I rarely succumb to envy. On a journalist’s salary, it’s better not to.
I lust not for the Range Rovers, the BMW X5s or the Audi Q5s driven by parents at my fifth-grader’s fancy pants private school. When my daughter, my wife and I drive up to Lake Tahoe from Berkeley — as we do nearly every weekend in the winter — it’s in our solid, practical, low-cost Subaru Forester.
Those luxury SUVs? Ungainly vehicles that drive less like cars, more like trucks. Snow handling’s no better than in my Subaru. Cushy, yes. But worth twice the price? Not for me.
Then there’s the Porsche Macan.
When the Macan hit showrooms three years ago, I was intrigued. The reviews were...