I have spent the past 15 years in the automotive industry—not long enough to kill myself over it, but long enough to get bold. Whether as the in-house futurologist for Volvo, an advisor for VW, or on keynote stages for various OEMs, I’ve seen it all. And if my first article on this platform is going to take a stab at anything, it damn well better be Jaguar.
The automotive world has seen tragedies before—brands that lost their way, abandoned their soul, and became unrecognizable husks of their former selves. But Jaguar? This isn’t just a stumble. It’s an execution. A slow, deliberate march toward self-destruction, masquerading as reinvention.
Jaguar was once a symbol of quiet British luxury, a brand that didn’t need to fucking scream to be noticed. It exuded an effortless confidence, the kind possessed by those who don’t need to prove anything. The growl of a Jaguar was never about the sound of its engine; it was about legacy, about class, about an understated kind of power. Now, it’s about one thing: desperation.
The rebranding—oh, the rebranding. Watching Jaguar attempt to redefine itself in the modern era is like watching an aristocrat trade a bespoke suit for fast fashion and then wonder why no one takes them seriously now. The new slogan, "Delete Ordinary," feels less like a promise and more like a confession. Because what Jaguar has truly deleted isn’t ordinariness—it’s identity. In their rush to chase the ghosts of Tesla and the hollow minimalism of modern luxury, they have not evolved; they have eviscerated.
The new typeface, a bizarre mix of upper and lowercase letters, looks like it was designed by someone suffering an identity crisis. The whole thing reeks of a startup tech company trying too hard to look futuristic, rather than an automotive legend reinforcing its stature. Branding should be a whisper of confidence, not a shrill cry for attention. But Jaguar isn’t whispering now—it’s standing on the street corner, begging passersby to notice its new look, hoping someone will care.
Then there’s the marketing campaign itself, an aesthetic vomit of perfume-commercial theatrics, neon-lit ambiguity, and the unmistakable scent of an agency that spent too much time reading trend reports and not enough time sitting behind the wheel of a classic XJ. The very essence of Jaguar—the rich leather, the hand-crafted details, the quiet hum of a machine made for those who understand—is gone. What’s left is a lifeless shell, desperately posturing, a brand that has forgotten that true luxury doesn’t chase trends. It creates them.
But let’s talk about the real sin here: the misunderstanding of what luxury means. Jaguar’s new direction screams of executives mistaking price for prestige, of marketers who believe that making something expensive automatically makes it desirable. True luxury isn’t about screaming for attention; it’s about knowing that those who matter will understand. Rolls-Royce doesn’t beg for relevance. Aston Martin doesn’t chase fads. But Jaguar? Jaguar is sprinting toward the cliff’s edge, convinced that a flashy free-fall is the same thing as flight.
This is the mistake of correlation versus causation in its most grotesque form. Jaguar’s leadership looked at brands like Tesla, saw their radical minimalism and cult-like followings, and assumed that the way to success was to erase its own heritage. But Tesla didn’t succeed because it deleted its past—it succeeded because it never had one to delete. Jaguar, on the other hand, had a legacy worth protecting. Instead, they set fire to it and called it progress.
And what of their pricing strategy? The idea of pushing further upmarket, of turning Jaguar into some kind of hyper-luxury brand, would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic. A premium price tag only works when it’s backed by a premium experience, and right now, Jaguar is offering the former without the latter. There’s a fine line between exclusivity and delusion, and Jaguar seems determined to cross it blindfolded.
This could have been different. The shift to electric vehicles didn’t have to mean the loss of soul. Jaguar could have embraced its heritage while moving forward, crafting electric vehicles that maintained the brand’s signature balance of power and grace. They could have evolved the way great brands do—with subtlety, with intelligence, with a respect for the past. Instead, they’ve opted for erasure.
So, what now? The worst part of all this isn’t just what Jaguar has done—it’s that there may be no coming back. Once a brand loses its identity, once it severs itself from the very thing that made it special, it’s almost impossible to recover. This isn’t just a bad marketing decision. It’s a suicide note.
Years from now, business schools will study this moment, dissecting it not as a case of brilliant reinvention, but as a cautionary tale of hubris, of blind mimicry, of a company that mistook visibility for value. Jaguar had everything—heritage, prestige, a loyal following. And it threw it all away for the sake of looking modern, not realizing that true luxury doesn’t need to look anything. It simply is.
Jaguar was once grace, pace, and space. Now, it’s just another car company, screaming into the void, hoping someone will hear.
