In their historical references as in their number, specificity, complexity, and subtlety, the rules governing today's automotive design are beginning to rival the conventions for constructing a Doric temple in ancient Greece.  But the ancient Greeks both sought and achieved a degree of aesthetic perfection that is wholly out of bounds with what contemporary car manufactures are attempting or achieving.   What is the point of having such a rigid set of rules for car design, when there is so little tangible benefit to them?

It sometimes seems as if carmakers are pursuing imitation for its own sake. Look at enough new cars today, and you may get a sensation similar to that of attending a convention of Elvis impersonators.

But when it comes to car design, who is Elvis?  This may actually be the most bizarre part. Instead of copying a bold or dramatic leader, today's car industry is assiduously aping some of the most visually unexciting, buttoned-up of its number.

Some observers attribute this conformity simply to an increasing presence in the automobile industry of risk-averse financial managers, who are said not to get particularly excited about any car's looks.  What seems more likely to me, though, is that the money managers have inadvertently stumbled onto a look that today's consumers actually find compelling:  a car that projects the image of an accountant.

The car-buying public has certainly made it clear recently how wary it is of designs that could be deemed daring or nonconformist.

Consider what happened to the Ford Taurus--once the most popular car in America.   Ford's radically restyled 1996-model Taurus willfully violated probably more than half the dictates of derivative contemporary styling.  Its reception among the buying public has been considerably less than a smashing success.  Although I have not yet seen conclusive sales figures, my own observation is that if people in my area like them, they must like them so much that they're keeping them safely stowed in their garages at all times, because I haven't seen more than a handful of them on the road.  (As of this writing, the new model has been out for more than six months.)  By way of comparison, I seem to have already spotted about the same number of Chrysler's new Sebring convertible, which as of this writing has just hit the market, and which at any rate is a niche vehicle that could never hope to be America's overall top seller.

Perhaps more telling, albeit in a subtler way, is the experience of the Cadillac Seville, when it was redesigned for 1992.  This model received generally favorable notices in the automotive press, especially when it was beefed up for better performance and (what else?) handling, in the STS version.  The 1992 Seville did not differ in any radical way from the conventions of today's luxury sedan design.  Moreover, when judged from a purely aesthetic standpoint, independent of the connotations of brand names, its appearance was strikingly handsome.

But the Seville had a flaw.  It was the result of an attempt to integrate the new federally required upper-level brake light into the main design of the car, rather than having it perch by itself in the rear window shelf.  The Seville's design adaptation involved setting a series of tiny round lights behind a narrow strip of red glass at the top of the trunk lid.  The net effect was somehow reminiscent of miniature Christmas lights--or of Las Vegas. It was just a bit too glitzy.

Should we be surprised that this car was a sales dud?  Only if we think consumers still want to be excited by cars--i.e., to think of them as alluring mistresses, the way our fathers reportedly did.  Nowadays, we seem to be more in the position of sizing up potential dates for our sisters.

What we seem to want more than anything else today are cars that appear solid, reliable, and credible.  Although outright ugliness is a disqualification, it is entirely possible in today's car market to be too good-looking--especially if this involves the slightest hint of flashiness.

This appears to be precisely what happened to the Cadillac Seville.  We seem to have reacted to it in the same manner we would have if our sister had brought home a handsome and slightly flashy dance instructor.  We quickly determined that instead of projecting the required credibility, this prospect had the cooties.