Dear readers, I’m forced to report to you that I bring you this car for completely selfish reasons. I have absolutely no idea why I like this pathetic attempt at a pseudo-luxury vehicle. I mean, you’d have to drop a considerable amount of LSD to see it as anything other than a stretched Reliant that’s been bestowed with every brougham trick in the book to try and fool people into thinking it’s something different. And yet I want one…
I get why some people would find the K-Based (E-Body) New Yorker nothing less than insulting. Compared to the imposing, angular 1965 model or the beautiful Fuselage models this doesn’t even hold a candle. This is especially noticeable when you see the powertrain. Instead of the smooth, effortless delivery of a lazy V8 or even a V6, you had a 146-horsepower 2.2-liter four pot. Keep in mind that this was the best engine available in ‘87, so the less we say about the hundred-horse 2.5-liter the better. The “Lee Iacocca’s My First Luxury Car™” package (wire wheels, standing hood ornament and some padding on the roof) finishes the look and completely clashes with the giant “TURBO” badges on the fenders.
But then you look at the interior! Our featured New Yorker is a 1987 model with silver exterior and Dark Cordovan (burgundy) “Soft Corinthian Leather” interior. Its digital odometer shows a believable 83,288 miles, meaning that lovely interior is still all there, offering the best of comfort from the brougham era and an LCD digital dash for the ultimate Eighties experience. And the price for this clipped-wing luxobarge? A tenner under $4,000. Despite the title, it seems the Crystal Key Protection Program wasn’t specced for this model. It seems that if you want your own you’ll have to go on eBay.
For once in my life, it’s a good thing that I’m not in America, because if I were I’d already be on my way to Georgia with a bundle of bills to sign for this utterly ridiculous attempt at resurrecting a model name that should’ve stayed in hibernation at least until the LH Cars came into existence. If you also find the New Yorker endearing in its hopelessness, the listing is here.