Prior to embarking on a trip to Tahoe last weekend, GM provided me with the opportunity to utilize the company’s 9,000-pound symbol of extravagance – the brand-new 2026 electric Escalade IQL (priced from $130,405) – for a weeklong test drive. Before you proceed, keep in mind that I’m not a professional automotive reviewer. TechCrunch has outstanding automotive writers; I am not among them. That said, I do drive an electric vehicle.

I was instantly on board. I first spotted one last summer at a car exhibition, where various regional car dealerships had positioned themselves at the end of a lengthy field filled with stunning vintage cars. My first thought was “Wow, that’s massive,” followed by an unexpected appreciation for its design, which, despite its grand size, exhibits elegance. For lack of a better term, I’ll describe it as “striking.” Its proportions simply work.

My enthusiasm diminished rather quickly when the vehicle was delivered to my home a day before we were set to leave. This vehicle is a behemoth — measuring 228.5 inches in length and 94.1 inches in width, it made my own cars seem toy-like. My first apartment in San Francisco was smaller in size. Maneuvering it up my driveway was somewhat daunting as well; it’s so large, and its hood is so elevated, that if you’re climbing a sloped road – we live midway down a hill, with our mailbox positioned at the top – your view of what is directly in front of the car is obscured.

I briefly considered leaving it parked in the driveway for the duration of the trip. The other option was to acclimate myself to the idea of driving it 200 miles to Tahoe City, so I took it for a spin that evening and the following day, running errands, going to dinner, attending a fitness class — just the usual activities around town. When I encountered a friend on the street, I quickly clarified that this was not my new vehicle, that I might potentially evaluate it, and wasn’t its size absurd? It felt like a tank. I pondered: aside from hotels utilizing SUVs like the Escalade to shuttle guests, what kind of person opts for a car like this?

Five days later, I realized that I am indeed that kind of person.

Honestly, I’m not sure how or when I developed an affection for this vehicle. Had I crafted this review after just two days, it would present a very different perspective. Even now, I’m aware enough to acknowledge its flaws.

It was the Escalade’s performance during a severe snowstorm that truly captured my heart, but let me outline the transition from “Ugh, this vehicle is a tank” to “Yes! This vehicle is a tank.”

Getting into it requires a bit more effort than one might expect. I’m pretty athletic, and I still found myself questioning whether this vehicle should come equipped with a built-in step stool.

Inside is where digital maximalism truly shines. The dashboard features a 55-inch curved LED screen with 8K resolution that resembles less of a car display and more of a control center. Front passengers each receive their individual screens. Second-row passengers enjoy 12.6-inch personal screens, as well as foldable tray tables, dual wireless chargers, and — in the most luxurious variant of the vehicle — massage seats that will make them forget they’re even in a car. Google Maps manages navigation. Moreover, the polarized screen technology deserves its due acknowledgment: while one of my children binge-watched Hulu in the front seat, not a single frame intruded into my line of sight from behind the wheel.

The interior is designed with the idea that no one inside should feel cramped, and it accomplishes that goal. Front legroom extends to 45.2 inches; the second row offers 41.3; even the third row achieves an impressive 32.3 inches. Seven adults could comfortably share this vehicle for an extended period 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 setup operates on 5G Wi-Fi.

The vehicle also comes equipped with Super Cruise, GM’s hands-free driving feature, which I’m uncertain I fully grasped. Professional automotive reviewers seem to rave about it; however, during my trial, the car felt like it was swerving alarmingly between the outer limits of the highway lanes, resulting in a series of escalating alerts. Initially, a red steering wheel icon appears on-screen. Following that, your seat vibrates with haptic warnings against your backside. Ignore those, and a chime — both reminder and reproach — fills the inside. GM refers to this impolite series as a “driver takeover request.”

Did I mention the 38-speaker AKG Studio sound system? It’s excellent.

Regarding the exterior — this is a striking giant, but it takes time to get accustomed to. At first glance, I found the grille, which is merely decorative, almost humorously imposing. This is undoubtedly a vehicle meant for individuals who are either in charge, aspire to be in charge, or wish to project an image of authority while privately grappling with existential dilemmas. Pulling up to a glass-fronted restaurant one evening, I’m fairly certain I blinded half the diners as I maneuvered into a parking space perpendicular to the building, the Escalade’s headlights casting light through the windows.

Then there’s the light display the vehicle initiates whenever it senses you approaching with the key or the MyCadillac app. It’s as if it’s saying, “Hey, boss, where to?” before you’ve even touched a door handle. (In Cadillac’s terminology, this is made possible by its “advanced, all-LED exterior lighting system,” emphasizing a “crystal shield” illuminated grille and crest, along with vertical LED headlamps and “choreography-capable tail lamps.”)

It is, without a doubt, a bit over the top. I fell in love immediately.

Despite its considerable dimensions, the Escalade IQL is surprisingly agile. Not “sports car zipping through traffic” agile, but “I can’t quite believe that something this massive doesn’t feel like a battleship” agile.

Now we arrive at the annoyances. The front trunk — or “frunk” as EV enthusiasts call it — operates in perplexing and frustrating ways. To open it, you must press the button until it is fully raised. If you let go too soon, it stops midway, forcing you to restart the entire process. Closing it requires the same continuous pressure. Conversely, the rear trunk needs just two quick taps followed by immediate release of the button. If you press too long, nothing will happen.

Additionally, there were two occasions where the vehicle refused to shut off after I had finished driving. The car simply remained on, even after shifting to park and opening the door (which typically signals the car to power down). One cumbersome solution: open the frunk, close the frunk, shift into drive, then park, and finally exit.

As for the software, it’s perfectly adequate unless you’ve experienced a Tesla; in that case, prepare for a letdown. This seems to be consistent — everyone I know who owns both a Tesla and a different EV, regardless of its high-end status, expresses the same sentiment. Once you’ve gotten used to how seamlessly Tesla’s software bridges the gap between intention and execution, every other manufacturer’s software feels like a compromise.

This brings us to the low point of the journey: charging in Tahoe during the winter. Despite its many advantages, the Escalade IQL is, by any measure, an energy-hungry machine. The battery is a 205 kWh pack — massive, and necessary, because the vehicle consumes roughly 45 kWh for every 100 miles, which is significantly higher than comparable electric SUVs. Cadillac projects a range of 460 miles on a full charge, and in optimal conditions, that holds true. However, Tahoe in winter is far from optimal. We also arrived with less charge than anticipated. A series of side trips on the way up, including an emergency stop to find shirts for a family member who forgot to pack any, depleted the battery more than expected. By the time we needed to recharge, we genuinely required a charge.

We approached a Tesla Supercharger in Tahoe City that was listed on the MyCadillac app, but when we connected to the designated port, nothing happened. We dug for answers, realizing that even Tesla stations accepting non-Tesla vehicles throttle energy to just 6 kilowatts per hour, which was frustrating. A nearby EVGo station had shut down a month earlier. ChargePoint’s two units at the Tahoe City Public Utility lot were broken, connecting but refusing to charge anything. We briefly considered taking a 35-mile drive to Incline Village, calculated what being stranded would actually entail, and ultimately chose not to. Then I found an Electrify America station 12 miles away. We drove through the accumulating snow, arrived just before 11 p.m., and it worked. We sat there for an hour fighting off fatigue before heading home.

The next morning brought another issue via a notification from the app: tire pressure had dropped to 53 and 56 PSI in the front (recommended: 61) and 62 PSI in the rear (recommended: 68). I’m unsure if the vehicle was delivered in that state or if it was a result of the cold weather — either way, it meant someone had to stand at a gas station filling tires while being pelted with ice. (That someone was my husband.) For a family getaway, it was going swimmingly.

At this stage, I would have told you that the Escalade IQL is undoubtedly luxurious and perfect for families of four or more who prioritize space and technology. I would have noted that it came with genuine trade-offs: forward visibility hampered by its imposing hood, parking difficulties attributed to its size, limited charging options for such a power-hungry vehicle, and tires expected to support 9,000 pounds. It’s a stunning automobile, I would have contended, but it’s not suited for me.

However, the snow continued to fall. Within 48 hours, eight feet had piled up, rendering skiing — the main purpose of our trip — impossible, and making it daunting to navigate around town. Yet I discovered that I wasn’t intimidated because we had the Escalade, which, due to its weight, felt like driving a tank through the snow. (The tires remained steady after we inflated them, even as the week brought challenges.) What could have been a distressing experience felt tranquil. It was serene, it was powerful, it stepped up in a tough scenario.

I also grew accustomed to its size. By the week’s end, I had stopped mouthing “I’m sorry” to whoever was waiting for me to figure out where to park it. I had ceased to care what it implied about me driving a car whose entire design ethos communicates: the owner of this vehicle is not queuing. Eight feet of snow had accumulated, we required groceries, and I was the one behind the wheel of the tank! I could sense my husband developing feelings for the vehicle as well.

Then, as is typical in Tahoe, the snow abruptly stopped and the sun emerged, leaving the Escalade as just a very dirty vehicle parked in the driveway (apologies, GM!). It was in this moment of realization that I acknowledged: I still like it, and it isn’t solely due to the emergency situation. I enjoy the elevated view, with the sound system enveloping the cab with my favorite tunes. That light display still captivates me. The vehicle’s extensive, curved LED screen is spectacular, among various other features.

The frunk remains troublesome. I won’t soon forget the anxiety of not being able to charge the vehicle where I expected to. Parking this thing truly demands patience. I hold strong views about unnecessary consumption. None of that has altered.

I just, in some way, desire this vehicle, so when GM’s representative comes to retrieve it, I might conceal it under a tarp — a very large tarp — and inform him he has arrived at the wrong address.