Volvo EX90 – A Story About Memory, Madness, and a Brand That Never Left Me

Writing about experiences is a very strange activity, and writing for my own blog is something I haven't quite figured out yet — but I continue to share the experiences and thoughts that go through my mind... usually at 2am.

Somewhere between 2020 and 2026, I found myself losing a few things, including: weight, my understanding of life, the will to live, and some memories from long ago — blank spaces that, even if Taylor Swift wrote my name in them, couldn't bring back what was once part of the story. This week I found myself sitting across from someone who has known me since I was probably two, and whom I haven't seen in over 20 years. All of a sudden, vivid memories of a trip began flashing before my eyes, almost as if I was reliving it again. Those memories came rushing back, and somewhere in the space between my childhood and the experiences that have shaped me, I found this article.

Volvo is a brand I have had no direct interest in, yet has somehow managed to intrigue me for as long as I can remember. I'm going to tell you about the thoughts that have been part of my journey to getting here, and by the end of this, you might even find my thoughts on the new all-electric offering from the same brand — the Volvo EX90 — but we will need to reassess when I've made sense of the direction of my thoughts as they flow through my fingers.

PART 1: Volvo ft. Max – A For-Life Story Of A Brand Somehow Showing Up When I Didn't Even Think Of It, And My Conspiracy Theory At The End To Stir The Pot

I remember being in school, maybe Grade 4, in utter shock while listening to a conversation about how a Mercedes-Benz had been traded in for a Volvo — and the happiness they felt about it. This was soon followed by my own family doing the same with our BMW. I didn't understand what would make someone make a decision like that: leaving a Benz for a car that was safe but ugly, and not propelled beneath an upright star of confidence. (I'll add a side-note here that the "ugly Volvo" in question is the first-generation S40, which I still find bland and terrible looking.)

I sat with this thought as a kid as more parking spots at school pick-up shifted away from BMWs and Mercedes-Benzes, now the new homes of Volvos and even Audis. What had happened? Why would you leave the greatest for these funny-looking cars? And yet more Volvos kept coming into sight. My mindset never really changed — even as I came to accept and appreciate the brand as it evolved into the Volvo we know and love today — but a Mercedes was still superior in my mind. I still don't know why anyone made the switch, because I never asked, but what I can tell you is that the brand has somehow found its way into my direct line of sight. I guess we can't ignore that. I think it might just be me actually loving them and not wanting to admit it — even though I am more than happy to express that love today.

When my BMW was finally gone and my shoulders were finally lower than my ears, I found myself looking for a replacement. The contenders were: a Volvo XC60, a Volvo V40, and a Mercedes-Benz C-Class. I ended up in a Mercedes because I was feeling a little rebellious after the mistake that was my BMW — it had shown me flames, and I decided I needed to find myself again, which is something I am feeling for the first time this year. A Volvo on my list — what was I thinking? I wasn't, really. They had just started popping up everywhere, and I found myself genuinely wanting one as my safe choice. I didn't end up in one, but days later the brand was back in my face again, completely uninvited.

My best friend's bachelorette road trip meant driving with three people I had never met before. I was as nervous as could be at the thought of being with three strangers for hours in a car, but thankfully it would be my car — and that made me feel okay about it. We didn't end up going in my car after all, because the four of us needed a bit more boot space to hold the endless Country Road bags, overpacked luggage, and the kind of personalities that would have left my Merc feeling a little full. Instead, I arrived at a house that was probably the closest thing to me-in-house-form that I can think of, and as the gate opened, two black Volvo SUVs stood before me — making me want one before I even knew what was happening.

I drove a stranger's black Volvo XC90 to Dullstroom, and somewhere along the way found friends who have given me more than I ever knew existed — born out of the over-sharing therapy session that unfolded in that Volvo as we embarked on a special adventure together. I also discovered that the Volvo owners' club extended well beyond the one I was driving, with XC90s being the preferred choice within the group. When that black Volvo — full of trauma and happiness — parked in front of a white BMW and a Mercedes SUV, I looked at it differently for the first time. It had just shown up, but it was simple, and it was everything you needed and could ever need. Stephan was, of course, informed that he needed to buy me a Volvo before I could open the door and get out.

I promised the best part of Part One at the end, and here it is.

It's a late afternoon and Stephan and I are on our daily walk when I giggle as a neighbour drives past and parks their car — a Volvo XC90. I found myself laughing at a thought that somehow managed to creep into my mind, and I still don't know where it came from. It's become one of those stories — "Max, you need to tell them the Volvo theory" — and it always gets a chuckle. It might make more sense if you knew the same people I do, and even then, I still can't quite explain my own mind.

Stephan asked what I was laughing at, as I was almost in hysterics, and I told him I had a conspiracy theory. He hears this often, and I think he rolls his eyes before I even finish the sentence. The theory is simple: if a wife gets a new car and it happens to be a Volvo XC90, the husband is cheating on her.

I KNOW. Bold statement — and I really don't have anyone specific in mind when I say it — but it makes complete sense to me. You cover up the internal chaos by driving the most perfect car, presenting yourself as happy, together, and sorted. So you shove a Volvo into the garage and just like that, all is fixed. It's perfect. A family car that presents its members with safety and class, accompanied by whispers of "they're such a perfect family — so happy, so in love, and the kids are so well-mannered" as the white Volvo's boot automatically opens to receive the Burberry bags, a carefully concealed hatred for one another, and a golden retriever — all loading in silence before driving home to the immaculate Craighall haven they call home.

Now, I am unwell and we know this, and I truly don't know where this comes from. It is purely a joke shared between me and my family. (By the way, he sells the Volvo for a Chinese car — something like a Jetour — and she ends up hating him even more as the plot thickens. That's the latest update; I'll report back if anything develops.)

And before another world war starts or the world runs out of SSRIs — I did not make this up with anyone in mind. But if you know someone who drives a Volvo XC, next time you see them and experience their life through their stories and the way they present themselves, just think about it. Does everything just seem to work? Does it all come together and hold perfectly, no matter the chaos underneath? It does look good, doesn't it.

But it's actually the vegan-leather interior, the perfect number of buttons, the comfortable and capable machine they elegantly turn a dial on — watching the rev counter settle at exactly the right spot, with no loud screeches or doors that need to be slammed four times before they close — that's doing the heavy lifting.

The Volvo makes life elegant.

PART 2: A Jaguar was an F-ing Experience During a Personally F-ed Up Time. Volvo, you’re up with a first now….

Now that we have discussed the past — and even though we cannot change it — we need the past to define what comes next. So let's go to the future, or at least to the right now and the tomorrow, and let's go through one of my firsts together.

Technically, I have driven an EV before, but it was short-lived and hardly counts as a real experience — so we are going to let Volvo take another piece of my journey by being the first fully electric vehicle I have truly experienced. And if you can remember a certain article I once wrote, I don't think we can expect the same thing here.

As I sit here we have a diesel price of R30/l with a possible price of R40/l in the next few weeks, to put it into context I am going to talk about a white Mercedes SUV you probably would have seen on my social media by now, that cost me to fill the tank up a year ago about R1700 and I would fill it up once a week at least, and that exact car would cost me about R3840 for the same tank of petrol, and I would still need to do it once or twice a week. Why is this relevant? Well, because an electric car – this electric car – according to my best friend Chat would cost me R1600 a month to charge and that’s a massive difference from the diesel wagon I call my dream, and I think an EV might be the suitable option for the person who has the R2.8 million to buy a power bank with vegan leather.

I don’t have any desire to buy an EV and in fairness I don’t have R2.8 million for lying around if I wanted one either and if I hadn’t had my Volvo-past I would have told you how much I hate this car and think it is the worst thing I’ve ever experienced, but I drove it’s diesel older brother a few weeks ago and I am going to remind myself of those times while I share this with you to keep it fair and not just have a very silly opinion because I like weird things opinion.

The Volvo EX 90 is something that I find very Volvo in every way, and I noticed it in the headrests that have the same design as they always have, and that comfort that comes from seeing the legacies left behind in the future makes me feel safe. The Volvo DNA is there but it gets lost with the rest of the future of no effort all the reward and I’m too millennial to understand it so I don’t know how I will ever survive – a 32 year old that doesn’t know how to keep up with the times? Everything I told myself I would never have to be.

The Volvo EX90 is, in true Volvo fashion, designed to be unique and beautiful — soft and classy, with a strong sense of safety, comfort and stability that carries through every single Volvo I've ever driven. The car looks like a Volvo, and I will forever believe that a Volvo ages gracefully and oozes old money, regardless of the year — post-2004, at least. It's bold and soft at the same time, functional and modern, and thoughtfulness shows in the smallest details all around the car. The Volvo touch is felt inside too, where the seats are simply… Volvo — and that's the best thing to be. You sink into soft leather in a cabin that is understated and spacious, and it all makes perfect sense when you put your head back in Cape Town traffic and the seat begins massaging your shoulders — even your apps are telling you to relax your jaw, and the Volvo already knows. It's all art with functionality, and I respect it deeply for that. The Volvo soul is present, and I love how they make a car feel so luxurious through every touch, sound and feeling.

The sound system in a Volvo is something I find endlessly amusing — insane and incredibly loud, yet not noisy; clear and overwhelming without the headache. It's the old-money Westcliff exterior floating softly over the bumps, and a nightclub done properly on the inside — and this makes me very happy, because I am all about the concert I create for myself every time I get into a car. It can be a genuinely wild experience if you're riding with me, because you never know whether it's going to be Kurt Darren's Hop Hop Spinnekop, Dracula by Tame Impala, Tom Odell's Black Friday, or Taylor Swift on repeat. And yes, I opened my recently played playlist and those were the actual songs on shuffle — don't judge.

Sadly, I find some pieces missing in this very expensive power bank, and I'm not sure whether I'm just stuck living in the car era of 2014 or whether it's a valid feeling — but I'm not sure I can fully appreciate cars that feel as though they've lost the soul of actually being a car. It's the first time I've felt that from a Volvo. The experience begins with a key, except this car's key is little more than a single stick of chewing gum that you need to charge inside the car that also needs charging — no buttons, no keyring hole, no weight to it. Just a black box with VOLVO on it, for no purpose other than branding, I suppose. I like a car that locks when you walk away — my 2018 Clio did it — but it becomes a problem when it does it constantly at the wrong moment. There's no start or stop button either, just a Mercedes-style stalk to the right of the steering wheel that you tap up or down, and that's it. I like to push a button or turn a key to start a car, and I like a keyring on it — but I also lock mine about a million times just to feel better about it, so take that as you will.

The EX90 is also controlled almost entirely by the enormous screen in the centre — and I mean everything, from the air conditioning to adjusting the mirrors, the steering wheel, and the lights. Which does make me think: this is a car celebrated for its safety, and yet you're left fighting through menus just to change the airflow direction. Is it safe, or is it tech-controlled-no-longer-a-car? I understand the vision, but having the wing mirrors and steering wheel adjustment buried in a screen is a step too far for me. I found myself battling through the roads, eventually just wanting to get out — which is a new one, because I usually never want to. The new way of cars left me genuinely carsick, and then there was the charging, which took me far too long to figure out. I didn't even manage it the first time around, and I spent an embarrassingly long time feeling very stupid about it.

That said, I love the Volvo side of this car and cannot fault them for what they've created. But the tech side of things is where I personally choose the cars that still feel like cars — and I will gladly pay R40 per litre if it means keeping that smile. I know that's not the Volvo's fault, and once again I find Volvo doing everything just about perfectly. I won't hold the negatives against them, because it's the EV way, I suppose. It's not lost in cheap plastic the way a Mercedes or BMW can be — it is the future. It's just not a future that makes me feel entirely safe yet.

And so, Volvo has created yet another perfect car in every way — one that will make life look as polished as the vehicle parked in your driveway. It was the world that disappointed me on this one.