BMW 5-Series
The BMW 5 Series is the sophisticated executive car for those who want to look like a responsible adult while secretly hoping the dashboard won’t light up like a Christmas tree. Manufactured by BMW since 1972, it’s the vehicle that’s survived decades of technological glitches, electrical faults, and mysterious engine noises that only your mechanic seems able to hear. The 5 Series is available as a sedan, for when you want to blend in with other mid-life-crisis sufferers, or since 1991, as a station wagon ("Touring")—perfect for hauling broken electronics back to the dealer.
A bizarrely unnecessary 5-door fastback ("Gran Turismo") also graced the market from 2009 to 2017, designed for those who couldn’t decide between a hatchback, a sedan, and a deep, simmering sense of regret. Generations are distinguished by internal codes, from the "E" codes (which stood for "Error-prone") used from 1972 to 2010, to the "F" codes (possibly "Frequently Faulty") from 2010 to 2016, and now the "G" codes, where "G" likely stands for "Good luck with that."
The first 5 Series started off innocent enough, with naturally aspirated four-cylinder and six-cylinder engines—an era when the only warning lights were for oil and coolant. Since then, BMW has experimented with a confusing mix of engines, from V8s to V10s, and naturally aspirated to turbocharged, each with its own unique set of potential failures. Diesel engines have been included since 1982, mainly for those who want to drive something powerful yet inexplicably smoky.
The 5 Series is BMW’s second-best-selling model, right behind the 3 Series, which means it’s almost everyone’s second choice—right after the warranty expires. On January 29, 2008, BMW celebrated a momentous occasion when the 5 millionth 5 Series rolled off the line: a 530d sedan in Carbon Black Metallic, a color known for hiding minor scratches... and major dents. It’s BMW's oldest nameplate, still in production despite years of inexplicable electronic issues and strange rattling noises. Starting with the E28, all 5 Series generations have featured an "M" model, known as the BMW M5, which combines the thrill of high performance with the terror of looming repair bills.
First genereation (E12; 1972-1981)[edit | edit source]
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-The first generation of the BMW 5 Series, the E12 (1972–1981), was a turning point for BMW—a moment when the company decided to shift its target audience from practical families to well-dressed jerks with a bit too much money and an unhealthy love for speeding tickets. It was a car that said, "I'm important, and I'll park wherever I damn well please." The E12 wasn't just a new car model; it was the beginning of a transformation, as BMW’s clientele evolved from sensible drivers into a legion of status-obsessed show-offs who felt they deserved the road... and most of the sidewalk.
The E12 had a variety of engines, from the dependable (but dull) M10 four-cylinder to the M30 six-cylinder, which had just enough power to get you into trouble but not quite enough to outrun your regrets—or the flashing lights in the rearview mirror. This was the car that took BMW from a manufacturer of sensible, reliable vehicles to the maker of "Ultimate Driving Machines"—a phrase that roughly translated to "I'm better than you, and I’m prepared to cut you off to prove it."
The E12 wasn’t just about new engines and a sleek shark-nose design. It was about a new mindset, one where the family-oriented practicality of the past was ditched for leather seats and the sweet sound of disdainful honking. Inside, the E12 was trimmed with stylish (but cheap) plastics that warped in the sun and wood accents that often resembled those fake wood stickers you'd put on a child's toy car. It was luxury for those who thought "luxury" meant ashtrays in the rear seats and a clock that would only tell the correct time if you prayed to the Bavarian gods.
And the electrical system... oh, the electrical system. With a charming habit of dimming headlights, failing gauges, and fuse box nightmares that could have doubled as an escape room challenge, the E12 was the kind of car that made you wonder if you were buying a vehicle or a project. The "luxurious" cassette player introduced many to the concept of pure rage, devouring tapes with an almost animalistic hunger, while the power windows worked approximately 50% of the time—on a good day.
But despite—or perhaps because of—these quirks, the E12 attracted a new breed of BMW customer. Gone were the cautious, sensible family men. In their place stood the self-important executive, the status-seeking stockbroker, and the middle manager who absolutely needed to be in the fast lane, even if it meant tailgating you all the way to your exit. The E12’s appeal was its ability to tell everyone around you, “I have arrived,” while also quietly whispering, “Please don’t look too closely at the dashboard lights.”
The E12’s crown jewel was the M535i, a "performance" version that mainly meant you could spend more money and have even more things go wrong, faster. It combined raw power with the distinctive BMW sound of loose trim pieces and questionable valve lifters, providing owners with an authentic experience of 1970s excess—long before the cocaine-fueled 80s arrived.
When production ended in 1981, the E12 left behind a legacy of driving pleasure tinged with mechanical nightmares. It was a car that forged BMW’s path to becoming the go-to choice for the ego-driven elite—a transition that the company has embraced ever since. And for those who owned one, the E12 remains a classic: a car that, for all its flaws, offered a unique blend of prestige, power, and the promise that every drive might end with a tow truck.
Second generarion (E28; 1981-1988)[edit | edit source]
The second generation of the BMW 5 Series, the E28 (1981–1988), was BMW's unapologetic continuation of the E12’s legacy—because why fix something when you can just slightly modify the bumpers and call it “progress”? From the outside, the E28 looked almost identical to its predecessor, proving once and for all that while you can tweak engines and electronics, true stupidity is forever.
The E28 carried over all the quirks and frustrations of the E12, with a few extra electrical gremlins thrown in for good measure. The boxy, shark-nose design remained, now sharper and somehow more smug. Inside, it was the same recipe of cheap plastics and fake wood, now with even more chances for rattles, squeaks, and odd vibrations at highway speeds—perfect for the kind of driver who couldn’t care less about build quality as long as everyone saw that BMW badge.
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But then came 1985, when BMW decided to release the M5—a car that took the crown of BMW’s “jerk” hierarchy and solidified the company’s commitment to creating vehicles that served as rolling declarations of superiority. The once-glorious M535i, which had been the dream car of every mid-level, try-hard executive, was now relegated to second-rate status. Overnight, owning an M535i meant you were only aspiring to be a colossal jerk, not quite there yet—just a "wannabe" in the brutal social ladder of BMW drivers.
The M5, however, was a game-changer. It was the car for those who had truly made it to the top of the obnoxious food chain. Powered by a 3.5-liter straight-six engine that, at the time, was nearly supercar territory, the M5 was the ultimate statement: "I can afford to drive faster than you—and pay the speeding fines without a second thought." It didn’t just sound fast; it looked down on every other car on the road, and so did its drivers, who developed a reputation for weaving through traffic as if they had diplomatic immunity.
The M5 wasn’t just about speed; it was about the attitude. It attracted a new level of arrogance that the M535i simply couldn’t match. The car’s powerful engine had a habit of overheating if you dared to drive it in traffic, but that was a small price to pay for the kind of prestige that allowed you to park diagonally across two spaces—just because you could.
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Meanwhile, the E28’s non-M models—those humble, pesant variants—continued to be the workhorses of lesser jerks. They were the choices for accountants, insurance salesmen, and the kind of middle managers who wanted to look sporty but lacked the guts (and wallet) for an M5. These cars still suffered from the usual array of inexplicable electrical failures and creaky trim, but at least they came with heated seats that worked—occasionally.
The E28 M5 became the archetypal car for the 80s-era executive with too much money, too little taste, and an addiction to overtaking. It solidified the 5 Series as the definitive choice for the discerning egoist, the kind who thought “subtlety” was a town in Italy. By the time the E28 bowed out in 1988, it had cemented BMW’s reputation as the car of choice for the colossally arrogant—the ultimate “get out of my way” vehicle, with a maintenance schedule that served as a stark reminder of what happens when you blend ambition with Bavarian engineering.
To this day, the E28 M5 is a classic among enthusiasts—mostly for its rarity, its raw driving experience, and the fact that only the truly committed can keep one running without going bankrupt. And for those who remember the E28, it remains a symbol of a simpler, more obnoxious time—when all you needed to make a statement was a loud exhaust, a shark-nose front end, and an absolute lack of consideration for anyone else on the road.
Third generation (E34; 1988-1995)[edit | edit source]
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The third generation BMW 5 Series (E34; 1988–1995) was the Bavarians’ next installment in their ongoing quest to create the ultimate vehicle for people who think turning heads is the same thing as being liked. Evolving from the E28's barely-updated legacy, the E34 brought some “refinements”—translation: minor aesthetic tweaks and a mountain of mechanical problems lurking just below that shiny surface. Because why innovate when you can slap on a bigger engine, throw in some electronic gimmicks, and market it as a luxury masterpiece?
Externally, the E34 was slicker and more imposing than ever, a boxy menace prowling suburban streets and city blocks alike. It kept the famous shark-nose front, now sharpened to exude an air of smugness that demanded, “Get out of my way.” Inside, BMW blessed drivers with an interior that was equal parts “luxurious” and rattle-prone. Trim pieces would inevitably shake and squeak at highway speeds, creating a symphony of noises that was just the right background score for the man who wanted everyone to know he drove a BMW but was blissfully ignorant of things like build quality.
Then there was the wagon model, for the discerning jerk who couldn’t bear to drive anything as pedestrian as a minivan. BMW offered the E34 Touring as an alternative for the family man who needed to project his dominance in the grocery store parking lot. It was a car designed for the dad who believed that hauling his brood to soccer practice in a BMW station wagon automatically made his family superior to all others.
But the pinnacle of arrogance? The M5. For the E34 generation, BMW took their already obnoxious 5 Series and injected it with a dose of sheer lunacy. The M5 was for those who couldn’t be satisfied with mere horsepower; they needed a missile to match their massively inflated egos. Equipped with a 3.6-liter straight-six engine, it was basically a street-legal war machine. To own an M5 was to assert yourself at the very top of the BMW jerk hierarchy—a status symbol that screamed, “I don’t need to follow the rules. I am the rules.”
The E34 M5 was pure intimidation on wheels. With this car, BMW created the perfect storm: a beastly engine that roared with every rev, an exterior that exuded unearned superiority, and handling that invited drivers to careen through traffic like they were above the law. It wasn’t just fast—it was the kind of fast that encouraged people to weave through lanes, tailgate anyone in their way, and park diagonally across two spaces, just because they could.
Meanwhile, the E34’s non-M models were left to the “lesser” egotists—the middle managers, real estate agents, and insurance salesmen who desperately wanted the BMW badge but couldn’t stomach the M5’s price tag (or the repair bills). These versions had their own share of quirks: endless electrical problems, creaky interiors, and a heating system that worked only when it felt like it. Yet they still managed to attract their own brand of self-important drivers, the kind who loved the idea of “sporty” but wouldn’t know a Nürburgring lap time if it ran over them.
The E34 became the archetypal BMW, the go-to choice for the wannabe executive, the “I’m doing well” mid-lifer, and the highway menaces who thought their right to drive fast equaled a right to be insufferable. It solidified the 5 Series as a rolling billboard for the discerning egoist who thought that having a BMW logo meant they’d arrived. Owning an E34 wasn’t about subtlety or refinement—it was a bold statement: “I deserve to be in front, and I’ll bankrupt myself on repairs to prove it.”
The E34, especially the M5, left a legacy as the ultimate “get out of my way” car—a vehicle for those who wanted to be seen, feared, and preferably, never overtaken. To this day, the E34 remains a beloved “classic” for those willing to embrace its dated quirks, monstrous maintenance costs, and the eternal thrill of reminding everyone else on the road that they drive a BMW.
Fourth generation (E39; 1995-2003)[edit | edit source]
The fourth-generation BMW 5 Series (1995–2003) marked BMW’s transformation from making boxy German bricks to crafting sleek machines for the modern, self-important commuter. Gone was the angular, shark-nosed arrogance of its predecessors, replaced by a more rounded, sophisticated look—because even BMW drivers need to look “refined” while they’re cutting people off in traffic. The E39 was, to put it simply, a car that screamed, I have taste, money, and absolutely no patience for anyone in the slow lane.
With its smoother lines and more aerodynamic form, the E39 was no longer a blocky menace but a stealthier predator on the road. BMW loaded it with luxury touches: wood-trimmed interiors, premium leather, and more buttons and electronics than most people knew what to do with. And let’s not forget the suspension and chassis tuning that made it drive like a “dream” (a costly one, at that). Sure, these fancy electronics had a tendency to go haywire just after the warranty expired, but that didn’t matter. This was the ultimate midlife-crisis machine—a car that allowed a 45-year-old accountant to feel like a race car driver while heading to a client meeting.
Of course, BMW couldn’t just leave it at that. They also offered up the E39 M5, an absolute monster hiding behind a classy exterior. With a 4.9-liter V8 under the hood, this beast was for the driver who thought tearing up asphalt at 155 mph was the only way to enjoy life. The M5 was marketed as a “family sedan,” though the only thing it had in common with your average family car was the number of seats. This was for the guy who thought he could get away with speeding just because he did it in a $70,000 suit of Bavarian engineering.
And the owners? The E39 attracted a new breed of BMW fan—the kind who considered themselves “connoisseurs” of engineering, while secretly reveling in how fast it made them feel. These were drivers who didn’t just want a car; they wanted an identity. The E39, especially the M5, was perfect for the guy who wanted to say, “I’m a gentleman… who also happens to be better than you.” They parked it at an angle, double-parked if necessary, and justified every outrageous repair bill as part of the “experience” of driving a car that was both beautifully designed and chronically expensive to maintain.
Meanwhile, the non-M E39s were still the pride of the “subtle” BMW crowd: business types who wanted to flash their status without flashing a “sports car.” They suffered from their fair share of faults too—quirky electrics, constant sensor errors, and a cooling system that seemed determined to make its owner’s life hell. But that didn’t deter the dedicated BMW faithful, who happily shelled out for repairs, smug in the knowledge that their car was worth every penny of inconvenience because it was a BMW.
The E39 5 Series became the gold standard for BMW drivers who wanted elegance with just a hint of aggression. No longer content with being overtly obnoxious, E39 drivers preferred their arrogance understated and backed by a (mostly) smooth ride. The E39 made its mark as the ultimate luxury sedan for those who wanted to have their cake, eat it, and then speed away in the fast lane without waiting for anyone else to catch up.
Fifth generation (E60; 2003-2010)[edit | edit source]
The fifth-generation BMW 5 Series (2003–2010) was, in many ways, the ultimate pivot point in BMW’s evolution from sophisticated sports sedans to luxury missiles for drivers who believed that basic courtesy was beneath them. Designed under BMW’s controversial “flame surfacing” philosophy, the E60 abandoned the sleek lines and subtle aggression of its predecessors in favor of sharp angles, complex surfaces, and a face that looked like it was permanently sneering. This wasn’t just a car; it was a visual declaration that BMW was now catering almost exclusively to people who viewed every road as their personal racetrack and every other driver as an inconvenience.
Where previous generations of the 5 Series balanced performance with a sense of restrained elegance, the E60 dropped the pretense. It traded grace for raw arrogance, attracting a new wave of buyers who saw their car as an extension of their ego rather than a means of transportation. This was no longer a sedan for the upwardly mobile business executive—it was a machine built for the unapologetically self-important. The E60 quickly became the car of choice for drivers who had little interest in subtlety and even less in common sense.
The E60’s interior came equipped with the infamous iDrive system, a confusing, unintuitive mess of menus that left many drivers staring at the screen instead of the road. But for E60 owners, mastering the iDrive became a point of pride, a badge of honor in the “exclusive” BMW club. The interior was luxurious, sure, but also plagued with the kind of electrical issues that could turn even the simplest drive into an expensive repair saga. And yet, for these drivers, it wasn’t about reliability; it was about flaunting status. They wore those mechanical issues as a badge of superiority, telling anyone who would listen, “It’s a BMW thing—you wouldn’t understand.”
And then there was the crown jewel of the E60 lineup: the M5. This wasn’t just an M5; it was a four-door rocket ship with a 5.0-liter V10 engine borrowed from BMW’s Formula 1 program. Producing over 500 horsepower, the E60 M5 was absurdly fast and totally impractical, and it attracted precisely the kind of driver who would use it to terrorize highways and neighborhoods alike. This was the car for people who viewed speed limits as suggestions and thought passing other cars was a human right. With launch control and a screaming exhaust note, it wasn’t just a car—it was a weapon, designed for the driver who wanted to leave a sonic footprint as they blasted past slower (read: sensible) traffic.
The M5’s design and powertrain were so extreme that the car practically demanded obnoxious behavior. Why go from 0-60 mph in under 4 seconds if not to show off? Why have a top speed of 155 mph (electronically limited, no less) if not to push the limits of sanity on public roads? The M5 turned its owners into a special class of BMW driver—those who didn’t just see themselves as “better” than others on the road, but as fundamentally untouchable, elite, and forever justified in their aggression.
Even the non-M versions of the E60 had their appeal for this new wave of entitled BMW drivers. The 535i and 540i were marketed as sophisticated, high-performance sedans for the “professional” class, but they quickly became staples for the office park warrior—the guy who aggressively tailgates during rush hour, cuts off minivans, and parks diagonally across two spaces because “it’s a BMW.”
Mechanically, the E60 wasn’t without its issues. From failing electronic components to coolant leaks to iDrive malfunctions, it was practically a mechanical soap opera, requiring regular (and costly) visits to the dealership. Yet, for the E60 driver, these breakdowns only added to the allure. For them, driving a BMW wasn’t about reliability; it was about status and showing the world they could afford to own a car that was as high-maintenance as they were. Every repair bill was just another layer in their identity as the quintessential BMW driver—the kind who embraced the pain of ownership as proof of their superiority.
The E60 5 Series solidified BMW as the brand for people who wanted to make a statement, and that statement was, “I’m more important than you.” It wasn’t just a vehicle; it was a lifestyle choice for those who viewed roads as a platform for their ego. And in doing so, the E60 became the ultimate “get out of my way” car—a vehicle for people who, in the absence of actual power, compensated with the unmistakable growl of a BMW engine and a total disregard for anyone in their path.
In the years since, the E60 has become something of a legend in the used car market, largely for people who dream of owning a BMW and don’t mind the risk of constant breakdowns. But for the truly dedicated, the E60 isn’t just a car; it’s a relic of an era when BMW stopped pretending to cater to the sensible and fully embraced the power-hungry, ego-driven jerks who wanted a rolling declaration of their self-importance.
Sixth generation (F10; 2010-2017)[edit | edit source]
The sixth-generation BMW 5 Series (F10; 2010–2017) marked a noticeable shift in BMW’s design philosophy. With smoother, less aggressive lines, a more refined interior, and a suite of high-tech features, the F10 tried to appeal to a broader audience, including drivers who actually valued things like comfort, practicality, and… restraint. Finally, the 5 Series was aiming to shed its reputation as the official car of the world’s most obnoxious drivers—at least on the surface. In reality, while more “reasonable” people began buying these cars, it wasn’t long before the F10 was, predictably, adopted by a new wave of absolute road terrors.
For a while, it seemed like the F10 was the 5 Series for those who actually understood that “luxury sedan” didn’t mean “missile launcher with leather seats.” BMW had softened the edges, packed in safety features, and worked on making the car more appealing to professionals who just wanted a smooth, powerful commute rather than a weapon for road dominance. Sure, it was still quick and had that trademark BMW rear-wheel-drive zest, but it was clearly designed to be a more refined experience—a 5 Series for those who had a taste for luxury but no longer needed to scream about it.
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But the F10’s restrained design and appeal to practicality attracted a strange new breed of driver. Instead of the raw aggression and ego that previous generations wore on their sleeves, the F10’s clientele started out as a more “reasonable” bunch—the kind who might actually use their blinkers, follow speed limits, and consider the comfort of their passengers. Yet somehow, despite this supposedly mature and evolved approach, the F10 still managed to find its way into the hands of people who, given any excuse, would treat the road like a personal slalom course, weaving through traffic like they were dodging cones on a racetrack.
Naturally, the M5 version was an entirely different story. With a 4.4-liter twin-turbo V8, the F10 M5 was a monster masquerading as a sedan, drawing in exactly the kind of driver you’d expect—those who thought the only acceptable position for their car was “in front of you.” These were drivers who saw the F10 M5 not as a luxury vehicle, but as an extension of their personality disorder, using its 560 horsepower to remind every other driver on the road of their own insignificance. The M5 had the brutal acceleration, the snarling exhaust, and the unapologetic swagger that seemed to give its owners a license to behave like they owned every inch of asphalt.
But even the non-M F10s, with their quieter luxury trappings and sophisticated electronics, somehow ended up with drivers who saw the “luxury” tag as a blank check to be an absolute menace. The people behind the wheel weren’t all wannabe racers or hard-driving maniacs; many were just typical commuters or family types. And yet, the F10’s allure brought out something in them—a sort of smug superiority that only a BMW badge can instill. These were the types who would cut you off in silence, content with knowing they didn’t have to try too hard to be the fastest car on the road because, after all, they were in a BMW.
And let’s not forget the F10’s tech. BMW loaded it with every imaginable safety feature and driving aid, perhaps thinking this might tame its more reckless drivers. Instead, these systems became tools for passive-aggressive dominance—lane departure warnings became mere suggestions, collision avoidance systems became backup plans, and adaptive cruise control became a way to tailgate other cars with zero effort. The tech-savvy F10 owner was just as capable of being a nuisance, only now they had gadgets that helped them do it more efficiently.
In the used car market, the F10 is now the darling of “aspirational” drivers who can finally afford a BMW, and with that ownership comes a kind of secondhand arrogance. For every sensible driver who appreciates its smooth handling and elegant styling, there’s another who thinks the BMW badge justifies every bad decision they’ve ever made on the road. These are the drivers who leave a trail of disdain in their wake, cruising along with the kind of arrogance that only the BMW logo can bestow.
So while BMW might have succeeded in making the F10 more approachable and mature on the surface, its reputation as the car of choice for the worst drivers alive didn’t go away—it simply evolved. Whether driven by the power-hungry M5 maniac or the casually smug 528i owner, the F10 became yet another chapter in BMW’s long history as the official car for people who think the road was built for them and them alone.
Seventh generation (G30; 2017-2023)[edit | edit source]
The seventh-generation BMW 5 Series (2017–2023) marked BMW’s latest attempt at a modern, sophisticated sedan—a car that could finally balance power, luxury, and tech without overtly screaming “I own the road.” With smoother, more conservative styling and an arsenal of cutting-edge tech, BMW seemed to be aiming for a slightly more civilized driver. But, naturally, some things never change, and the G30 quickly fell into the hands of drivers who could ruin even the most well-intentioned of cars.
On paper, the G30 was a masterpiece: sleek, elegant, and equipped with everything from adaptive cruise control to lane-keeping assistance. BMW took great care to add just enough aggression to its design—still sharp but without the bulldozer bluntness of previous models. It looked as though BMW had finally cracked the code for attracting drivers who appreciated luxury and performance without the usual baggage of BMW’s notorious clientele. But that fantasy didn’t last long. Because, as history has shown, once you slap that badge on the hood, the car seems to take on a personality of its own—a personality that often invites the worst kind of behavior.
The G30 quickly became a magnet for two types of people. The first were the well-heeled executives, the ones who probably read The Economist and liked to remind everyone they drive a “German-engineered vehicle” as if that’s a personality trait. These were the drivers who, at face value, seemed responsible enough, often gliding down the highway without making a scene. They used the car’s luxury features, enjoyed the quiet ride, and maybe even respected the speed limit (occasionally). But beneath the surface, they were just as smug as any BMW driver who had come before. They didn’t cut you off at breakneck speed—they just slipped in front of you in that smug, silent way that said, “You’re not worthy of being in my lane.”
Then, of course, there was the second type of G30 driver: the same breed of reckless egomaniac that has haunted the BMW brand for decades. They treated the G30’s sleek looks and sophisticated tech as accessories for road dominance. These were the types who would push the car’s 335-hp inline-six or 523-hp V8 engines to their limits, blasting down highways as if each lane belonged to them. The G30’s impressive handling capabilities? Just an invitation to weave through traffic at 90 mph without so much as a thought for the plebeians in their way.
And then there was the M550i—a car for those who wanted the near-M experience without the full “track day every day” aggression of the M5. This was the choice for those who felt entitled to tailgate every other driver while maintaining an air of sophistication, as if they were “better than” speeding tickets. They’d gun the engine to announce their superiority, then slip into traffic with the smug nonchalance of someone who thinks they’re above consequence. The M550i offered a more “civilized” path to jerkdom, allowing its drivers to be aggressive without the theatrics of previous M models.
But of course, the G30 M5 itself was the crowning glory of this generation. BMW took all the speed, power, and road-dominating presence and channeled it into a twin-turbo V8 pushing 600 horsepower. It was a car for those who viewed “civilized” as an insult. In the hands of an M5 driver, the G30 became a road warrior—a car that only knew how to accelerate and dominate, leaving every other vehicle in its wake. The G30 M5 was designed to look sleek but hide a monster under the hood, giving its drivers the power to outpace almost anything on the road. And that’s precisely how it was used—often to terrorize highways, carve through city traffic like a knife, and make sure everyone around knew they’d paid a premium to make you feel like an inconvenience.
But perhaps the most amusing part of the G30 experience was its vast array of driving assistance features. These weren’t just safety tools; they were essentially passive-aggressive driving aids. The lane-keeping assist, for example, just helped G30 drivers drift lazily across lanes with even less effort than before, while the adaptive cruise control encouraged them to tailgate with a calculated precision that would’ve made their ancestors proud. For the true BMW driver, these features were simply new ways to turn every road into their own personal playground.
In the end, the G30 managed to achieve BMW’s long-standing goal of combining elegance, performance, and high-tech appeal, but it still fell victim to the same old story. It attracted drivers who thought the BMW badge excused all behavior, who saw the road as their domain, and who believed every bit of luxury and power entitled them to treat everyone else as an obstacle. The G30 didn’t just continue BMW’s legacy—it refined it, sharpening the attitude and entitlement that BMW drivers have carried for generations.
Eighth generation (G60; 2024 - present)[edit | edit source]
The eighth-generation BMW 5 Series (G60; 2023–) arrived with a curious mission: to recapture some of the spirit of the iconic E60 while somehow adapting to the demands of modern luxury and technology. On paper, BMW’s ambition sounded respectable—a return to classic, understated looks with a performance edge. But reality had other plans. The G60 landed like a lead weight, bringing with it an unfortunate combination of bulk and bloat that even the savviest BMW marketing couldn’t conceal. Despite its nods to the past, the G60 found itself in a strange middle ground—too refined for the purists, too heavy for the enthusiasts, and seemingly destined for the hands of drivers who were more sensible than spectacular.
In a world of ever-growing SUVs and electronic overload, BMW stuffed the G60 with tech, bulked it up to an impressive 2.5 tons in the M5 variant, and, in a final irony, aimed to recreate a classic, sporty feel. The result? A car that looked like it wanted to live up to the E60’s legacy but was, in reality, something more akin to a rolling fortress. With its clean but unremarkable design, BMW seemed to want the G60 to appeal to the “everyday” driver—the one who doesn’t need the classic BMW swagger or the cutting-edge edge, but still wants to say, “Yes, I drive a BMW,” even if without the smirk.
The purists, of course, turned their noses up immediately. Where was the raw, mechanical bite of the E60? Where was the precision engineering that made BMWs of old so iconic? To them, the G60 felt less like a 5 Series reborn and more like a 7 Series cousin that had put on too much weight and just couldn’t be bothered to go on a diet. The purist crowd saw the G60’s 2.5-ton weight as an affront to everything a BMW should stand for—because when you think “ultimate driving machine,” a two-and-a-half-ton behemoth isn’t exactly what comes to mind. It was as if BMW had gone soft, trading sporty spirit for highway comfort and quiet cabins, turning the G60 into the kind of car a dentist might drive after a good quarter, rather than a car lover after a dream ride.
Yet, in a twist, the G60 has attracted a different kind of fan. Far from the aggressive, ego-fueled buyers of BMW’s past, the G60’s clientele seem to actually care about things like fuel efficiency, practicality, and even—dare we say it—reliability. For many G60 drivers, the weight and tech were bonuses, not betrayals. Sure, the car might weigh as much as a small tank, but it’s also packed with comfort features, safety tech, and semi-autonomous driving capabilities that make it a perfect choice for the daily commuter or family chauffeur. These drivers want a BMW, but they don’t want the baggage that often comes with it—the aggressive reputation, the sports car pretense. They just want a nice car that gets them where they need to go, and if it has a BMW badge, well, that’s a bonus.
The new M5, however, is a different beast altogether—a sort of ultimate expression of this generation’s bloated ambitions. Weighing in at 2.5 tons, it’s less “sports sedan” and more “luxury tank.” It has all the power, speed, and tech you could ever ask for, but with enough mass to remind you that maybe, just maybe, BMW has pushed this platform a little too far. Enthusiasts who once cherished the M5 for its raw, lightweight performance can’t help but wince at the numbers. After all, even the greatest engine and handling can’t fully mask the inertia of a car that has more in common with a freight train than a nimble sedan. It’s a fantastic machine on paper, sure, but one that seems designed for highways rather than hairpin turns, for straight-line speed rather than spirited driving.
Meanwhile, BMW fanboys—those who once worshipped every inch of the brand’s engineering prowess—now find themselves at a crossroads. Do they embrace the G60 for what it is: a modern, tech-laden, highly efficient behemoth? Or do they look elsewhere, perhaps to the slimmer, sportier competition, and lament what BMW has become? For the die-hard fans, the G60 is a disappointing evolution, a car that’s too heavy, too refined, and just too… normal. It’s as if BMW had finally outgrown its rebellious, sporty roots and settled into the role of “luxury commuter” rather than “driving machine.”
In the end, the G60 represents an interesting evolution for the 5 Series—one that’s left BMW’s hardcore fanbase feeling betrayed, yet opened up the brand to a new, more rational audience. It’s no longer the car for wild, aggressive drivers, or for those who want to announce their dominance on the road. Instead, it’s a refined, understated machine, perfect for people who just want to get from point A to point B in style. In a world where even performance cars are being weighed down by tech, safety standards, and environmental considerations, the G60 is BMW’s bid to stay relevant—even if it means leaving some of its soul in the past.
Fate[edit | edit source]
The fate of the BMW 5 Series has evolved from a proud legacy of sport-luxury sedans to a rolling symbol of reckless narcissism for a new breed of driver—a breed that seems hell-bent on redefining what it means to be the quintessential jerk behind the wheel. These are the drivers who think they’re the kings of the road, men (and sometimes women) who picked up a 5 Series because they wanted to tell the world, “I don’t care what anyone thinks, as long as they’re watching.” Gone is the subtlety, the charm, and even the taste that once defined the 5 Series. In its place? A community of drivers who treat every mile as a challenge and every neighborhood as a racetrack.
The modern-day 5 Series owner isn’t content to let BMW’s engineers handle the details—they have to “improve” the car, making it louder, faster, and more obnoxious with aftermarket exhausts, flashy rims, and suspensions that scream, “Look at me!” And if the car isn’t already ridiculous enough, they’ll slap on a garish body kit, some custom lights, and maybe even a matte black wrap to complete the look. To these drivers, subtlety is weakness, and they live by one motto: more is more.
Then there’s the driving style. Drift through your local neighborhood? Check. Swerve across lanes at breakneck speeds on the highway? Absolutely. For them, the 5 Series isn’t just a car; it’s a license to terrorize everyone else on the road. Residential streets become drift tracks; highways, a free-for-all. Tailgating at 150 km/h, cutting off everyone in sight, and pushing every engine rev like it’s a personal vendetta against decency itself. It’s as if the mere act of sitting in a BMW 5 Series drains any residual sense of responsibility or awareness they might have once possessed.
And perhaps it’s karma or inevitability, but often these cars—and their drivers—meet unfortunate ends. Many end up on the side of the road, twisted heaps of metal, thanks to the reckless choices of their owners. Or in some cases, they land in the junkyard, having met the fate every tuner fears but seems unable to avoid. It’s a sad irony that the very car these drivers flaunt as the pinnacle of their “cool factor” often becomes the instrument of their own downfall. The cycle repeats: buy, modify, terrorize, crash.
Ultimately, the BMW 5 Series has become less a luxury sedan and more a statement—a statement that if you’re willing to throw caution, and occasionally your life, to the wind, then welcome to the club. It’s a badge of dubious honor for drivers who want to push every limit, socially and physically, right up to the edge. And sometimes—often—they find out just how sharp that edge can be.
