Back in May 1988, Car and Driver rounded up four luxury coupes, drove them flat-out across Florida, and came away with a result nobody saw coming. The Acura Legend Coupe L, priced at $27,657, tied the Mercedes-Benz 300CE, a car that stickered at $52,603. Nearly double the money bought you exactly zero additional points on the final scorecard.
The test pitted Germany’s finest two-doors against hungry upstarts from America and Japan. The BMW 635CSi at $47,520 and the Mercedes 300CE represented old-world prestige and engineering pedigree. The Lincoln Mark VII LSC at $27,607 and the Acura Legend Coupe L were the scrappy interlopers, each costing roughly half what the Germans demanded.
On paper, the Acura had no business being in this fight. Its 2.7-liter V-6 made just 161 horsepower, the least in the group. It hit 60 mph in 9.6 seconds, trailing the BMW’s 7.7, the Lincoln’s 8.0, and the Mercedes’ 8.7.
Top speed was the lowest at 124 mph, a full 13 mph behind the BMW and Benz, which both hit 137. But numbers don’t drive cars. People do.
The testers couldn’t stop gushing about the Legend’s powertrain refinement. Its four-speed automatic was called one of the world’s top two or three automatic shifters, reacting briskly without the hesitation that plagued both German competitors. The engine itself drew descriptions like “utterly buttery” and “a marvel of precision and responsiveness.”
While the BMW and Mercedes powertrains sometimes paused awkwardly on throttle application, the Acura delivered power in seamless proportion to pedal pressure.
Aerodynamics told another story of Japanese engineering prowess. The Legend’s 0.30 drag coefficient beat even the slippery Mercedes at 0.31, and both embarrassed the blunt-nosed BMW. That slickness paid dividends in crosswind stability, fuel economy, and highway composure.
At 120 mph, the Acura tracked straight and sumptuously smooth while the heavier Lincoln wallowed and the BMW’s tail jittered over ripples.
The staff logbooks read like love letters. “God, this car is good,” wrote one tester after praising the Legend’s steering feel, ride quality, rear-seat comfort, and imperviousness to road irregularities. The interior, though, drew the Acura’s sharpest criticism.
It looked like every other Honda on the road. No distinction, no drama, despite its quality and attention to detail. On the cachet meter, the Legend was practically invisible next to the strutting BMW and the sculpted Mercedes.
The Lincoln Mark VII LSC finished fourth but hardly disgraced itself. Its 302-cubic-inch V-8 poured torque like Niagara Falls, and in everyday traffic its effortlessness was genuinely endearing. But poor interior trim, a climate control malfunction, excessive body roll, and a suspension that floated when it should have gripped left the testers calling it “rinky-dink.”
It was a daring car when it first appeared, they acknowledged, but it was starting to feel old.
The BMW 635CSi landed just one point behind the tied leaders. Its 208-horsepower inline-six was the quickest in every acceleration test. Its leather was described as “so beautiful it borders on edible.”
From the rear, it was more fun to watch than the Rockettes leaving the stage. Yet it rode harsher than the Benz or Mark VII, its electronic shift programs were deemed dumb, and it was the least fuel-efficient of the bunch at 18 mpg.
The Mercedes 300CE, carved from what one staffer called “a single block of unobtanium,” delivered the most refined cruising experience. At 100 mph, it was relaxed. Its seats were deeply pocketed, its engine made expensive sounds, and its ride was more supple than expected.
But fuses blew when you plugged in a radar detector, and the interior door handle came loose after repeated use. Stuttgart quality, 1988 style.
In the end, the results were a seismic statement about where the automotive world was heading. A $27,000 Honda-built coupe had matched a $52,000 Mercedes on every metric that mattered to the people actually driving them. The science of car creation, as Car and Driver put it, was cutting costs without undercutting content.
The luxury establishment had been put on notice, and the warning came wrapped in a quietly styled two-door from Acura that nobody on Florida’s highways even bothered to stare at.
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