Driverless cars are bringing back the ‘living room on wheels’ concept in auto design
But stop trying to make swivel seats happen
Once upon a time, people actually wanted to spend time in their cars. They weren’t drowning their commutes with podcasts or sighing with exasperation at a late Uber Pool addition. They genuinely enjoyed being with their vehicles.
And with each passing year, the riding experience got more and more comfortable. As designers and manufacturers enclosed and soundproofed cars, and added luxurious finishes and fabrics, car interiors started resembling more a home and less a bucket of bolts. Suddenly, it clicked: Make the car feel like a “living room on wheels” and people will want to spend even more time driving.
It worked for awhile. (In the 1950s, people were so obsessed with comfort, they even refused to wear seat belts.) But occasionally, a designer took it too far. (Car companies have been trying to sell swivel seats for decades.)
With autonomous consumer vehicles on the horizon, will we finally see a reinvention of the once-popular “car as living room?” What did luxury look like when we actually liked being in cars?
The first automobiles were chaotic. Before the 1910s, the driver sat outside, exposed to elements that might impact the vehicle’s operation and better able to hear any mechanical issues. In fact, some of the earliest vehicles were designed for both a driver and a mechanic, someone to steer and navigate and another person to watch the gauges. Many cars fastened brake levers and gear sticks on the side of a vehicle, so a driver would have to reach outside and over the door. According to Professor Kurt Möser’s “The driver in the machine: Changing interiors of the car,” the dials on the dashboard — petrol pressure, water cooling, etc. — were situated in the middle for this two-person system. The driver needed serious help.
Passenger space was kept entirely separate, so as not to distract the drivers. A closed compartment in the rear took on the opulence, lush fabrics, rugs, and curtains of 19th century horse-drawn carriages. Rear-facing seats created a tidy, social compartment. With the brougham body, for example, a chauffeur sat in an elevated, exterior seat in front of a glass-enclosed passenger compartment.
In the subsequent decades, cars became safer and more reliable. Technology saw better gauges and instruments so drivers needn’t be so anxious about multitasking. Germany developed the “sedan” in the 1920s, a streamlined design that tucked mechanics closer to the driver. However, it was deemed important that a driver still sit outside, in order to “feel” the wind, like an airplane pilot measuring a slipstream.
Meanwhile, the sedan made interior compartments more plush. Cars were no longer viewed as rugged touring vehicles meant to conquer the elements. They were extensions of one’s home. This perspective effectively ended the first era of the automobile and ushered in a new one: luxury on wheels.
As the gears shifted between consumer demands at this time, car design became slightly schizophrenic. More women were purchasing cars, and demanded that car interiors be expanded to include the driver. If they didn’t need to be outside, they didn’t want to be. Their preferences led to the enclosed car body, “the most significant automotive design innovation of the 1920s,” wrote Virginia Scharff in Taking the Wheel: Women and the Coming of the Motor Age (1992). And though they were considered to be “women’s cars,” enclosed vehicles captured more of the market share as (mostly American) men set aside their “sporty” ways in favor of warmth and comfort.
With every person — driver and passengers — packed inside, all of the car’s human operations were suddenly squeezed in as well. Gear shifts shrank once again, and later connected to the steering wheel; nozzles and gauges were stowed under the dashboard or hood.
As more people spent more time inside their cars, they took longer trips. That meant higher sales of portable heaters, tackle boxes, and shades to keep out the sun. In the 1930s, Ford sold cars with “picnic kit” accessories, which included charcoal and a portable grill. Interior comfort reigned, and technology could only hustle to meet the demand.
One of the most controversial improvements was soundproofing. A car could be made warm or cool, more streamlined, and grander, but a family still couldn’t glide along the highway in insulated peace above the roar of machinery. Happily, improvements in sound reduction actually made for an even more comfortable interior — carpeting, cloth covers, and padded mats muffled noise and gave cars an air of privacy.
By midcentury, the necessities of operating a vehicle became more linked with interior style. Speedometers were tucked into portholes or paneled to match the dashboard. The knob on a gear lever was crafted with the door handles in mind. Even steering wheels thinned and were painted multiple colors.
At certain moments in automotive history, the idealized “living room” interior was so coveted that designers attempted to literalize it. The 1949 Nash Airflyte sedan, called an “upside-down bathtub” and considered a lemon, featured front seats that folded into twin convertible beds. A 1953 Ford design eliminated parallel seating entirely, creating a circular conversation pit around the driver, who sat front and center. The 1958 Fancy Free Corvette, concepted by one of GM’s “Design Damsels,” Ruth Glennie, came with four interchangeable seat covers (one for each season) and a storage bin for a purse. Her peer Peggy Sauer created the Oldsmobile Fiesta Carousel with a magnetic game board that could be affixed to the back of the front seat to entertain children. Volkswagen introduced a “jam car” concept with a fridge and front seats that could swivel backward.
For decades, companies have attempted to market swivel seats to form vehicle conversation pits. In 1967, it was the Chrysler Imperial Mobile Director coupe, which was sold as an executive boardroom on wheels, with a passenger seat that swiveled toward a pop-up conference table, with a bright reading lamp overhead. In 2008 Chrysler and Dodge introduced Swivel ‘n Go seating in their minivans, complete with a removable table where passengers could dine or play games facing one another, and a “conversation mirror” so the driver had a view of the entire backseat. It was a bust.
Most of these ideas represented fleeting novelty (with the exception of the glove box and cup holders). The classic car layout still reigned, even as vehicle bodies evolved with consumer ideas about comfort and accessibility. Since the 1930s, station wagons offered more space, sometimes up to eight seats. (The early Chrysler Town and Country was a pinnacle of family luxury.) The beloved VW Bus and camper vans like the 1970s Dodge Ram Vans revolutionized customizable bohemian mobility. In 1983, Chrysler’s minivan, with its removable seats and spacious storage, saved the company from extinction. Later, the design was eclipsed in the 1990s by the sport utility vehicle with simple flexible seating. It’s still ubiquitous today.
Today, the industry is struggling to recapture the romance of the road. Millennials are delaying buying cars, and when they do, they’re foregoing luxury for utilitarian convenience. Manufacturers are adapting, but as the promise of autonomous vehicles hovers closer, some are announcing design concepts that look more living room than ever. Mercedes revealed the Vision Tokyo, with circular, lounge seating. Should a driver need to take over manual operation, “a seat facing in the direction of travel can be released from the center of the couch at the front, rather like the ‘jump seat’ in an aircraft cockpit.” (They’re staying away from the term “swivel.”)
Others bet passengers won’t just want to sit in a circle, talking. Instead, tech will lead the new wave of car comfort. In place of a tabletop, Panasonic nested 4K LED displays in the middle of a quartet of bucket seats. Besides entertainment, games, and augmented reality, smart cup holders reveal the contents’ calorie counts when placed on top of the screens. The company says the setup could be adapted for use in any car.
Unlike the car “living rooms” of history, which prioritized comfort and tech followed, today’s consumers are demanding the reverse. As gearshifts and ignitions disappear entirely, along with drivers themselves, the mobile living room may yet reach new heights. But it will never be about carpeted floor mats again. And swivel seats? Just give up.
