SWM G05 Pro: Seven Seats and One Question: Is This Even a Car?

The story begins in 1971 near Milan, Italy, when a handful of enthusiasts decided the world simply didn’t have enough motorcycles. Thus, SWM was born. At first, it was an entirely respectable company, building bikes that—for that era—were genuinely competitive. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, their two-wheelers even won some real championships and awards. For a fleeting moment, it seemed SWM was destined to become the next big name in the motorcycle world.

But then came the 1980s. Everything took a turn for the weird: disco music, pastel suits, and of course, the classic Italian business maneuver—bankruptcy. Where a bright future might have blossomed, only a gentle sigh of debt and shattered dreams remained.

That could’ve been the end—tragic but dignified, like a rusted Vespa languishing in a Roman backyard. But no. Because somewhere in the world, there’s always a Chinese businessman with too much cash, unexplainable ambitions, and not enough sensible advisors. So in 2014, the SWM name and logos were bought. Not the motorcycles or engineers—just the name. Production of large, affordable SUVs, modestly dressed in Italian tricolor stripes, began.

The Chinese investors even opened a flashy design studio in Milan. After all, if you slap a little green-white-red stripe on the nose and let an Italian intern polish the grille in Photoshop, it’s instantly “disegnato in Italia.”

In 2016, SWM Automotive burst onto the scene, waving, smiling, snapping selfies, and proudly declaring, “We have affordable cars with a whiff of pizza in the PR campaign!” The real surprise? People actually bought them. Mostly in China, where people are either a) very brave, b) very forgiving, or c) simply love anything with an Italian flair.

Now, in 2025, we’ve reached the magical moment when SWM is selling its creations in Europe. These cars are like Italian cuisine at a fast food chain: something is a little right, something is a little off, but the portions are so big you just go along with it.

Enter our protagonist, the SWM G05 Pro: a love child and minor misfortune of Italian and Chinese industry. If you thought Italy and China’s relationship was limited to cheap plastic pasta makers and “Armani” jeans that unravel before you step outside, congratulations—you’re not far off. That relationship is much the same as the one between the G05 Pro and a real car.

But don’t be fooled! Somehow, SWM has managed to create a vehicle that, from a distance, looks perfectly normal—or at least like something a small-town kid would draw if you asked them to sketch a BMW.

And this car is big. Not just big—so big you could host a small village party inside. Seven seats! A trunk big enough to store your hopes, dreams, and three crates of potatoes.

Despite its wild history and odd blend of Italian dreams and Chinese pragmatism, the SWM G05 Pro has a certain charm. Like an awkward puppy that chews up your shoelace, then looks up at you with big eyes as if to say, “Please, don’t leave me behind the gas station!” And you, being a decent person, just can’t. Deep down, you know: this car isn’t perfect. But it offers a unique experience. Welcome to the world of the SWM G05 Pro!

Let’s start at the front, where a massive 3D-patterned grille dominates. If someone pulls up to your house, you’ll see the grille before you see the car.

Above the halogen headlights runs a slim LED strip—a modern, chic touch, like a slightly annoyed hamster giving you side-eye.

At the rear, the taillights blend former German and Japanese ideas, stretching across the width of the car like a glowing sprint track. Imagine someone tossing a BMW concept into a blender with a Lexus RX light bar and serving it in a budget cocktail glass. The result is surprisingly decent.

The side profile is clean and simple, as if the design team decided, “Let’s not overcomplicate things this time!” No unnecessary creases or trendy flourishes. Just a lot of chrome. Chrome window trim. Chrome on the doors. Chrome wherever it could cling.

And then there’s the “Hofmeister kink” at the rear window—a classic German design cue! It’s like a cheap Mona Lisa knockoff hanging in a gas station: you recognize the inspiration, but prefer to walk by unnoticed.

Yet, truthfully, the G05 Pro doesn’t look like a typical Chinese knockoff. It comes across as a respectable, calm, and wholly acceptable crossover. Some details are over the top, but it would look right at home in front of a suburban mansion—or unobtrusive enough in a supermarket parking lot that you won’t be ridiculed the next morning.

Step inside, and you’re struck by the sheer space. There’s more legroom than in some business-class flights, and enough seats to take half your Facebook friends along—not that you’d want to.

Materials? At first glance, everything looks fine. On touch, the “leather” feels about as genuine as a ten-euro Louis Vuitton from a Turkish bazaar. But it’s soft—perhaps too soft. The steering wheel feels like it’s made from an old yoga mat molded with a hot iron. The dashboard is wide and all plastic.

The infotainment system works—more or less! As long as you ask nicely and don’t overload it. The touchscreen responds slowly, but it does respond.

The seats are huge and wide, as if designed for both driving and lounging. You can sit comfortably for hours, though you’ll never find the perfect position. The third row is there in theory, but in practice, it’s clearly meant for either the legless or for masochists who enjoy a dose of discomfort. Sitting there, you’ll know exactly how sardines feel in a can.

The finishing touch? Little Italian tricolor accents here and there, gently reminding you that, in some strange way, this car has ties to Milan.

The SWM G05 Pro interior is like a poor man’s Cadillac: roomy, comfy, and full of good intentions. Everything is a bit too soft, a bit too plastic, a bit too funny—but still entirely usable.

Driving it is a unique experience, impossible to sum up with 0-100 figures or lap times. You have to live it. It’s like cruising through a soft, cheerful, wildly optimistic world where physics only apply if they feel like it. With seven seats, more chrome than a 1990s disco, and taillights that could double as runway lights, you just know you’re in for something special.

And the G05 Pro doesn’t disappoint. Press the start button and you’re greeted by the engine—a gentle, almost bashful hum, like a kitten coughing under the hood. The 1.5-liter turbo officially makes 139 horsepower, working with roughly the same enthusiasm as you on Monday morning: sluggish but functional.

Press the gas and nothing much happens. Then, maybe a week later, with planets aligned and green lights at the intersection, the car begins to move. If you try to accelerate—don’t. The 0–100 km/h sprint takes about as long as it does for the Italian government to form a coalition. By the time you hit third gear, you’re already daydreaming—about soup recipes or your life choices.

The seven-speed dual-clutch gearbox is, in theory, a marvel of modern tech. In practice, it works like a blind shepherd in a foggy valley: well-intentioned but unpredictable. Sometimes it shifts exactly when you least expect. Other times, it ponders if the effort is worth it. Expect a jolt at every sharp acceleration or braking.

Steering feels like piloting a sack of potatoes balanced on a mattress. You turn the wheel, and the car thinks about it. For the G05 Pro, steering is more a suggestion than a command. It lumbers vaguely in your chosen direction. In corners, the body rolls like a drunken blues singer on a stormy night—it feels like the car would love to hug the curb but is too polite to do so right away.

The suspension? McPherson up front, torsion beam at the rear—a combination that delivers every bump straight to your spine in full Dolby Surround detail. On gravel, you get complimentary bodywork: back massages, knee knocks, maybe even a minor concussion. The key is speed. Keep it low and you’ll get from A to B intact.

Official fuel consumption is about 8 liters per 100 km. In reality, city driving with AC or radio—or if you ever accelerate—will see you hitting 12 liters easily.

Safety systems include all the legally required gizmos. Plus a reversing camera and your own intuition, hoping nothing goes wrong. Don’t put too much faith in the brake assist. It does something, but if you hit the wrong pedal, expect to crash through the shop entrance and only stop in the chaos, dust, and falling ceiling tiles—greeted by an enthusiastic sales rep asking: “Quick question. Who’s your home internet provider?”

If this adventure with the SWM G05 Pro teaches anything, it’s that the world doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful. Here’s a car with seven seats, an engine that wheezes like an asthmatic horse, and handling reminiscent of an iron gliding down a sloped roof. But it moves. Yes, it’s slow. Yes, it leans in corners. Yes, the fuel consumption will make you feel like a criminal every time you fill up. Every pothole is an event, every turn an adventure, every stop a prayer.

It’s like a slightly silly but endlessly fun friend—always good for a party, even if you have to clean up afterward.

The SWM G05 Pro is for you if:
You want a big car for little money.
You value space over prestige.
You enjoy seeing people at the gas station study your car and wonder, “What on earth is that?”

The SWM G05 Pro is not for you if:
You expect acceleration measurable without a calendar.
You want steering as precise as a surgeon’s hand.
You expect Porsche-like brakes instead of a loaf of bread.

This is a car that will make you shake your head and then quietly smile to yourself: “Well, at least it has seven seats and Italian flags.” And sometimes, that’s enough.