“We need to run your numbers before you can drive the GT S,” the courteous salesman tells me. I hesitate. “Oh.” Do I trade my personal information for a test drive in the Mercedes-AMG GT S? Yes, yes I do. “Alright, what do you need to know?”
I’ve had a crush on Mercedes-AMG’s GT line since I drove the GT C Roadster a year ago. That car was the best of fire, fury, and theater, but also an extremely accomplished corner-carver and a cruiser in which I could savor the miles. The car I’ve just traded my personal info for is a flawless, silver 2016 Mercedes-AMG GT S. The GT S was the first trim available, and 2016 was the first model year, so I guess this car is the GT line’s debut album. Versus the 2018 GT C, the 2016 GT S is down 47 hp (to 503 hp) and is missing the big brother’s widened wheelbase and trick rear-steering. So will the GT S still steal my heart? As Jonny Lieberman would say, “there’s only one way to find out!”
The GT S has been shoehorned out of the showroom doors and now is idling in the parking lot. It is achingly beautiful as I approach it from the outside. Its waterborne curves and bright silver paint recall the German Silver Arrow race cars of the 1930s. The long hood and cab-back design evoke classics like the Jaguar E Type and Mercedes 300SL Gullwing. I’d be hard-pressed to find another modern car that is as elegant and frivolity-free as the GT S.
The salesman hands me the key, and I slip into the aggressively bolstered driver’s seat. The massive, V8-themed center console eats into my knee room. Scanning the interior, I find carbon fiber on the console, doors swathed in silver leather, and gleaming metal rotary dials and toggle switches. I’ve moved beyond the plastic-fantastic Porsche Caymans and 911s of this morning. The GT S looks and feels exotic inside and out!
Does a car need to evoke a little fear in its driver before it can be considered a true exotic? I ask because sitting in the driver’s seat, I’m a bit intimidated by the GT S. The idling V8 grumbles and growls, straining at its leash. My back-of-the-bus driving position—a position forced by the front-midship placement of the engine—exaggerates the length and girth of the GT S. The long hood hides the road ahead. The gracefully C-pillars obscure the over-the-shoulder views. And a high beltline and low roofline result in gun-slit windows. I have to search back to the Camaro SS to find an equally tight and bunker-like car!
But the aggression, style-over-function design, and fear make the GT S an occasion. This used GT S may be worth $80k on Big Mick’s used car lot, but it feels 100% exotic and high-dollar to me. Here is a supercar, not a sports car.
I pull the GT S onto the street (without scraping the chin spoiler, yay!) and reacquaint myself with the GT line. The steering’s natural weighting and ceaseless road feel are satisfying. (How nice it is to find a modern car that still uses hydraulic steering!) The dual-clutch transmission is tight and prompt and works equally well in automatic and manual mode. There isn’t an ounce of turbo-lag from the thundering twin-turbo V8. This is a good machine.
Ah, that engine! Even in normal mode, the V8 noise pounds my ears. Twist the drive-select knob into Sport+, and the exhaust emits more snaps, crackles, and pops than a milk-flooded Rice Krispy factory. The engine’s song is more Metallica than Mozart, but I can groove to either artist.
As I circulate the city roads around the dealership, I consider the GT S’s comfort. In my rose-tinted memories, the GT C Roadster was a perfectly acceptable daily driver. I can’t say the same about the GT S coupe. The GT S’s suspension is stiff, and its thinly padded seats don’t cushion the blows from the road. It’s a harsh ride. The blindspots behind the driver are huge (the Roadster, at least, could drop its top for improved visibility), and those around the A-pillars are considerable too. The sleek roofline and sunroof cramp my headroom; my hair is within an inch of the headliner. Yes, the GT S is a better weekend car than a daily driver.
I pop the GT S into Sport+ mode, point the car at the nearest highway entrance, and then pound the onramp to smithereens. The acceleration is rapid and relentless across the gears; I’m reduced to nervous giggles. The rear tires are (just) able to take the gut punch from the muscle-bound engine, but the chassis is telling me that the limits of grip are near. I best be careful if I want to mix cornering with full-bore acceleration. Not that I’ll have many opportunities to accelerate out of an apex, as there’s a paucity of corners on my test route.
I find one looping highway interchange to circulate. It’s just long enough to reveal that (A) the front-midships GT S doesn’t turn in as well as the mid-engined Cayman S I just tested, and B) the GT S feels a little less nimble and planted than the wide-bodied, fat-tired, rear-steering GT C. But (A) and (B) are nitpicking because (C) is also true: the GT S has great cornering balance and offers an abundance of steer-by-throttle options. Your right foot decides if you drive clean-and-tidy or sideways-and-smokey.
The rest of my short test drive is a rinse-and-repeat. Exit, overpass, onramp, giggle. Exit, overpass, onramp, guffaw. This car is raucous and playful, a barrel of laughs! I’m glowing with excitement as I finish my drive and return to the dealership. Then a pang of concern hits me: I need an excuse right now for why I won’t be buying this GT S!
The salesman believes I’m a “serious buyer” with means, so I can’t divulge my real reason. $80k is beyond my budget and way too much to spend without spousal approval. I decide to exaggerate my little quibbles with the car. The GT S is too wide, too stiff, and too precious to drive and street-park in the Berkeley Hills. They are weak excuses, but they are all I’ve got. I would happily overlook them all if I was gifted a GT S!
I feel privileged to be driving the GT S so recently after my 2020 Porsche 911 Carrera S rental. The Mercedes-AMG GT S was built and priced to pull buyers out of their Porsche 911s. Frankly, owners who use their 911s every day should stick with their Porsches. The 911 has better outwards visibility, is easier to thread through traffic, is quieter and more comfortable, and has the capacity for kids and/or groceries. It’s the better daily driver.
But as a weekend car, the GT S is top-dog! The barking and spitting V8 dominates the driving experience, and the driver feels like he is wrangling a rocket. (Mash the gas at any rpm, and a battering-ram’s worth of torque pounds you in the back.) From the sidewalk, the GT S’s pyrotechnic symphony turns heads and its curvaceous bodywork captures eyes. The 911 can feel bland, but the GT S—like the GT C—is always an occasion. Boy, would I love to own one!
Mike's Steering Column 