Buckle up, folks, because we’re taking a joyride down Memory Lane in the Cadillac Cimarron—a car so forgettable it makes beige wallpaper look like a personality trait. Launched in 1982, the Cimarron was Cadillac’s attempt to shrink its snooty luxury vibes into a compact sedan that screamed, “I’m fancy, but also… budget-conscious?” Spoiler alert: it was less “champagne wishes” and more “flat soda dreams.”
Picture this: General Motors, in a moment of unhinged optimism, decided to slap a Cadillac badge on a Chevy Cavalier. Yes, the Cavalier—a car with the charisma of a soggy paper towel. They thought buyers would swoon over leather seats and a slightly shinier grille, ignoring the fact that the Cimarron’s engine wheezed like an asthmatic lawnmower. With a gutless 1.8-liter four-cylinder (later upgraded to a still-pathetic 2.8-liter V6), this thing took 12 seconds to hit 60 mph. You could brew coffee faster.
The marketing team deserves a Razzie for ethics. They priced the Cimarron like a legit luxury car—$12,000 to $18,000 in the early ‘80s, which could’ve bought you a BMW 3 Series or a loaded Lincoln. Buyers weren’t fooled. They’d test-drive this glorified grocery-getter, expecting Cadillac swagger, only to find power windows that moved like they were unionized and an interior that screamed “rental car chic.” By 1988, after six years of anemic sales (about 132,000 units total), GM mercy-killed the Cimarron, and the automotive world collectively shrugged.
Why should the Cimarron be forgotten? Because it’s the vehicular equivalent of a mullet—business in the front, disappointment everywhere else. It tarnished Cadillac’s rep, making “luxury” feel like a cruel prank. Imagine telling your date you’re rolling up in a Cadillac, only to pull up in what looks like your mom’s commuter car with a superiority complex.
Embarrassing.
Yet, in a twisted way, the Cimarron’s failure is comedy gold. It’s the car that taught us humility, proving even giants like GM can trip over their own hubris. So, let’s raise a glass to the Cimarron—then promptly forget it, because some rides are better left in the junkyard of history, rusting alongside acid-washed jeans and shoulder pads.
Watch the video to see how the mainstream media tried to peddle this galactic turd...