Despite empirical evidence to the contrary, the Cybertruck’s fans defend it as the greatest car ever made—some going as far as sending death threats on X to those who disagree. It is this refusal to learn from experience, whether one’s own or that of others, that I find to be the hallmark of the Cybertruck devotee. Ever ready to believe the hype, fans exhibit an almost religious devotion to their purchase, forgiving everything from harmless foibles (inconvenient door handles) to major flaws (a tendency for parts to fly off).

But perhaps we are all duped by something. A willingness to be conned as long as the illusion flatters our sense of self and our image of the future is a defining characteristic of our time. American culture has always favored snake-oil salesmen, but perhaps never more than in the era of Trump, America’s most successful con man. Under an administration that was backed, at least temporarily, by the world’s richest man—Elon Musk—the performance of innovation has become more important than the substance. The Cybertruck is today’s paradigmatic consumer object because it perfects the art of expensive disappointment, pushing buyers into ego-protecting delusion. To survive America in 2025 requires at least a little self-deception, if not about our cars then about the environment, politics, or the general direction society is heading. In a country run by scam artists, all that’s left is the illusion of autonomy and control. Why wouldn’t people gravitate toward a car that similarly promises, however falsely, to make them powerful and free?