Imagine being handed the keys to a 9,000-pound behemoth of a vehicle and told, 'Enjoy!' That's exactly what happened to me when GM offered me a week-long test drive of their new 2026 electric Escalade IQL, a $130,405 monument to excess. But here's the kicker: I didn't want to give it back. Before you judge, let me clarify—I’m no professional car reviewer. TechCrunch has experts for that. I’m just someone who drives an electric car and was curious enough to take this giant for a spin. And boy, was it a ride.
My first encounter with the Escalade was at a car show last summer. Amidst a sea of vintage beauties, this modern monster stood out. My initial reaction? 'Wow, that’s massive!' But then, something unexpected happened—I found myself admiring its design. Despite its sheer size, there’s a strange elegance to it. It’s what I’d call 'impressively robust.' The proportions just… work.
But here’s where it gets controversial: When the car arrived at my house, my excitement faded faster than a snowflake in Tahoe. This thing is 228.5 inches long and 94.1 inches wide. My first apartment in San Francisco was smaller! Driving it up my driveway felt like navigating a battleship through a bathtub. The hood is so high that ascending a slope—like the one leading to my mailbox—meant I couldn’t see what was directly in front of me. I seriously considered leaving it in the driveway for the entire trip.
Instead, I forced myself to get comfortable with the idea of driving it 200 miles to Tahoe City. I took it for short spins around town, picking up dinner and heading to an exercise class. Every time someone saw me in it, I felt compelled to clarify, 'This isn’t mine! I’m just testing it—isn’t it ridiculously huge?' It felt like driving a tank. I couldn’t help but wonder: Who actually buys a car like this? Hotels, maybe, but who else?
And this is the part most people miss: Five days later, I realized I was exactly the kind of person who’d fall for this car. I don’t know when or how it happened, but it did. Even now, I’m not blind to its flaws, but there’s something about it that just… works.
The turning point? A brutal snowstorm in Tahoe. The Escalade’s performance in those conditions was nothing short of heroic. Let me walk you through how I went from 'Ugh, this car is a tank' to 'Yes! This car is a tank.'
First, let’s talk about getting into the thing. It’s not exactly effortless—I’m athletic, and even I thought it could use an automated step stool. But once inside, it’s a different story. The dashboard is a 55-inch curved LED screen with 8K resolution, more like a command center than a car display. Front passengers get their own screens, and second-row passengers enjoy 12.6-inch personal screens, stowable tray tables, dual wireless chargers, and—in the most lavish version—massage seats. Google Maps handles navigation, and the polarized screen technology is genius. My kid binge-watched Hulu in the front seat, and not a single frame distracted me from the road.
The cabin is designed to feel spacious, and it delivers. With 45.2 inches of front legroom, 41.3 inches in the second row, and even 32.3 inches in the third row, seven adults could travel without driving each other crazy. Heated and ventilated leather seats with 14-way power adjustment come standard, and the whole setup runs on 5G Wi-Fi. Oh, and the 38-speaker AKG Studio sound system? Absolutely incredible.
But here’s the controversial part: The exterior is… a lot. The grille, purely decorative, is almost comically imposing. This is a car for people who want to look like the boss, even if they’re secretly dealing with existential crises. Pulling up to a glass-lined restaurant, I accidentally blinded half the patrons with the Escalade’s headlights. And don’t get me started on the light show it puts on whenever you approach—it’s like it’s saying, 'Hey, chief, where we headed?'
Despite its size, the Escalade IQL is surprisingly nimble. Not sports-car nimble, but 'I can’t believe something this big doesn’t handle like a battleship' nimble. But it’s not all roses. The frunk (front trunk) is a mystery wrapped in frustration. Opening and closing it requires precise button presses, and if you mess up, it freezes mid-action. Twice, the car refused to power down after I finished driving—a clunky workaround involved opening and closing the frunk, shifting gears, and finally exiting the car.
The software is fine… unless you’ve owned a Tesla. Then, it feels like a downgrade. Once you’ve experienced Tesla’s seamless interface, every other EV’s software feels like a compromise. And then there’s charging. The Escalade’s 205 kWh battery is massive, but it guzzles energy—about 45 kWh per 100 miles. In ideal conditions, it’s fine, but Tahoe in winter? Not so much. We arrived with less charge than planned, thanks to side trips and emergencies, and charging was a nightmare. Tesla Superchargers throttled energy, EVGo stations were closed, and ChargePoint units were broken. We ended up driving 12 miles through snow to an Electrify America station, arriving just before 11 p.m. Exhausted, we sat there for an hour before heading home.
The next morning, an app alert revealed low tire pressure—front tires at 53 and 56 PSI (recommended 61), rear at 62 PSI (recommended 68). My husband braved icy conditions to fill them up. Despite these frustrations, I found myself falling for the car. By the end of the week, I’d stopped apologizing for its size and started embracing its tank-like presence. Eight feet of snow? No problem. We needed groceries, and I was the one with the tank!
Here’s the real question: Is this car worth it? Objectively, it’s luxurious, spacious, and perfect for families who value technology and comfort. But it comes with tradeoffs—limited visibility, parking challenges, and a charging infrastructure that can’t keep up with its appetite. It’s beautiful, but is it practical? I’m not sure. Yet, somehow, I still want it. When GM comes to collect it, I might just hide it under a tarp and pretend it’s not there. What do you think—am I crazy for falling for this 9,000-pound monster?
