Certainly it’s true on the Evija front – Lotus’s upcoming electric hypercar does feel roomy, not claustrophobic, with two generous seats and a big swooping ‘halo’ of a floating instrument pack, slightly reminiscent of an exposed Maserati ‘birdcage’ chassis but with a 21st century carbonfibre racing bicycle twist. It feels extremely special.
But space equating to luxury is true in general life, too. Who has the most luxurious life? Who defines luxury more than anybody else? Roman Abramovic? Joaquín ‘el Chapo’ Guzmán? Royalty?
Whoever, I’ve seen their houses, and they’re massive. Luxury is, no question, space.
It’s even more valued in places where little space exists, like those London streets where rock stars live next to bankers, and where the quest for more space, more luxury, occurs underground – a garage here, a gym there, a swimming pool beneath it all – eking every last millimetre from buildings made when luxury meant you suffered gout and didn’t die at 35.
So in cities, and in motoring, space sits at odds with one of life’s other luxuries. Perhaps life’s biggest: time.