My name is Caleb, and I’m fascinated by celebrities. Not in the “paparazzi stalker” type of way, but in the “I’ll probably write a biography someday” type of way. People amaze me, famous or not, though it’s obviously easier to learn about them when they live a public life. That said, I don’t think humans are meant to be celebrities—we just aren’t made for it. That’s why you should be careful reading the Wikipedia page of someone whose music or writing, or art you like; that version of “meeting your heroes” just might ruin your perception of them when you learn they committed some horrible crime, or that they make a big deal about hating people who are a lot like you.
Fortunately, cars can’t do either of those things. That’s why I actively sought out one of my automotive heroes—the Lexus LC 500—for years. And I can finally say now that I’ve driven it, that I don’t regret meeting it a bit.
All of us have a car that we’ve long admired from afar; the LC 500 is that for me. Practically every auto journalist drove one before I did. Heck, my buddy Chris Tsui wrote in his most recent review of the convertible, “If my memory serves, this is my fifth time driving an LC 500 (and I intend to keep driving them every single time Lexus offers one up)…” He even went as far as titling one of his stories, “Forget Owning a Home. Get One of These.”
You can see why I was so stoked when Lexus agreed to send me one. I’d been trying since 2021 to get behind the wheel, and it finally happened back in the spring.
I can’t lie, I was a little nervous to meet the LC 500, much like I would be before shaking my favorite actor’s hand. It has all the fame and good looks of an Academy Award winner, which makes the moment more surreal, but part of me thinks my apprehension had just as much to do with how I view myself. This wasn’t the first “pinch me” moment I’ve had at this job, though, because of the LC’s significance that I’d mentally manufactured over time, I felt the familiar weight of impostor syndrome.
In my head, I’m still a kid from a place most people have never heard of. I grew up in the Missouri Ozarks, and I’m glad to say I still live here today. I bring that up because it’s not Detroit or NYC, or LA—which, I understand, is more than OK—but cities like those are where so many of my favorite car writers lived as teenage me became fixated on turning this into a full-time job. I had serious doubts that I could ever make a living driving cars and writing about them, partly because of where I’m located, partly because I don’t have a college education, and partly because it’s a dream that never materializes for so many people who grew up on MotorTrend and Road & Track just like I did. For one reason or another, though, The Drive took a chance on 18-year-old Caleb, and I’m still here at 27.
Even after nearly a decade of driving cars in awesome places around the world, it never gets old when one is dropped off at your driveway. The Vibrant Flare Yellow LC 500 convertible looked pretty alien parked in front of our mobile home that wears oak siding sawed by my grandpa, but hey, it’s a head-turner wherever it goes. I was just stoked to drop the top and flog it.
That’s exactly what I did once I nuzzled into the blue-on-white interior, all 6 feet 5 inches and 290 pounds of me. After giving the 5.0-liter V8 some time to warm up, bumping the digital tachometer’s redline to 7,300 rpm, I hit the two-lane highway that our aforementioned double-wide sits a short way off of. I wish I could say that I was refined in my approach, but I’d waited long enough. I drove right alongside the nearest bluff and let that sucker eat.
If anyone tells you the LC’s 471 horsepower and 398 lb-ft of torque aren’t enough, they’re lying. It punches you square in the chest with the type of immediacy only a naturally aspirated V8 can. And while it won’t keep up with a blue-blood supercar, it doesn’t need to because this has to be the best darned sports car exhaust note left. It thunders, it howls, it crackles when you pull the shift paddle. Nobody can get enough.
The low-slung Lexus does so well on poorly paved letter-named roads precisely because it doesn’t have a million horsepower. You feel like you have as much oomph as you’d ever need, but not too much. It’s never manic, and a true grand tourer should never be, anyway. It eats up the miles and pays you back in smiles.
I can’t even think of a time that the LC ever felt unsettled rocketing out of a bumpy corner. Rarely did I go into one just absolutely cooking, but I’d often exit them that way, and it was just super smooth every time. It can carry speed through a 35-mph sweeper that would be questionable in another car because the rear end refuses to be disrupted, and the body stays flat, but the ride is never harsh. That’s such an underrated quality.
I’m not so sure the transmission needs 10 speeds, though. I never wished the shifts were faster, but there were times I wished they were fewer and further between. This never got in the way of having a good time, mind you; it just meant that it was always plucking away in the background. You almost feel bad for flooring it, forcing it to downshift after it just finished climbing to the top gear. Almost.
True to its luxury GT form, the LC is also incredibly livable. The stereo is good—even the standard, non-Mark Levinson one that was in my tester. The seats are comfy—formed, but not unforgiving. Lexus spec’d this one with a feature called “upper body heating,” which blows warm air on your neck when it’s 50 degrees out and you still want the top down. You don’t get that in a Camry.
I tell you all of this because I looked for a reason not to like the LC 500. I poked and prodded, searching out hidden offenses that might sour or sully my perception of the car. I’m happy to report that I didn’t find any.
People will fail you, no matter how good you might think them to be. I speak from personal experience, having been let down by some while letting others down myself in rather shameful ways. It’s important that we allow space for that and don’t hold a friend or a neighbor or a celebrity to unrealistically high expectations, just as it’s also important that we don’t place all our hope for contentment or satisfaction in the hands of another simple human—whether they be famous in the public eye or otherwise anonymous to it.
Ultimately, cars can’t give that to you either. Contentment and satisfaction are soul-level. But it’s mighty nice to mingle with an object that’s so well-purposed, so well-thought-out, that you can enjoy it as much as you think you would. Those are rare, as far as wheels go, so if you get the chance to drive one of these, treasure it. The joy it brings is fleeting, but for a little while, it’s fantastic.
One of the rare cars that lives up to the hype and always, always will.
Got a tip or question for the author? Contact them directly: caleb@thedrive.com
From running point on new car launch coverage to editing long-form features and reviews, Caleb does some of everything at The Drive. And he really, really loves trucks.
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