The Volkswagen ID. Buzz Is The Anti-Cybertruck
It's an electric van that runs on upbeat nostalgia, rather than existential dread
I celebrated Mardi Gras last weekend in New Orleans where several parade-going Cybertrucks were relentlessly booed and pummeled with decorative projectiles, and at least one had to flee under police protection.
Look, unexpected things happen in Mardi Gras parades.
Floats get stranded. Every now and then, a guy who’s been served too many Hurricanes mistakes a bead-covered lamppost for his Uber and tries to negotiate the fare. This year, a golden throne had to be retrofitted to accommodate Shaq.
But according to the locals I talked to, it’s not every day that a personal vehicle gets heckled out of a Krewe of Orpheus parade by merrymakers armed with little more than cheap plastic necklaces and bottled-up spite. So, why did this happen?
I don’t doubt that a fair amount of the vitriol was inspired by Tesla’s controversial CEO and his ongoing personal mission to ruin the letter ‘X’ for everyone on earth.
But I think at least some of the rage stemmed from the fact that the Cybertruck is antithetical to the very experience of being alive in the most joyful city in America during its most upbeat week.
A Cybertruck showing up at a Mardi Gras parade is like Darth Vader crashing a barbecue. To my eye, this was a vehicle that looked less like it belonged in a festival designed to celebrate life and more like it was trying to forcibly annex the French Quarter.
There is a time and a place for just about everything. But at this time and in this place, the Cybertruck never stood a chance. Happy, drunk people who’re looking to let loose just don’t appreciate tactical military vehicles raining on their second lines.
Here in Los Angeles—road rage capital of America—it’s a different story. I see Cybertrucks on the road all the time, and I’ve never witnessed anyone throw anything at them.
Instead, every time I come across one on the road, I merely ask myself the same question, “Why is a suburban dad who looks like he owns a mobile dog grooming service driving a mobile survival bunker that was evidently designed for storming a rebel stronghold?”
After the recent birth of our third child, my wife and I discovered that we needed a van. Though she didn’t have especially strong opinions on the matter, I didn’t want just any van … I wanted a cool van.
And so, we purchased our own electric novelty vehicle: the Volkswagen ID. Buzz. Maybe you’ve seen one on the road. It’s the modern-day reimagining of the legendary VW Bus.
And while I have no proof of this, I can assure you that had we driven it in that particular Lundi Gras parade, we would’ve been cheered, rather than booed.
How do I know this? Because every time we take our ID. Buzz out on the road, we are received with conspicuous displays of delight and affection.
I’m not exaggerating.
People crawling alongside us on the 101 in the middle of rush hour smile and wave. Passing Tesla drivers honk and give the thumbs-up sign, sometimes with their palms facing skyward as if to say, “Obviously, I regret my own life choices.”
Strangers outside coffee shops ask if they can take a peek inside, as they wax nostalgic about their own VW buses from decades past.
The other day, a biker in full leather gave me the peace sign at a stoplight. I think I may have been briefly accepted into an outlaw motorcycle gang.
The most common question we get from admirers of our bus is, “Do you love it?!” And they already know that the answer is yes.
The ID. Buzz is a vehicle that taps into the joys of pure nostalgia, which so many people right now are seeking in a world where the present and future both seem increasingly dark.
Unlike the Cybertruck’s sharp angles and dark exterior, the ID. buzz is all big curves and bright colors. It’s designed to welcome, rather than to repel.
In short, the ID. Buzz is the anti-Cybertruck.
Its interior is spacious and welcoming—perfect for a group of barefoot hippies and their rescue dogs or (as it turns out) three children under the age of seven.
The Cybertruck, meanwhile, is cold and sterile—like something designed for a self-described “serial entrepreneur,” who fires employees over Zoom, refers to his meals as “fuel,” and has a framed print of the expression, “Move Fast and Break Things” hanging in his living room.
The ID. Buzz is a warm hug on wheels. The Cybertruck is a cold, metallic handshake from a robot overlord.
The ID. Buzz says, "Road trip!" The Cybertruck says, "Society has collapsed!"
The truth is that maybe you should take my opinions on all of this with a grain of salt because fundamentally, I’m not a car guy.
My previous vehicle was a used 2014 Prius that had somehow accumulated more dog hair than miles, so my purchase of the ID. Buzz was more than a little out of character. It’s pricey and filled with the kinds of extra gadgets that I don’t care so much about.
And yet, the moment I discovered last year that the ID. Buzz was coming, I knew: This was my destiny.
Becoming a van guy is a rite of passage. Some dads fight it. Others lean in. I chose to lean in, preferably with a surfboard strapped to the top, even though I do not surf.
Yes, I readily admit that I was concerned about cultivating my image with this purchase. I wanted a van that says, “I sometimes wake up at dawn to catch the waves,” even though the real reason I wake up at dawn because one of my children is demanding to watch Bluey.”
But mostly, I wanted the electric bus because it harkened the past. And the past seems pretty appealing these days.
Though it’s filled with all kinds of new stuff, the ID. Buzz is fundamentally a reminder that a lot of things “back then” actually were better than they are now.
I may not have grown up in the 70s, but I’ve spent more than enough time listening to Grateful Dead bootlegs to know that I would have thrived there—preferably in a burnt-orange van with questionable brakes and a scruffy dog named, “Bob Weir.”
Though my own kids seem to love the ID. Buzz as much as I do, I have no idea whether they’ll ever look back on this model the way older people fondly recall their original VW buses.
But at least they won’t ever have to explain why our family car back in 2025 had the personality of a panic attack in vehicle form.