Inflation. Oil shocks. The cold war still humming in the background. The 1980s didn’t exactly offer a gentle entry for car buyers or manufacturers.
But the chaos bred weirdness. And interesting stuff.
We tend to remember the Boxsters and the Celicas, the sports cars that screamed performance. What we forget? The weirdos. The compromises. The cars that solved problems no one asked for or survived trends they shouldn’t have. These aren’t just relics; they’re case studies in what happens when engineering meets marketing gone sideways.
Did you know the Subaru BRAT was actually a hit for Reagan?
You likely haven’t heard the acronym Subaru BRAT. That stands for Bi-drive Recreational All-purpose Transportation. Sounds military, doesn’t it?
It looks like a toy. Or a Lancia designed by a toddler with a sharp crayon. Yet Ronald Reagan owned one for two decades at his California ranch. Not for photoshoots. He used it.
Sold from 1977 to 1994, the BRAT defied every conventional wisdom of American motoring. Subaru marketed it in the US as “Fun on Wheels.” That phrase sounds like a slogan for a carnival ride, not a vehicle, but it worked.
Here’s the thing people miss. It wasn’t just cute. The later versions got a turbocharged 1.8-liter engine. Gutsy for the time. Reliable? Devastatingly so. One hundred thousand sold. That volume cemented Subaru’s reliability halo in the States. Without the BRAT’s weird charm, would we be seeing EyeSight technology in Subarus today? Maybe. Maybe not. But the BRAT built the brand’s backbone.
The Plymouth Sapporo: Why did Mitsubishi’s Chrysler partner fade out?
Business logic suggests that if a product is good enough, it survives. The Plymouth Sapporo disproved that in 1978.
Born from Mitsubishi’s handshake with Chrysler, this tiny import looked nothing like the Econoliner or the Valiant. It was sleek. Sophisticated. It offered bucket seats with lumbar support in an era when many imports felt like chairs made of hard plastic. Tinted glass. Power mirrors. Features you wouldn’t expect on a subcompact.
And the stats? It claimed 40 mpg. For a car that felt this nice? That was impressive. By today’s standards? Still pretty solid. Seventy thousand Americans bought into the dream.
So why do we not know the Sapporo?
Shifting alliances. As Chrysler and Mitsubishi drifted in their strategic focus, the Sapporo was quietly replaced. Mitsubishi started selling its own branding—the Conquest —as the new irresistible offer. The Sapporo vanished because the contract changed hands, not because the car was bad. It was a casualty of corporate restructuring. A shame. It was probably one of the best subcompacts of its era.
Was the Midas Bronze a victim of bad luck or poor planning?
Harold Dermott’s Midas team had the blueprint for a world-beating affordable sports car. The Midas Bronze launched in 1978 and looked like a genuine contender against the Porsche 944 or early Boxster.
The construction was revolutionary for a budget car. Glassfibre monocoque. Richard Oakes did the styling; Gordon Murray tweaked the aero. The first car to pass contemporary crash tests with that build method.
It wasn’t just safe. It looked fast.
But here is the cruel twist of fate. By 1989, the company was launching the improved Gold model. Sales were picking up. Then, fire. A devastating blaze destroyed the factory and all the tooling. Midas folded shortly after.
Only 500 Bronze and Gold units were ever produced. They are gaining recognition now for that pioneering design. But ask yourself: if the fire hadn’t happened, would Midas have scaled to challenge Fiat or MG? Probably. But now, you’re more likely to see the Lotus Elite or Radical Sport cars filling that niche. The Bronze remains a tragic what-if.
Why did the Alfa Romeo 6 arrive too late to matter?
Alfa Romeo has a reputation for being a few years behind. The Alfa 6 is the prime example of that curse.
Planning started in 1973. Great idea on paper. A large, comfortable sedan. But then came the oil crisis. Suddenly, a V6 Alfa seemed like a reckless purchase. Executives shelved the project. They called it the automotive attic.
By the time production started in 1979, the car already looked dated. The styling was safe. Too safe for an Alfa. It needed flair, and it got bureaucracy instead.
The engine, though. A carbureted 2.5-liter V6. Beautiful. But thirsty. In 1979? Even that turned heads for all the wrong reasons.
Alfa tried to fix it. In 1983, they updated the body, added Bosch fuel-injection, and offered a turbodiesel option. Good moves. Late moves. Production ended in 197? No, 1987. Approximately 12,000 built. Enough to keep clubs alive, but not enough to save the sedan’s image. The Alfa 6 was always chasing a ghost—a market that wanted efficiency in a luxury package. By the time it delivered, the Audi V8 and Mercedes W126 were already eating their lunch.
What about the Buick Century Turbo Coupe?
You read that right. Buick. The brand associated with station wagons and gentle cruises to the grocery store. Made a turbo coupe in 1979?
The source material leaves us hanging here. A cut-off headline. But it underscores a key point. The late 70s and early 80s saw automakers panic-buy into “sporty” trims. Slap a turbo badge on it. Call it a Coupe. Suddenly, the Century was cool?
It likely wasn’t. But it reflects the era’s desperation to stay relevant against the import wave.
These forgotten
