Value vs Growth: Old Cars, Real Buttons, and Elegance.

Photo by Olav Tvedt on Unsplash

Which matters more, growth or value? It is a small question with a large consequence. Growth can be measured quickly, reported loudly and rewarded in headlines. Value is harder to see. It arrives through use, through time, and through how something fits into the life of the person using it.

I drive older cars, I always have. They do what a car is meant to do and very little more. There are no large screens telling me how to breathe, no lane-keeping nudges correcting every move, no persistent alerts asking for my attention.

It would be easy in the modern world to see old as worse, simplistic. Is complexity, newer always better - thats living in the future right?

“Good design is as little as possible. Less, but better, because it concentrates on the essential aspects, 
> and the products are not burdened with non-essentials. Back to purity, back to simplicity.” Dieter Rams

There is a difference between simplicity and elegance. Simplicity is the lack of complication. Elegance is the choice of what to keep and what to leave out. An elegant car does not merely omit features. It arranges what remains so each control and motion has proportion and purpose. For a driver who has spent decades behind the wheel, that arrangement rewards skill and attention rather than hiding them.

Modern cars bring real capability. Safety systems prevent collisions and infotainment links a life to the dashboard. But these benefits come with trade-offs. Increasingly complex in-cabin technology can feel confusing or distracting, and a notable number of drivers disable features they find intrusive (https://www.which.co.uk/news/article/why-drivers-are-turning-off-key-safety-features-in-their-cars-aZ24m4n9vX9C). Preferring instead physical buttons and tactile controls persist because they are faster and more reliable in real conditions.

Parkers has long emphasised that classic vehicles are prized not only because they are often cheaper to maintain, but because their controls are legible and purposeful (https://www.parkers.co.uk/car-advice/classic-cars/ ). That legibility matters when your instincts are tuned by years of driving. The mechanics of the car become a medium for judgment rather than a collection of prompts demanding your attention.

There are practical reasons to push back on automation and feature inflation. Driver monitoring alerts and some active safety systems are sometimes perceived as erratic or annoying (https://www.consumerreports.org/cars/car-safety/many-drivers-turn-off-active-safety-systems-a9519086889/ ). Regulators are responding; discussions are under way about restoring tactile controls for core driving tasks because mechanical feedback reduces distraction (https://www.theguardian.com/business/2023/aug/15/eu-considers-requiring-physical-buttons-in-cars ).

These are not arguments against progress. They are reminders to balance new capabilities with the reality of human attention.

This is where the business analogue sits. Growth often looks like adding features, capabilities, integrations and metrics. It is measurable, and that makes it tempting. Value is different. Value is the product of fit. An expensive feature that solves a problem you do not have is cost without benefit. Worse, it can erode skills and habits you may later miss. When machines take over basic tasks, the human abilities that once supported those tasks can atrophy. That trade-off rarely appears in a product spec.

Growth without value is motion. The market will always sell the next upgrade. The wiser choice is to buy the thing that makes you better at what you already do, not just busier doing more.

Human needs are complex, but they move slowly. Competence, connection and the satisfaction of a clear task done well are not quarterly metrics. They are habitual. A feature promising to save time may actually fragment attention. A dashboard promising clarity may redistribute anxiety. The latest and greatest will always glitter. Sometimes the real luxury is the object that asks for effort and, as a result, returns presence.

So I keep driving older cars. They cost less to maintain. They let me feel the mechanics. They demand just enough of my attention to make me deliberate. That deliberation is itself a form of value. It is not nostalgia. It is a preference for systems that reward presence and skill, not systems that manufacture the appearance of capability.

If you are deciding what to buy, what to build or what to adopt at scale, try a short checklist before you commit. Ask whether the feature increases capability for the user, or whether it primarily increases complexity for the maker. Ask whether the benefit is immediate and observable, or long term and diffuse. Finally, ask what skills or practices the feature might replace, and whether you are ready to let those atrophy.