Peugeot
_-_25.jpg)
Peugeot is a French company with an extremely long history, dating back to 1810, when no one had even dreamed of cars – and Peugeot was dedicated to the production of coffee grinders, pepper mills and other immortal artifacts. Only later, in the 19th century, did the company move to the production of velocipedes and finally cars, which is probably its most famous (and most cursed) area of activity.
The brand experienced its greatest fame — and ridicule — between 1996 and 2012, when it churned out millions of vehicles into the world, the main distinguishing feature of which was that something started to creak, light up, flash, or even fall down within exactly 17 seconds of operation. Cars like the Peugeot 206, 307 or 407 earned the love and hatred of owners all over Europe. The French design may have seemed elegant to some, but under the hood there was often a surprise in the form of a micromotor or a plastic clip that held the entire chassis together.
In addition to cars, Peugeot also made motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, grinders, tools and various industrial junk. A true versatility that made Peugeot a company that produced absolutely everything.
History[edit | edit source]
Beginnings to WWII[edit | edit source]
As mentioned, Peugeot was founded in 1810 as a steel manufacturer, which sounds like a boring start, but their steel was so fucking good that it could have cut Napoleon's ego. By the late 1830s, they were not only making swords and saws, but they were also making wooden pepper mills, which are still sold today — for the price of a small used car. But it must be added: they work flawlessly, last for generations, and will survive a nuclear war.
Peugeot was so good at making mills that in 1852 they switched to making corsets. Yes, you read that right. The company, now known for making cars, was tightening the waists of Victorian ladies back then — and their steel reinforcements were so good that ladies sometimes fainted just looking at them.
Apparently out of boredom, or a desire to tie up men, Peugeot began producing bicycles in 1882, which were much more practical. The first models had wheels larger than the French national debt and braked against the curb or their own teeth.
Then came the turning point: in 1895 Peugeot produced the first automobile. This machine had an engine with the power of a pocket fan, no brakes, and on its first (and last) ride it covered 800 meters before it seized up and lost both the tube and the oil. The experience was unforgettable, and so Peugeot decided that he would rather make cannon ammunition, because war was apparently more reliable than the internal combustion engine.
Finally, when even the production of ammunition could no longer satisfy the company's creativity, André Peugeot was so bored in 1940 that he had his factory blown up. However, it was not sabotage or war resistance - it was simply "a bit too much". The factory crashed, but the brand survived. Just like their mills.
50s to early 80s[edit | edit source]
After the war, explosions and mild existential chaos, Peugeot rose like a phoenix from the ashes – and started producing cars again, this time ones that had the chance to travel more than half a mile. Given that France still owned colonies at the time, but they were falling apart about as quickly as France itself in 1940, Peugeot sensed an opportunity: it started producing cars that had about two moving parts – the front wheels and the steering wheel.
The result was cars like the Peugeot 203, 403, 404 and later the 504 – simple, clear and so unpretentious that even striking workers with folded banners and a cigarette in their mouths were able to successfully assemble them. The cars were robust, mechanically durable and went down well in Africa, Latin America and in the hands of French taxi drivers, who refused to scrap them even after returning from the jungle for the third time.
For some incomprehensible reason, Peugeot named all its models with numerical codes, which was stupid, confusing and impractical, but French – so no one really minded. When someone asked you what kind of car you had, you answered “four hundred and four” and hoped it wasn’t a bus route.
In the 1970s, the brand gradually moved into cities where something smaller than a colonial tractor was needed, and so models like the 104, 304, 505, and the big 604 limousine that looked like it had been designed by an accountant after a three-day party were created. Yet all of these cars had one thing in common: they were almost indestructible. The gearbox survived a nuclear explosion, the engine ran on vinegar and the wheels didn’t rust until three decades later, and only when you parked in the sea.
That was all well and good – but by the early 1980s it was starting to get a little boring. So someone at Peugeot's management stood up and said, "What if we did something that could kill the owner - but in style?" And so the Peugeot 205 GTi was born - a compact hellbox that not only worked, but even went fast.
80s to 90s[edit | edit source]
Peugeot was rolling. And it was a fact. In factories where only a few years ago the only production was of durable but depressingly beige 504's, cars that were fast, reliable, powerful and sometimes even pretty began to emerge from nowhere. France simply found its lost self-confidence, drank some wine, stepped on the gas – and off we went.
Peugeot was rolling so much that it bought several problems at once: the Citroën brand, which was known for its extraterrestrially invented limousines with hydropneumatic chassis, and also Chrysler Europe, which was the equivalent of a “house in the country, but without a roof, without electricity and with the former owner still living there” legacy. This created the PSA group, which at the time seemed like a bold move and today seems like a prediction of future headaches.
From 1984 to 1996, Peugeot churned out cars that were cheaper than their competitors, but at the same time powerful and fun. Models like the 205 GTi, 405 Mi16, or later the 306 XSi and 406 Coupé (designed by Pininfarina!) beat the competition, not only on the road, but also in the Rally. There Peugeot showed its teeth:
- Lancia Delta? It was falling apart during the technical inspection.
- Ford Sierra? It was stuck like certain guy in CS 1.6.
- Audi Quattro? All-wheel drive, but overrated like a cappuccino in Paris.
The French were on a roll, no one was solving why the 205 GTi with the weight of the direct heater was running like hell, and the engineers were whistling the Marseillaise in the factories.
But in 1996… a meeting was held.
No one knows what happened at that meeting. Maybe it was the new manager from the Main Complications Department. Maybe it was the bad wine. But something went wrong.
2000s to early 2010s[edit | edit source]
In 1996, a meeting was held at Peugeot’s headquarters in Poissy. It was not an ordinary management meeting – it was a purely ritualistic euthanasia of common sense. The famous words were allegedly spoken:
“Gentlemen, sports cars are passé. The market is changing. We should instead produce something else – cork stoppers, for example. Or plastic alarm clocks for cheap apartments. Cars? Sure. But no joy in driving.”
And everyone present nodded. No one laughed. Not because it was a wise decision, but because by that time each of them had already had at least one stroke from early dementia.
What followed was the uncontrollable devastation of the brand. Peugeots ceased to be cars. They began to resemble moving punishments for a past life. Their design looked like an attempt to reconstruct a car according to the description of a blind child. And the mechanics? That was not technology. It was a mixture of bizarre compromises, austerity measures and French laziness.
Models (the worst)[edit | edit source]
Peugeot 206
- Nice from a distance, a slob up close. A 1.4i engine with a cardboard clutch, a rear axle that collapsed as soon as you went over the retarder, and an interior with the aesthetics of a damp box. Everything that was sharp and aggressive on the 205 GTi got antidepressants and a lobotomy here.
Peugeot 307
- An invention that should have been a hit. But it had a steering wheel that resembled a microwave pizza, a chassis like a park swing, and electronics that turned on and off depending on the humidity. In France, it was named Car of the Year – no one knows why to this day. Maybe it was a bet.
Peugeot 607
- Luxurious? No. Long as a camper van, equipment like a car in the same class from ten years ago. While trying to start the diesel version, you could calmly make coffee, read the newspaper, and withdraw your pension. When it started, it was either uphill at 20 km/h or downhill without brakes. But you had comfort, that's true
Peugeot 807
- A family MPV that tried to compete with something, but no one knows what. Sliding doors that often decided to stay open even while driving. Starting? Best at night, under a full moon, after a ritual sacrifice.
Peugeot 1007
- The height of decadence and a complete misunderstanding of the needs of the market. It was supposed to be a city car for young people. The result? A small box weighing almost 1.4 tons (Supermini segment), because someone had the idea to install electric sliding doors. Of course, they didn't work. Often. Sometimes they opened by themselves. Sometimes they didn't open at all. And other times they simply killed the battery.
It was a car that looked like a children's wheelchair, stood like a larger hatchback, had a lousy view, tragic consumption and behaved like a table on wheels in bends.
Peugeot 3008
- It was supposed to be an SUV, but it was neither an SUV, nor a hatchback, nor an estate, neither pretty nor functional. It had a serious face, it looked like a car that cowers in a corner, muffles like a madman and cries while doing so.
- An interior full of poorly fitting plastics, electronics reminiscent of a beta version of Windows Vista, and under the hood a diesel that ate like a tank, but drove like a steamroller.
- It leaned in bends like a drunk uncle at a wedding and when it started to rain, the parking sensors reported an alien invasion.
A factual summary: a car that was created only because someone in marketing ran out of cigarettes.
Peugeot 4007
- The so-called “SUV” that Peugeot didn’t make itself – it was a disguised Mitsubishi Outlander with a few cheap modifications to make it look “French”.
- This attempt at global competition ended in disgrace: it looked like a box on wheels that looked like someone had cut off its scrotum, while the car was priced like a premium car like the BMW X3 (which is a similarly terrible car, only slightly nicer). Those who bought it mostly didn’t want a Peugeot, but a Mitsubishi, but they were wrong. And after a week they wanted death.
The front grille – once elegant – turned into a grin. Yes, it resembled the smile of a child with Down syndrome who had just tried to eat his own sock. The rear? A combination of Lego bricks and an IKEA panel. It was… sad.
And yet… it sold. Why? Because the commercials were sexy. Because in the commercial, a guy drove a 206 under the Eiffel Tower and wore a jacket. Because it was “French style.” But as soon as they took the car home, the harsh reality hit: the check engine light came on right away. And right next to it, the ABS light. And then it went fast: clutch, turbo, pivots, rear axle. The whole car.
This dark era only ended when the French themselves started switching en masse to Mazdas, Koreans and Volkswagens with 1.9 TDI. Peugeot lost its identity, trust and dignity. All because in 1996 someone at a meeting said: “Let’s make cars for nobody.” And they really did.
Present[edit | edit source]
Miracles do happen. Even in France.
After years of Peugeot producing vehicles that resembled the result of group therapy at a vocational school for the visually impaired, strange things started to happen. Sometime around 2012, a person who knew what a wheel should look like, what a gearbox does and why a steering wheel shouldn't be smaller than a gas station donut apparently reappeared at the company. The brand, which had been teetering on the edge of automotive autism for years, was slowly starting to find its way back among civilized manufacturers.
The idiotic grin on the front fascias disappeared, designers stopped spending afternoons on LSD and started drawing cars that looked like them. The interiors stopped resembling a janitor's office and engineers, apparently under threat of being fired or deported to Renault, finally started to address things like wheel noise, steering play or the fact that the engine shouldn't go out before the first set of wipers.
Then came 2018. Someone at the headquarters was leafing through old brochures and discovered the 504 – a box that was not afraid of the Sahara, tractor diesel oil or African coups. And an idea came to mind: Let’s try to make a car that is nice, drives well and doesn’t require praying to all the famous saints every morning. The result was the new 508, which looked like a sedan for an agent with taste, drove like a hatchback for a father of two and lasted like a first marriage (at least 3-5 years without drama).
The rest of the range also caught on to this wave – the 208 was no longer a cosmetic tragedy, the 2008 no longer looked like an oversized radio and even utility models were no longer synonymous with the premature death of rear shock absorbers. Peugeot was back. Not as a Ferrari for the poor, but as a sensible car for people who want to drive, not suffer.…..….
.…..…..…..… But then came the Stellantis.
2021. The PSA era is over. The brand that survived the collapse of rationality in the 1990s, averted bankruptcy and slow automotive suicide, has become part of a monstrous conglomerate called Stellantis – a name that sounds like a medieval disease or a brand of lozenges. The connection with Fiat, Chrysler, Opel and other despair only made sense in the accounting spreadsheets.
From that moment on, everything started to get suspicious again. The managers from Amsterdam started to tinker with design, platforms, marketing and logo size. What’s more – new cars started to share more and more parts with other brands again. Interiors started to be “modular”, which translates to “unified and cheap”. Exclusivity was gone, French charm was gone and the last bit of soul that Peugeot had worked so hard to claw back from the mud over the past decade was in danger of disappearing.
Peugeot, once a brand of nobility and elegance, found itself at a crossroads: it will either be remembered as a phoenix that rose from the ashes, or as another brand buried by the balance sheet and a corporate directive to save on clicks.
Reputation[edit | edit source]
Peugeot’s reputation has gone through more identity changes than a washed-up pop star. For decades, it was the car of the sensible man – reliable, unpretentious, and just smart enough. Then came the '80s, and Peugeot became a connoisseur’s choice. Cars like the 205 GTi or 405 Mi16 made it cool to drive French and fast. It was light, sharp, and fun.
Then 1996 happened, and everything fell apart. Peugeot turned into a monstrosity on wheels – ugly, unreliable, and built with the enthusiasm of a Monday morning. It became the car of people who made bad decisions. A car that broke down emotionally before mechanically.
By 2012, things improved. The cars looked better, felt better, and even worked. The 508 II was a real turning point – stylish, serious, and finally free of the deranged-smile front grille. But the brand never got its soul back. Today, Peugeot is safe, boring, and forgettable – a car for people who think cruise control is luxury.
Sure, there are exceptions – mostly 17-year-olds in baseball caps, overdosed on energy drinks, modding their clapped-out 206s until they crash them. They're the last ones who still feel anything for the brand – even if it’s just adrenaline and airbag dust.
Owners[edit | edit source]
The Family Man[edit | edit source]
- He bought the car used. Claimed it was a sensible choice. What he didn’t realize was that Peugeot builds wheelchairs for people too boring to notice death creeping up. His 308 is full of biscuit crumbs and dried juice stains.
- He drives like he’s already dead. Long commutes, holiday traffic, family road trips through mountain passes with no power left in third gear. The brakes are spongy. The clutch sticks. His wife yells, the kids scream, and somewhere near Grenoble he drives straight into a tunnel wall while trying to fix the Bluetooth.
The Pensioner[edit | edit source]
- His eyes don’t work. Neither do the brakes. He got the car in 2004 and still thinks a touchscreen is a scam. The glovebox is full of parking tickets and hard candies from a decade ago.
- He drives 20 mph under the limit and somehow still ends up on the sidewalk. He takes every corner like it’s a philosophical decision. When he finally crashes, it’s quiet — into a storefront, a bus stop, or a playground fence. He survives. Others don’t.
- His Peugeot continues running, unaffected. The lion eats the weak.
The Student Girl[edit | edit source]
- The 206 cost less than her phone. The paint is fading, the clutch is suicidal, and the stereo only plays Coldplay on loop for no apparent reason. She doesn't care. She’s late to class, always, and the only time she checks her oil is when the engine starts to smell like regret.
- One night, it stalls on a highway off-ramp. No hazard lights. She calls her dad. The car dies quietly, in shame, like a dog under the porch.
The Boy Racer[edit | edit source]
- Same 206, different reality. Lowered suspension. Stretched tires. eBay turbo kit that never worked. He lives for redline, roundabouts, and revving at pedestrians.
- Every neighborhood has one. He spins donuts on wet asphalt until the tires melt into threads. When it crashes — and it always crashes — it flips once, maybe twice, and lands in a ditch with his vape pen lodged in the airbag.
- He survives. Barely. Posts the wreck on Instagram.
The Angry Middle-Ager[edit | edit source]
- He’s divorced, late for court, and stuck behind a truck. His 508 is more weapon than vehicle. Horn broken from overuse. Dashboard cracked from punching it during traffic.
- Every lane change is a threat. Every tailgate an invitation to die together. One day, trying to overtake a bus full of children on a wet curve, he hits a tree.
- They find his body still strapped in, fists clenched, jaw broken from impact with his own steering wheel. Airbag didn’t deploy. Peugeot thought it would be funnier that way.
The Enthusiast[edit | edit source]
- He found a 205 GTi on Facebook Marketplace and decided to “restore it.” Now it’s mostly rust, zip ties, and hope. No airbags. No logic. Just speed and noise.
- He races illegally through night streets, dodging potholes and consequences. Then one day, mid-corner, rear suspension gives out. The car spins. Hits a barrier. He dies instantly.
