Yahoo Autos The 2023 Aston Martin DBS Is Beautiful But Aging Fast
Making and selling exotic, high-performance cars for vast sums of money is unsurprisingly tricky, but maybe not for the reasons you’re thinking. You see, when you have a storied brand known for selling achingly pretty cars, people will often buy those cars regardless of their flaws. They want to see those cars in their garages — and, maybe more importantly, they want to be seen in those cars, because of what it says about them. That sounds good, but the other edge of this sword is that, when you charge over $400,000 for a car, it’s going to generate some expectations from people like me.
Take, for example, this 2023 Aston Martin DBS. This is a car from a storied brand, known for making gorgeous cars that cost more than many people’s homes. It is, in many ways, an objectively bad car. It’s hard to see out of; it’s unbelievably low to the ground and scrapes on everything; it doesn’t even handle that well, and don’t get me started about the ancient infotainment tech on the dash. But the people who would seriously consider buying a DBS simply don’t seem to give a damn about any of that.
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Full Disclosure: Aston Martin wanted me to drive the DBS so badly, the company delivered one to my home to use for a week as I pleased, with a full tank of gas.
First, facts. The 2023 Aston Martin DBS is powered by a 5.2-liter twin-turbocharged V12, producing a staggering 715 horsepower and 663 lb-ft of torque. That power is routed through a torque tube and carbon-fiber driveshaft to a rear-mounted ZF eight-speed transaxle. Aston Martin claims a 0-62 mph time of 3.4 seconds and a top speed of 211 mph.
That drivetrain is bolted into an aluminum unibody structure and covered in extremely pretty body panels, notably a massive carbon-fiber clamshell hood. The DBS’ suspension is composed of front double-wishbones and a multi-link rear with adaptive dampers all the way around. Braking is handled by 16-inch front and 14-inch rear carbon-ceramic brakes. The steering is electrically assisted with variable ratios.
While that’s a pretty impressive roster of components, even for a car at this price point, their sum is less than it should be. That engine, for example, is ferocious, but it’s heavily turbocharged, and there is a not-inconsiderable wait between mashing the throttle and getting into the boost. The eight-speed auto is essentially the same ZF gearbox we know and love in many other cars, but the way it’s tuned often makes it jerky and unpleasant at low speeds. I will concede, however, that it works great when paddle-shifted manually.
Those big carbon-ceramic stoppers look impressive and feel strong when hauling the DBS down from stratospheric speeds, but they’re grabby and difficult to modulate around town. The steering is both heavy and numb. A true grand touring car should be brutally fast and effortless to drive. The DBS doesn’t fit that description.
However, the ride comfort is something Aston Martin truly knocked out of the park. First, the car feels taut without harshness; it absorbs bumps beautifully and doesn’t wallow, despite its 3,900-pound curb weight. Aston left the suspension modes separate from the drivetrain modes, which was a good decision, and it’s one of the things I enjoy most about the DBS. What isn’t so great is the DBS’ tendency to snap oversteer when pushed, with little warning. This seems counterintuitive, given the car’s long wheelbase and front-mid-engine layout, but when combined with the speeds the DBS is capable of achieving, it doesn’t make for a confidence-inspiring car to drive hard.
Here’s the thing, though: Most of that doesn’t matter. Remember that group of people I talked about, who want to be seen in a car like the DBS? Many of the deficiencies I’ve mentioned work in that kind of buyer’s favor. For example, that laggy V12? The delay in power delivery makes you seem like a smooth driver even if you’re not — and frankly, in Sport Plus mode, all anyone will pay attention to is the music coming from your $12,000 optional titanium exhaust. The heavy steering doesn’t matter when you’re rolling down Venice’s Abbot Kinney Blvd. on a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon, because you’re not turning much anyway. Get where I’m going with this?
