This was published 5 months ago Opinion AP Production has been beset by challenges. Tesla has employed a series of unconventional manufacturing techniques, including “gigacasting” large parts of the chassis in one piece rather than welding together smaller pieces. While the manufacturing process in theory promises lower costs, the Cybertruck has been subject to a series of recalls after issues including dislodged accelerator pedals and malfunctioning windscreen wipers. In the last week, prospective buyers have been told that orders are on hold because of a problem with the car’s metal trim flying off the vehicle. Sales may have already peaked, hitting more than 5000 a month in September last year but falling below 3000 in February, according to Cox Automotive. Used prices have slumped, and the company has reportedly seen inventory pile up. It has reportedly removed the laser-etched “Foundation Series” badges from some of its expensive, limited-edition initial models so that it can sell them as cheaper, regular Cybertrucks. Nor are international markets likely to come to the rescue. Tesla took the Cybertruck on a showcase tour around Europe last year, but the vehicle is not road legal in Britain or on the Continent, since its sharp edges do not comply with European safety regulations. In January, Greater Manchester Police seized a Cybertruck being driven on UK roads, saying “legitimate concerns exist around the safety of other road users or pedestrians”. Even if the Cybertruck has not set Wall Street alight, it has become a cultural phenomenon. Its brash uniqueness has made it a favourite of celebrity owners including Katy Perry and Kim Kardashian, who posed with the car in a photo shoot for Perfect magazine last week. The vehicle has become a must-have statement car for everyone from Shaquille O’Neal to Jay-Z, as well as more unsavoury characters. Loading The Chechen warlord Ramzan Kadyrov kitted out an illegally imported Cybertruck with a machine gun (the car was later remotely disabled) while the car was also rented by Matthew Livelsberger, the US army member who blew it up outside Las Vegas’s Trump hotel in January. Some scholars have drawn comparisons between the Cybertruck and the Casspir, a heavily armoured military vehicle used to enforce apartheid in South Africa, where Musk grew up. For good and bad, the car, like much of what Musk does, generates attention – a precious commodity for a company that has resisted advertising. The Cybertruck has appeared in hugely popular online video games such as Fortnite and Rocket League – a testament to its status as a meme as much as a motor vehicle. Marketing-savvy tradesmen have bought them to replace their boring vans and decorated them in their businesses’ logos, making the cars moving billboards. Recently, Musk was backed by the biggest celebrity of all: Trump. The president stood with the Tesla boss in front of the White House and vowed to buy his own Tesla, as well as revealing that he had bought his 17-year-old granddaughter Kai a Cybertruck. Trump has urged Republicans to support Musk by buying Teslas as the carmaker’s share price slides. Instead of disrupting the pick-up truck market, the vehicle has become a status symbol and a political statement – albeit a more expensive one than a red hat. “Many brands succeed by attracting some customers but repelling or excluding others,” says Ike Silver, an assistant professor of marketing at the University of Southern California. Loading “In this case, the fact that some customers on the left oppose what [Musk] is doing politically likely makes the brand more attractive to other customers.“ While Cybertruck sales are modest for now, Silver says Musk’s alliance with the president could lead to a surge of interest in Tesla’s entire range of cars. “Tesla sold roughly 600,000 units in the US last year,” he says. “Trump got 77 million votes.” Telegraph, London