How Volkswagen Killed the Transporter: A Tragedy in Three Acts
This is the story of how to build the world’s greatest legend and then spend years systematically dismantling it while pretending it’s "strategic innovation." The Volkswagen Transporter didn't die with a bang, but rather with a depressing plastic creak, as someone in Wolfsburg finally realized that the corners of their Excel spreadsheets no longer matched reality.
Here is a summary of the tragicomedy titled "How to Lose Your Identity."
Act I: Sleeping in the Shadow of Success (The Eternal Life of the T5 and T6)
It all started brilliantly. When the T4 arrived in 1990, it was a revolution. Engine in the front, front-wheel drive: purists screamed sacrilege, but builders and surfers wept with joy. Suddenly, they had a van that didn't try to flee the road at every corner and offered a massive, empty cube in the back.
On the back of this success, VW sailed into a comfort zone that lasted longer than the average marriage. The T5 (2003) was a great evolution. But then something strange happened. Instead of creating a new platform, VW decided "it’ll do," and the T6 (2015) wasn't actually a new model. It was a masterfully executed facelift—like giving your grandmother new glasses and telling everyone she’s now a social media influencer. And incredibly, it worked! People paid breathtaking sums for the T6 because it was a "Transporter." It was a brand that held its value better than gold.
Until one day, they realized the world had moved on, and VW was still sitting on hardware from 2003.
Act II: Electric Despair and the Humiliation of Deutsche Post
When $CO_2$ regulations began pounding on the door, panic set in. VW didn't have an electric van. Their solution? They called the tuning firm ABT and asked them to cobble something together. The result? The e-Transporter, which had a 32.5 kWh battery (roughly the same as a modern electric scooter) and a range that ended before you even reached the city limits. The price, however, was so high that the buyer had to be either a committed masochist or a very wealthy environmental activist.
During this dawdling, a historically embarrassing event occurred that is still not spoken of loudly in Wolfsburg: Deutsche Post spent years asking VW to build them an electric van. VW just sent them glossy brochures of the future until the postmen finally had enough. They bought a startup called StreetScooter and built their own vans. It was a sign: the king was naked, and he didn't even know how to use a sewing machine.
Act III: The T7—An Identity Crisis on Wheels
Then we reached the point where the marketing department decided to do something even the wildest screenwriters wouldn't dare: they split one car into three and gave them all similar names.
• T7 Multivan: Built on a passenger car platform (MQB). The result? The driver sits in the middle of the car, the nose is as long as Pinocchio’s after a lie, and the cargo space is 20 cm shorter. It’s a minivan, not a Transporter. Family men are confused; builders are laughing hysterically.
• ID. Buzz: A nostalgic design gem that costs as much as a small plane but fits less than the good old T4. It’s a car for people who want to look cool on Instagram, not for those who need to haul drywall.
• The New "Transporter" (by Ford): And here is the cherry on top. Since VW couldn’t be bothered to develop a new workhorse themselves, they shook hands with Ford. The new Transporter is actually a Ford Transit Custom with a VW logo slapped on it.
Imagine the German engineer who now has to explain why a vehicle produced in Turkey with a Ford chassis represents "true German quality." When you stand behind the car, you see a Ford axle. When you sit inside, you see Ford buttons. But you still have to pay the Volkswagen premium.
Curtain falls.
Where Have We Landed?
The results are in. Dealers are drowning in inventory that nobody wants. Chinese manufacturers (like Maxus or BYD) are walking through the door, offering cheaper and more honest electric workhorses. VW responds with desperate 40% discounts, which destroys residual values and turns what once felt like an investment into a costly pile of plastic.
The Transporter didn't die because it was a bad car. It died because it ceased to be the one thing that kept it alive: a universal tool. Instead, we got three half-baked solutions, none of which truly fulfill their purpose.
In conclusion: Volkswagen killed the Transporter by trying to please everyone at once—shareholders, Brussels bureaucrats, and design fans—all while forgetting the man holding the wrench or the surfboard.
