It seems the automotive industry has finally lost its brakes and any remaining sense of conscience. McLaren—a company that builds multi-million dollar cars capable of accelerating so rapidly that internal organs begin introducing themselves in line for exit through the ears—has decided to make a crossover. This isn’t just rumor or drunk speculation by journalists after the Geneva Motor Show; it’s a completely official plan. It will be the brand’s first production SUV.

Once, McLaren was purchased by individuals with the wealth of a small island and no survival instinct. Now, these same people are about to be taught how to install a child car seat in the cabin. Imagine the face of a McLaren engineer twenty years ago if they had been told: «Listen, buddy, soon you’ll be designing a tall family van that can fit four people, a Labrador, and several Louis Vuitton suitcases.» He would have dismissed it as a joke before the company party. Today, that joke has become the core business plan of a company valued in billions of pounds.

McLaren shows up to the party when the Lamborghini Urus, Porsche Cayenne Turbo S, and Ferrari Purosangue are already having a brawl. But any fool can stick a truck V8 into a steel box, press the gas, and it will drive straight. A McLaren, however, must drive indecently, offensively, provocatively. It must have acceleration so quick that the passenger, while buckling their seatbelt, regrets the decision to get in the car. An exhaust sound so loud that the neighbor’s dog hides under the bathtub before you even turn the ignition key.

The most interesting part is how they plan to fight physics, because physics is clearly losing to McLaren’s accounting right now. A hypercar is a simple philosophy: less mass, lower chassis, more power, maximum downforce, minimum common sense. A crossover is a completely different story: higher, heavier, roomier, more comfortable, softer suspension, heated steering wheel. In a hypercar, the only thing that matters to you is how many Gs you can withstand before passing out. In a crossover—where to put a kids' scooter and a bag from VkusVill.

Now, try to merge these two worlds without making sacrifices to the marketing gods. Imagine a McLaren SUV from the side. Enormous carbon fiber wheels with the diameter of a Ferris wheel. A low, predatory, laser-cut roofline. A body laid flat on the ground, as if forgotten under a jack. Air intakes the size of the «Komsomolskaya» metro entrance. At the rear—an active spoiler covering the area of a tennis court. And somewhere inside, a gray-haired engineer in a white coat murmurs: «And now, let’s make it big enough to fit a stroller in there.»

A person who buys a McLaren SUV would say this: «I don’t care about your rules; I’m so wealthy that I can have world-class engineers build me a crossover fighter jet just for fun.» This isn’t a purchase of a vehicle; it’s the acquisition of pure, unadulterated automotive terrorism. A McLaren SUV is the final stage of status flexing. Once you have everything, all that’s left is to break the coordinate system itself.