned a '91 Corvette convertible. You know how those conversations go.

As it turned out, the Corvette belonged to one of his employees, a 23-year-old graphic designer who had just bought it for around $2,000. Ouch. Hearing that stings when I think about what I paid for mine—but then again, this is an '84.

He introduced us, and the kid looked even younger than 23. He reminded me of myself at that age, always trying to look older. Funny how quickly that changes. Back then I grew a beard to add a few years. Now I occasionally think about shaving it off to lose a few.

He seemed a little nerdy and slightly uncomfortable in his own skin, and I could tell he was struggling talking to him. I didn't have the time to put him at ease hoping like he most likely did that the conversation would end as quickly as possible. 

What I was able to get out of him was that he wasn't a car guy at all. When he was a kid, one of his favorite toys was a C4 Corvette in a similar blue-purple color. So, when this one popped up on Facebook Marketplace, he couldn't resist.

He'd already put new tires on it and replaced the brakes. The air conditioning blew cold-ish, he insisted it "needed a charge." Cosmetically, it's a 10- or 20-footer, with spider-web cracking scattered throughout the paint.

I asked if he knew much about working on its notoriously finicky, problematic Crossfire fuel injection. He laughed sheepishly and admitted he didn't but said it was running just fine. He didn't know anyone who worked on the system either. 

I must have cursed him. 

The next day, the hood was up.

I haven't seen the car since.

1974 Dodge Charger - Cash! No Trades!

I recently found this fairly woebegone 1974 Dodge Charger on Marketplace for sale not far from the Triple Wide. The asking price? $8,000. Cash only. NO TRADES!

Chrysler updated its intermediate B-bodies for the 1971 model year with a similar "fuselage" styling theme it had first introduced on their full-size 1969 C-bodies. I've never been much of a fan of those blocky C-bodies—sorry, the whole fuselage thing has always been lost on me—but there's an undeniable swagger about the fuselage B-bodies, regardless of what the designers called them.

Dodge introduced the Charger in 1966 as an awkward fastback 2+2 with all the charm of a garbage truck—or worse, a 1965-66 Rambler Marlin. Two years later, it redesigned the car and, subjectively, created a legend. Then, in 1971, Dodge pulled off something close to impossible: a sequel that was nearly as good as the 1968-70 cars. Well... if you conveniently forget the original 1966-67 Chargers ever existed.

The problem with those three-year production cycles was that they only lasted three years. Cash-strapped Chrysler couldn't afford to keep redesigning its cars that quickly, so it stretched the 1971 B-body through 1974 before launching an all-new lineup for 1975, including Chrysler's own B-body entry, the Cordoba.

Which brings us to this tired '74 Charger that has clearly seen better days.

For your eight grand, you get a car you can drive home like Fred Flintstone—lookie there, the driver's-side floor pan is rotting out. Fear not, though. The seller is throwing in a replacement floor pan you can simply "drop in." If only it were that simple.

It also needs "minor body work"—and we all know there's no such thing. Everything is included for the lucky buyer to put back together, assuming they're holding $8,000 in cash. The seats are shot, and the headliner needs replacing, although that's included somewhere in the bucket of parts stuffed into the trunk. That pop-up moonroof is after-market. 

The seller proudly notes it's a numbers-matching 318, as if anyone really cares. Chrysler's LA-series 318 was never much of a powerhouse, and by 1974 it had been thoroughly neutered with lower compression and lean carburetor tuning in the name of emissions. The big-blocks were gone by then, and the 318 wasn't even the standard engine—the base powerplant was Chrysler's venerable 225-cubic-inch Slant Six.

Fuselage Charger fans will notice another curiosity: someone installed the hideaway headlights from a 1971-72 Charger. The seller says the headlight motor is included, but doesn't say whether it's installed or if the doors actually work. My guess is they don't. Not that it matters much—the headlights will shine through the grille slots anyway.

This comes with a clean Ohio title, and there's a brand-new vinyl top in the trunk as well. How hard could that be to install like it came fresh from the factory? 

Like most old cars here in Northern Ohio, where we spend nine months a year bathing our vehicles in salty brine, the rust is what scares me most. I bite my tongue before calling old cars like this "junky," but this one is pushing my limits. Especially at $8,000. Cash. And remember... no trades.

My guess? Somebody bought this Charger thinking it would be an easy restoration, then quickly discovered they were in way over their head.

I think we've all been there once or twice. Or ten times.