The 9,000 pound monster that I don’t want to return

Before heading out on a trip to Tahoe last weekend, GM offered me the use of the company’s 9,000-pound monument — the new-for-2026 Escalade IQL electric car (starting at $130,405) — for a week of test drives. Before continuing, note that I am not a professional car reviewer. TechCrunch has excellent move writers; I am not one of them. However, I drive an electric car.

I was immediately game. I first spotted one of these last summer at a car show, where some regional car dealers were positioned at the end of a long field filled with cool old cars. My immediate reaction was “Jesus, this is massive,” followed by a sudden admiration for its design, which shows restraint despite its massive size. For lack of a better word, I’ll say it’s “binding.” Its dimensions just work.

My excitement waned pretty quickly when the car was delivered to my house a day before we were scheduled to leave. This thing is massive, at 228.5 inches long and 94.1 inches wide, it made our cars look like toys. My first apartment in San Francisco was smaller. Trying to drive it in my driveway was a bit terrifying as well. It’s so big, and the hood is so high, that if you’re coming up a road at a certain incline – we live halfway down the hill; Our mailbox is on top of it – you can’t see what’s directly in front of the car.

I thought about leaving it in the aisle for the duration of the flight. The other alternative was to do what I could to feel more comfortable with the prospect of driving 200 miles to Tahoe City, so I drove it that night and the next day, got dinner, headed to an exercise class — just basic things around town. When I bumped into a friend on the street, I volunteered as quickly as I could that this wasn’t my new car, that maybe I’d review it, and wasn’t it a ridiculous size? I felt like a tank. I thought: Other than hotels that use SUVs like the Escalade to transport guests, what kind of monster would choose a car like that?

Five days later, it turned out that I was that kind of monster.

Look, I don’t know how or when I fell in love with this car. If I had written this review two days later, it would have been completely different. And yet, I’m not so blind that I don’t see its flaws.

It was the Escalade’s performance in a terrible snowstorm that really impressed me, but let me walk you through the steps between “Oh, this car is a tank” and “Yes! This car is a tank.” tank“.

Just getting into it takes a little more effort than might seem logical. I’m somewhat sporty and I still find myself wondering if this thing shouldn’t come with a power seat.

At home, where digital extremism does its work. The dashboard opens with a 55-inch 8K curved LED display that looks less like a car screen and more like a parking room. Front passengers get their own screens. Second-row passengers also get 12.6-inch personal screens as well as stowable trays, dual wireless chargers, and – with the most luxurious version of the car – massaging seats that make them forget they’re in the car at all. Google Maps takes care of the navigation. And the polarizing screen technology deserves its own praise: While one of my kids was watching Hulu in the front seat, not a frame of it leaked into my line of vision from behind the wheel.

The cabin itself is built around the premise that no one inside should feel crowded, and it hits the mark. Front legroom extends to 45.2 inches; The second row offers 41.3; Even the third row reaches 32.3 inches. Seven adults can share this machine for a long time without getting on each other’s nerves. Heated and ventilated leather seats with 14-way power adjustment are standard in the first two rows, and the entire operation works over 5G Wi-Fi.

The car also comes standard with Super Cruise, GM’s hands-free driving system, which I’m not sure I fully understand. Real car reviewers seem to love it; When I tried it, I felt the car drifting alarmingly between the outer limits of the freeway lane, and when that happens, it unleashes a escalating series of warnings. First, a red steering wheel icon appears on the screen. Your seat then emits tactile warnings against your buttocks. Ignore these things and the sound of reminders and reprimands will fill the cabin. GM calls this impolite string the “Driver Takeover Request.”

Did I mention the 38-speaker AKG Studio sound system? very good.

As for the exterior, it is a handsome giant, but it takes some time to get used to. At first, I found the grille, which is just for show, almost comically imposing. This is definitely a car for people who are the boss, want to be the boss, or want to look like the boss while especially dealing with existential crises. When I pulled into a glass-lined restaurant one night, I was pretty sure I’d blinded half the customers when I pulled into a parking spot perpendicular to the building, the headlights of an Escalade streaming through the windows.

Then there’s the light display that turns on when the car detects you’re approaching via the key fob or the MyCadillac app. It’s as if he’s saying, “Hey, boss, where are we headed?” Before you touch the door handle. (In Cadillac parlance, that’s thanks to a “sophisticated all-LED exterior lighting system, highlighted by an illuminated ‘crystal shield’ grille and logo, along with vertical LED headlights and ‘choreography-capable taillights’.”)

It’s, objectively, a bit much. I loved it instantly.

Despite its size, the Escalade IQL is unexpectedly agile. Not “a sports car hurtles through traffic” smart, but “I can’t believe something this huge car can’t handle like a battleship.”

Now we get to the frustrations. The front trunk—or “front trunk” in the lexicon of electric car enthusiasts—works in mysterious and frustrating ways. Opening requires pressing the button until completion. Release it prematurely and it will stop mid-climb, freezing in automotive purgatory, forcing you to replay the entire sequence. Closing requires the same constant pressure. In contrast, the back box requires two different clicks followed by immediate release of the button. Wait too long and nothing will happen.

Relatedly, the car refused to turn off twice after I finished driving. The car simply sat there, running, even when I pulled it into park and opened the door (which tells the car to turn off). One tricky solution: open the trunk, close the trunk, shift into drive, park, then get out completely.

As for the software, it’s perfectly fine unless you own a Tesla, in which case, prepare to be disappointed. This seems to be true across the board, as everyone I know who owns a Tesla and other electric car, no matter how high their price tag, says the same thing. Once you realize how easily Tesla’s software dissolves the barriers between intent and execution, all other automakers’ software seems like a compromise.

Which brings us to the nadir of the trip: shipping in Tahoe during the winter. For all its virtues, the Escalade IQL is, by all accounts, a thirsty machine. The battery is a 205-kilowatt-hour pack — which is enormous, and it should be, because the car burns roughly 45 kilowatt-hours per 100 miles, which is significantly more than comparable electric SUVs. Cadillac estimates a range of up to 460 miles on a full charge, and in ideal conditions it holds up. But Tahoe’s winter conditions aren’t ideal. We also arrived at a lower cost than we should have. A series of side trips on the way up, including emergency detours to find shirts for a family member who hadn’t packed anything, wore down the battery more than expected. By the time we needed to charge, we really needed to charge.

We approached a Tesla Supercharger in Tahoe City that showed up on the MyCadillac app, but when we drove it to the designated kiosk, nothing happened. We searched for answers, and discovered that even Tesla stations that accept non-Tesla vehicles drop power to 6 kWh anyway, but it was a frustrating experience. The nearby EVGo closed a month ago. The two ChargePoint units in the Tahoe City Public Utility area, respectively, were down and ready to connect but not to actually charge anything. We briefly considered driving the 35 miles to Incline Village, calculated what being stuck would actually look like, and decided against it. Then I discovered the Electrify America station 12 miles away. We drove through accumulating snow, arriving just before 11pm, and it worked. We sat there for an hour fighting exhaustion before heading home.

The next morning revealed another problem via an app alert: tire pressures had dropped to 53 and 56 psi in the front (recommended: 61) and 62 psi in the rear (recommended: 68). I have no idea if the car was delivered this way or if there was something else going on – either way, it meant someone was standing at a gas station filling up tires while being pelted directly in the face with snow. (This person was my husband). The tires remained consistent after that, even as the week continued to be at its worst. For a family trip, it was great.

In fact, at this point, I’d tell you that the Escalade IQL is an undeniably luxury car ideal for families of four or more who value space and technology. I’d tell you it came saddled with real trade-offs: forward visibility hampered by the overpowering hood, parking challenges inherent in its dimensions, limited charging infrastructure for a predatory machine, and tires tasked with supporting 9,000 pounds. I was going to say it’s a nice car, but it’s not for me.

But the snow that had begun to fall continued to fall. Within two days, eight feet had accumulated, making it impossible to ski—the primary goal of the trip—and terrifying to drive. Except I found I wasn’t terrified because we had an Escalade, which, because of its weight, felt like driving a tank through the snow. What could have been terrifying felt calming. He was calm, he was strong, and he took charge in a bad situation.

I also adjusted the size. By the end of last week, I had stopped saying “I’m sorry” to anyone who was waiting to see where I parked. I stopped caring that I was told that I was driving a car whose entire design philosophy was: The owner of this car does not wait in line. It had fallen eight feet of snow, we needed groceries, and I was the one with the tank, you idiots! I felt my husband fall in love with the car too.

Then, as it happens in Tahoe, the snow stopped all at once and the sun came out, and the Escalade was just a very dirty car sitting in the driveway (sorry, GM!). I still love it too, and I realize it’s not just because of the emergency. I love riding high, with the speaker system flooding the car with my favorite soundtrack. This light show still attracts me. The long, curved LED display is a marvel.

The franc remains troubled. I won’t soon forget the panic of not being able to charge the car where I thought I could. Parking this thing is really an exercise in patience. I have strong opinions about unnecessary consumption. None of that has changed.

I, too, somehow, want this car, so when the GM dealer comes to pick it up, I might hide it under a tarp — a very large tarp — and tell him he has the wrong title.