Tesla Model S

Based on Wikipedia: Tesla Model S

The Car That Proved the Doubters Wrong

In 2007, the idea of an electric car that could travel two hundred miles on a single charge seemed like fantasy. Electric vehicles were golf carts and science projects—certainly not something you'd want to drive on a highway, let alone pay fifty thousand dollars for. But inside a small facility in Rochester Hills, Michigan, sixty engineers were betting their careers that the world was wrong.

The project had a codename: WhiteStar. Its goal was audacious. Build a four-door sedan that could compete with Mercedes-Benz and BMW—except instead of a rumbling internal combustion engine, it would run on batteries. This was Tesla's second vehicle, following the Roadster, and it would either prove that electric cars had a future or confirm what skeptics had been saying all along.

What emerged from that bet became the Tesla Model S, a car that The Daily Telegraph would later describe as having "changed the world." But the path from WhiteStar to that world-changing vehicle was anything but smooth.

A Designer's Departure and a Lawsuit

Tesla's CEO Elon Musk knew the Model S needed to look beautiful. Electric cars had a reputation problem—they looked like compromises, like someone had prioritized efficiency over everything else. So Musk hired Henrik Fisker, a designer famous for his work on Aston Martins, those impossibly sleek British sports cars that James Bond drove.

Fisker signed an $875,000 contract to design something "sleek" in the fifty-to-seventy thousand dollar range. Tesla employees made the trek to his studio in Orange County, California, to see what he'd come up with.

They hated it.

Ron Lloyd, who was running the WhiteStar project, didn't mince words. The designs were "terrible," he said. "Some of the early styles were like a giant egg." When Musk rejected the work, Fisker blamed the constraints he'd been given. "They wouldn't let me make the car sexy," he complained.

What happened next sparked a legal battle. Fisker left Tesla and started his own company, debuting the Fisker Karma at the 2008 North American International Auto Show. Musk was furious. He sued, claiming Fisker had stolen Tesla's design ideas and used that $875,000 to launch a competing business. But Fisker won. An arbitrator declared Tesla's claims were without merit and ordered the company to pay Fisker's legal fees.

Tesla was back to square one, minus nearly a million dollars.

Building on a Mercedes

With no design and a ticking clock, Tesla's engineers got creative. A small team drove to a Mercedes-Benz dealership and test-drove two vehicles: the CLS and the E-Class. Both cars shared the same underlying chassis—the structural skeleton that everything else bolts onto—but they looked quite different on the outside. The engineers took notes on what they liked and didn't like about each one.

They preferred the CLS. So they bought one.

Then they took it apart. They removed the floor, modified a battery pack from Tesla's Roadster, and integrated the two. All the electronics and computer systems went into the trunk. They rebuilt the interior. Three months later, they had something unprecedented: a Mercedes CLS that ran entirely on batteries.

This Frankenstein car became their rolling laboratory. They drove it on public roads, testing and refining. It could travel 120 miles on a single charge and weighed more than the Roadster, but it proved the concept could work. A full-size luxury sedan could be electric.

Franz von Holzhausen Takes Over

In August 2008, Musk hired a new lead designer: Franz von Holzhausen, who had previously worked for Mazda. Von Holzhausen looked at Fisker's abandoned sketches and clay models and was unimpressed. "It was clear that the people who had been working on this were novices," he said.

Tesla was burning through cash, so they set up their design center inside a SpaceX factory—another company Musk owned. Von Holzhausen got to work, and within three months, he'd designed what would become the production Model S's exterior.

Meanwhile, the engineering team was tackling a fundamental physics problem. Batteries are heavy. Really heavy. The Model S battery pack would be the heaviest single component in the entire car. If they built the rest of the vehicle the traditional way, using steel, the car would be sluggish and handle poorly.

Musk's solution was aluminum. The non-battery parts of the car had to be lighter than equivalent gasoline vehicles, he insisted. This wasn't optional—if they used steel, the car's performance would be compromised, and no one would buy an expensive electric car that drove worse than its gas-powered competition.

To move faster, they split into two teams. One worked during the day. Another arrived in the evening and worked through the night. Both operated out of a three-thousand-square-foot tent inside the SpaceX factory. It was startup chaos, but it was progress.

From Prototype to Factory

On March 26, 2009, Tesla unveiled a prototype in Hawthorne, California. The car looked stunning. But Tesla still had nowhere to build it. They considered Albuquerque, New Mexico. Then San Jose, California. Both plans fell through, mainly because the company was running low on money during the Great Recession—the global financial crisis that had started in 2008.

Then luck intervened.

General Motors and Toyota had jointly operated a massive factory in Fremont, California, called NUMMI—the New United Motor Manufacturing, Incorporated. When the recession hit, GM abandoned the facility. Toyota followed. The last car rolled off the assembly line in April 2010.

A month later, Toyota and Tesla announced a partnership. Tesla would buy a significant portion of the factory for $42 million—a fraction of what building a new facility would cost. In return, Toyota invested $50 million in Tesla for a 2.5 percent stake in the company. Tesla suddenly had a real factory.

The pre-production Model S was completed in the basement of an office in Palo Alto. Only twelve were built. Some went to suppliers like Bosch for testing. Others were kept for design alterations. On June 22, 2012, Tesla invited employees, select customers, and the press to Fremont to see the first production Model S roll off the line.

The WhiteStar project had become real.

Engineering the Impossible

The production Model S was a marvel of engineering compromise—finding clever solutions to problems that seemed unsolvable.

The battery pack lives in the floor of the car, spread out like a flat skateboard. This might seem like an odd choice until you understand the physics. By putting the heaviest component as low as possible, Tesla created a center of gravity just eighteen inches off the ground. This is extraordinarily low for a car—most sedans have their weight much higher. The result? The Model S is nearly impossible to flip over, even in extreme maneuvers.

The battery itself consists of thousands of small cylindrical cells, each about the size of a AA battery but slightly larger—eighteen millimeters in diameter and sixty-five millimeters tall. These are called 18650 cells, named for their dimensions. The same type of cell powers laptop computers. By using thousands of small cells instead of a few large ones, Tesla could manage heat better and contain failures. If one cell malfunctions, it doesn't take down the whole pack.

The body and chassis are mostly aluminum, as Musk demanded. The Model S shares thirty percent of its parts with the Model X, the crossover SUV that Tesla introduced in 2015—a clever cost-saving measure that let them spread development expenses across multiple vehicles.

Perhaps the most impressive number is the drag coefficient: 0.24. Drag coefficient measures how easily air flows around an object. A flat wall facing the wind has a drag coefficient of about 1.0. A typical sedan scores around 0.30. The Model S achieved 0.24, making it the slipperiest production car on the road at the time.

How? Several tricks. Instead of a traditional grille—those openings at the front of most cars that let air into the engine—the Model S has a solid front fascia. Electric motors don't need the same cooling as combustion engines. The door handles retract flush with the body when not in use, eliminating tiny pockets of turbulence. The underbody is completely flat, with no exhaust pipes poking out to disrupt airflow.

The Frunk and Other Surprises

Without a front engine, Tesla had a large empty space where the motor would normally go. They called it the "frunk"—a front trunk. It provides 5.3 cubic feet of storage, enough for a carry-on suitcase or several bags of groceries. The rear trunk offers 26.6 cubic feet with the seats up and 58.1 cubic feet with them folded down. Combined, that's more cargo space than many SUVs.

The original Model S could seat seven people, though the extra two seats faced backward and were designed for children. These rear-facing jump seats included five-point harnesses—the kind you'd find on a race car or a child's car seat—and were available until 2018.

An interesting detail: the original seats and steering wheel came in both real leather and synthetic options. Then, in 2017, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals—better known as PETA—asked Tesla to become the first cruelty-free automaker. Tesla agreed, switching exclusively to synthetic leather. It's a small change that went largely unnoticed, but it meant that every Model S built after 2017 contained no animal products.

The Alphabet Soup of Model Variants

If you've ever tried to understand Tesla model names, you've encountered a confusing alphabet soup. The company has released dozens of variants of the Model S over the years, each with different battery sizes, motor configurations, and performance levels. Here's how to decode them.

The first number typically indicates battery capacity in kilowatt-hours. A "60" has a 60 kilowatt-hour battery; an "85" has an 85 kilowatt-hour battery. More kilowatt-hours means more range, but also more weight and cost.

The letter "D" stands for "dual"—meaning two motors, one in front and one in back, providing all-wheel drive. Before the D models, all Model S cars were rear-wheel drive, with a single motor powering just the back wheels.

The letter "P" stands for "performance." P models have more powerful motors and faster acceleration.

So a "P85D" is a performance variant with an 85 kilowatt-hour battery and dual motors. A "70D" is a standard variant with a 70 kilowatt-hour battery and dual motors. A plain "60" is a base model with a 60 kilowatt-hour battery and single motor.

Tesla's first thousand Model S units were special "Signature" editions. Even the base Signature produced 362 horsepower—more than most sports cars—while the Signature Performance generated 416 horsepower. Both used 85 kilowatt-hour batteries and could travel 265 miles on a single charge.

The Battery That Never Was

Tesla originally planned to offer a 40 kilowatt-hour battery as the entry-level option—a cheaper Model S for customers who didn't need maximum range. They announced it, took deposits, and then quietly killed it in 2013.

Here's what's interesting: instead of simply canceling orders, Tesla delivered cars with 60 kilowatt-hour batteries that were software-limited to behave like 40 kilowatt-hour packs. The physical hardware could store more energy, but the car's computers wouldn't let you use it. Customers could later pay to unlock the full capacity through an over-the-air update—no visit to a service center required.

This practice—selling hardware capabilities locked behind software—became a Tesla trademark, and a controversial one. Some customers loved the flexibility to upgrade later. Others felt they were paying for features their car already possessed.

The 2016 Facelift

By 2016, the Model S was showing its age. Tesla refreshed the exterior, and the most noticeable change was at the front. The original Model S had a black grille—even though electric cars don't need grilles the way gasoline cars do. It was a design compromise, a nod to what people expected cars to look like.

The refreshed Model S eliminated this fake grille entirely. The body now swept smoothly from hood to bumper, with only a thin gap housing the Tesla logo. It was a bold statement: this car doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is.

The headlights got a complete redesign too, switching to full LED units that could turn with the car to illuminate corners at night—adaptive headlights, in industry parlance.

Autopilot Arrives

In 2015, Tesla introduced Autopilot, and the Model S transformed from merely a car into something more like a robot on wheels.

Autopilot is what's called an Advanced Driver Assistance System, or ADAS. It's not full self-driving—despite the confusing name, you can't take a nap while your Tesla drives you to work. But it can handle certain tasks automatically: staying in a lane on the highway, maintaining a safe distance from the car ahead, changing lanes when you activate the turn signal.

The system uses cameras, radar, and ultrasonic sensors to perceive the world around the car. It's constantly watching lane markings, other vehicles, pedestrians, and obstacles. When conditions are right—clear weather, well-marked roads, attentive driver—Autopilot can make highway driving feel almost effortless.

The feature proved wildly popular and became a major selling point. It also sparked intense debate about safety, regulation, and what responsibilities drivers have when their cars can partially drive themselves. That debate continues today.

The Rise and Complications of Plaid

In 2021, Tesla introduced the Plaid, named after a reference from the comedy film Spaceballs, where "ludicrous speed" is topped by "plaid." The Plaid is absurdly, almost irresponsibly fast.

It uses three motors instead of two—one at each rear wheel and one at the front. Together, they produce acceleration that was previously reserved for million-dollar hypercars. The Plaid can reach sixty miles per hour in under two seconds. This is faster than gravity—if you dropped a ball off a building at the same moment a Plaid launched, the car would be traveling faster than the falling ball within two seconds.

But the 2021 update was controversial for reasons beyond speed. Tesla replaced the traditional steering wheel with a "yoke"—a rectangular controller that looks like something from an airplane or a video game. Some drivers loved the futuristic look. Others found it impractical, especially for low-speed maneuvers like parking, where a round wheel lets you easily shuffle your hands around the rim.

Road & Track magazine, which had once praised the Model S, argued that the yoke and other changes had transformed the car into "perhaps one of the worst in the world." It was a striking fall from grace for a vehicle that had once defined what an electric car could be.

What Made It Matter

In 2015, the Model S became the world's best-selling plug-in electric vehicle. Time magazine included it on their list of Best Inventions of the Year back in 2012, and later named it one of the 10 Best Gadgets of the 2010s. Car and Driver selected it as one of the best cars of the year in both 2015 and 2016.

But numbers and awards don't fully capture what the Model S achieved. Before it arrived, electric cars were curiosities—interesting but impractical, good for the environment but bad for actually living your life. The Model S proved that an electric car could be desirable on its own terms. It was faster than sports cars, more spacious than sedans, and didn't require any compromises in daily use.

Every major automaker watched Tesla's success and started their own electric vehicle programs. Porsche built the Taycan. Mercedes built the EQS. BMW, Audi, Jaguar, and Ford all followed. The Model S didn't just succeed as a product—it changed what an entire industry believed was possible.

The car that critics said would never work became the car that changed the world.

From Fremont to the World

Production of the Model S officially began at the Tesla Fremont Factory in June 2012, but the car's journey to customers didn't end there. For European markets, Tesla shipped partially completed vehicles to a facility in Tilburg, Netherlands, where final assembly occurred. This arrangement lasted from 2013 until 2021, when Tesla consolidated more production at its expanding network of factories.

The Fremont factory itself has a fascinating history. Before Tesla bought it, the NUMMI plant produced Toyotas and General Motors vehicles side by side—an unusual joint venture between competing automakers that began in 1984. The partnership was meant to help GM learn Toyota's legendary manufacturing techniques while giving Toyota its first American factory. At its peak, NUMMI employed over five thousand workers and produced nearly half a million vehicles per year.

When Tesla took over in 2010, they inherited not just a building but decades of accumulated manufacturing knowledge embedded in the facility's layout and equipment. Tesla has since heavily modified and expanded the plant, but the bones of NUMMI remain—a reminder that even revolutionary products build on what came before.

The Weight of Innovation

The technical decisions made during the Model S development ripple through every electric vehicle built today. Consider the placement of the battery pack in the floor. This seems obvious now—where else would you put it?—but it wasn't obvious in 2008. Other companies had tried stuffing batteries in trunks, under seats, anywhere they could find space. Tesla's floor-mounted approach set the template that virtually every electric vehicle manufacturer now follows.

The same goes for the skateboard platform—the idea of a flat, battery-filled floor with motors at the axles that can support different body styles. Tesla's Model S and Model X share this platform. So do the Model 3 and Model Y. Competitors from Volkswagen to Hyundai now build their own skateboard platforms. It's become the standard architecture for electric vehicles, and it started with WhiteStar.

Even Tesla's controversial software-locked features pioneered a new model for the car industry. Traditional automakers built different versions of cars on the assembly line—if you wanted heated seats, they physically installed different seats. Tesla proved you could build one version of the hardware and let customers pay to unlock features later. This reduces manufacturing complexity and lets customers upgrade without buying a new car. It's also, critics argue, a way to charge twice for the same hardware. The industry is still debating which view is correct.

A Different Kind of Car Company

The Model S story illuminates what makes Tesla different from traditional automakers—for better and worse.

Traditional car companies spend years perfecting a design before production. Once a car launches, it changes little until the next generation arrives, typically five to seven years later. Tesla treats vehicles more like software products, pushing updates constantly. A Model S bought in 2020 drives differently than the same car bought in 2021, even if they look identical. Features appear, disappear, and transform through over-the-air updates.

This approach enabled rapid improvement. Early Model S cars had modest acceleration; later ones, with the same hardware, became faster after software updates optimized motor performance. But it also created chaos. Features customers paid for sometimes vanished. The car's behavior could change overnight. What you tested at the dealership might not be what you experienced a month later.

The Model S exemplifies both Tesla's strengths and its contradictions: innovative but inconsistent, visionary but sometimes impractical, loved by enthusiasts and criticized by traditionalists. It's a car that proved electric vehicles could compete with the best while simultaneously demonstrating all the growing pains of a company trying to reinvent an industry.

The Legacy

More than a decade after that first Model S rolled off the Fremont assembly line, Tesla's second vehicle remains in production—the longest-running model in the company's lineup. It's been refined, redesigned, and reimagined multiple times, but the core idea remains unchanged: a full-size luxury sedan that happens to run on batteries.

The engineers who pulled late nights in that SpaceX tent, the designers who threw out Henrik Fisker's sketches and started fresh, the executives who gambled on an abandoned factory in Fremont—they built something that lasted. Not just as a product, but as proof of concept.

Before the Model S, mainstream opinion held that electric cars would always be slow, short-ranged, and unattractive—suitable for idealists willing to sacrifice, but never for customers who simply wanted a great car. The Model S demolished that assumption. It was fast, practical, and beautiful. It won awards normally reserved for European sports sedans. It convinced skeptics that the future of transportation might look different than anyone expected.

That's the Model S's true legacy: not the cars it sold, but the assumptions it destroyed.