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Only somebody like Elon Musk could have built Tesla. Now he could destroy it.

Tesla suffered yet another media black eye this week, when Reuters reported that the automaker had built deliberately false range estimates into its electric vehicles. According to the article, under the personal direction of CEO Elon Musk, the range estimation was rigged to exaggerate how far it could go, only triggering more realistic numbers when it got below 50 percent so the car could make it to a charging station. Then when that triggered mass repair requests from customers who thought their cars were broken, the company allegedly set up a “Diversion Team” to automatically close them out as quickly as possible.
This kind of thing is just par for the course for Tesla. Hyperbole, exaggeration, spin, and occasional outright dishonesty were how Musk built the company into a major force in the auto industry. But now his brand of careening irresponsibility is a threat to the company’s future.
Some good background on Tesla’s condition can be found in Ludicrous, an excellent book by automotive journalist Edward Neidermeyer, published back in 2019. He argues convincingly that Tesla’s initial success was precisely because Elon Musk is hilariously unsuited to the auto manufacturing industry. Building cars is an exceptionally challenging business, because of the huge capital requirements, strict safety regulations, and resulting low unit margins.
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Automakers also have to predict both what customers might like to buy several years in advance and predict how many sales they might make of each model, meaning heavy capital risk. And as the industry has evolved — particularly under competition from Japanese manufacturers — customers have come to expect extremely high quality and reliability even from cheaper mass-market vehicles, making success even more difficult.
In short, efficiency, standardization, and consistency are the name of the auto game. As Neidermeyer writes: “Successful automakers are giant, process-driven bureaucracies that rely on rigidly systematized cultures to manage a continent-spanning ballet of manufacturing operations, supply chains, service infrastructure, and regulatory compliance.”
Needless to say, Tesla was not anything like this. It came out of the freewheeling culture of Silicon Valley, with its motto of “move fast and break things,” its dogmatic ideology that every other institution in society but the tech industry is riddled with inefficiency and incompetence, and its belief that any problem can be solved by genius innovators hacking together solutions on the fly.
Musk viewed the stodgy, hyper-bureaucratic auto industry procedures with contempt, and assumed he could do better and cheaper with some good old Silicon Valley magic. He made wild-eyed promises, instructed his team to build factories that would move far faster than the deliberate pace at a traditional factory, and set impossible targets. As a result, Tesla consistently failed to meet its production goals, consistently struggled with factory operations, and suffered consistent quality problems. While Teslas are sleek and fancy-looking, customers have regularly complained of poor body panel alignment, leaks, rattles or other noises, bad service experiences, poor reliability, and other problems.
But Musk is — or was, at least — an hype man. He made grandiose promises about upcoming products and features — often shading into flagrant dishonesty, as shown in the range story above or the time when he oversaw a staged video of Tesla’s Autopilot feature. At the same time, he viciously attacked critics, often singling out journalists by name or even threatening to sue them, stifling much criticism. All this inspired a fervent cult of personality, heroic effort from key workers (though also high employee turnover), and a large cult-like community of investors who boost Tesla’s stock.
Musk also got lucky. He had the advantage that electric drive trains are dramatically simpler than internal-combustion ones, with far fewer parts and far less maintenance required, and also produce maximum torque at idle for breathtaking acceleration. He also got a large, low-interest loan from the federal government under the Obama administration, plus numerous other state and federal subsidies for producing zero-emission cars.
All this allowed Musk to keep raising money and selling stock to fund a consistently unprofitable business for years. His Silicon Valley-brained approach was terrible for actual factory production, but it helped him create a legend. And this really does seem to be the only way you could have built a mass market electric car startup. Realistic promises, careful engineering, and truthful marketing would have run headlong into the nearly impossible economics of the business. Nissan found this out when its Leaf project, in which it invested heavily, failed to live up to expectations, because it was a boringly useful appliance without any utopian dreams attached.
The problem for Tesla was that propaganda is not a sustainable business model. To keep the hype train going, Musk had to keep making more and more fantastical promises, and eventually his credibility started to erode. Meanwhile, the rest of the auto industry got into the EV game, including established fancy brands who took direct aim at Tesla’s aging luxury sedan and SUV models.
Neidermeyer thus predicted that Tesla would eventually stumble into bankruptcy, like every other major car startup since the 1920s. And this wasn’t an implausible idea at the time. Up through mid-2019, the company had posted a quarterly profit on just three occasions in its entire existence.
But a funny thing has happened since then. Starting in 2020, and accelerating through 2022, Tesla has posted consistent large profits, reaching a peak of $3.7 billion in the last quarter of 2022. There are two obvious explanations. The first is the subsidies in the Inflation Reduction Act. Tesla had previously run through its allotment of federal tax credits for its cars, but the law restored them for many of its models, boosting demand. The IRA also has a large subsidy for battery production, which granted the company between $150-250 million in the second quarter of this year.
The second explanation is that Musk is now spending most of his time running Twitter into the ground instead of fiddling with Tesla’s factories and models. As The Wall Street Journal reported back in May, Tesla’s Chief Financial Officer Zach Kirkhorn is now de facto running the company in Musk’s stead. By all accounts, Kirkhorn is exactly the kind of cool-headed, logical, spotlight-averse type of executive the company badly needs. Under his guidance over the last couple years Tesla seems to have focused on the boring nitty-gritty details of factory production, ironed out most of its production kinks, and is now delivering consistent numbers of vehicles. The company’s brand, meanwhile, remains strong enough that a critical mass of customers automatically turn to Tesla when considering an EV, despite it not releasing a new consumer model for the last three years.
Perhaps Musk’s Twitter purchase will be Tesla’s salvation. He’s already lost tens of billions of dollars on the deal, and his increasingly erratic antics on the platform have torched most of what remained of his reputation as a genius innovator. Most recently, he tweeted that he had reinstated the account of a QAnon conspiracy theorist who was banned for, in Musk’s words, “posting child exploitation pictures.” That’s an excuse for the Tesla board to give him the boot if ever there was one.
As a business, Tesla needed Musk’s megalomania and cult of personality to get off the ground. But now he is an existential threat. He remains CEO, and he’s gotten markedly more unhinged since spending hours and hours per day bantering online with antisemitic trolls. He could take back control at any time, demanding disruptive new changes to its factories or promising a new car that will, I dunno, fly into space. (The upcoming new Roadster — which Musk promised in 2017 to be delivered in 2020 and hasn’t been seen since — is supposed to have a package including “cold gas thrusters” from SpaceX.)
If Tesla wants to survive over the long term, it’s time for the adults to take charge.
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The EV maker appears to be poised to start construction on its second factory.
Rivian’s stock fell 18% on Monday, but it’s hard to imagine the company’s executives are too upset. Why? Because the automaker seems to be on the verge of starting work on its long-awaited second factory, 45 miles east of downtown Atlanta.
Let’s do some reading between the lines. Rivian has had a great few weeks. The EV maker announced last week that it is on track to sell about 3,000 more cars this year than expected, and its stock has been on a tear, rising more than 37% from close on June 25 to close on Monday.
The company’s CEO, RJ Scaringe, evidently decided it was time to capitalize on the run-up. The company announced on Monday evening that it would offer another 75 million shares of its stock this week, diluting existing investors. That raise would be used to fund “general corporate purposes,” according to a federal filing, including “the funding of certain equity contributions” related to an Energy Department loan.
Back in April, the company came to new terms with the Department of Energy’s in-house bank over a nearly $6.6 billion loan to build its new Georgia factory, which is supposed to manufacture the company’s new line of cheaper R2 SUV and R3 crossovers. That federal loan — initially negotiated in the Biden administration’s final days — was downsized to $4.5 billion under the new Trump-era terms, but also rewritten to let the automaker draw more money from the deal faster. (Rivian is already making the R2 at its existing factory in Normal, Illinois, but the Georgia factory should have about 40% more capacity than that plant.)
As part of any Energy Department loan — as in any project finance transaction — borrowers have to hold a certain amount of cash in escrow and reserve accounts to secure against a deal failing. Now Rivian can fund that money without tapping its cash on hand further. The new share offering is supposed to price this evening, suggesting that despite today’s slide, the company could raise more than $1 billion from the sale. Rivian’s stock is now trading roughly where it stood a month ago.
The upshot of all of this: With the loan secured, serious building efforts could finally start soon on the automaker’s second factory. (The automaker technically broke ground in September, but has yet to begin meaningful construction.)
“We’re setting up to go vertical in the second half of this year (a.k.a. steel sticking out of the ground) but we have said previously that we expect to draw on the loan for the first time by early 2027,” Peebles Squire, a Rivian spokesman, told me in an email. “Factory timeline is production of vehicles to begin in late 2028.”
(Energy Department loans work on a reimbursement basis, so the automaker will need to begin spending on the factory before it can claim the money.)
Though Rivian is among the most successful of the U.S. electric vehicle startups, it wasn’t completely clear after President Trump took office whether the automaker would survive its trek through the valley of death. It’s still not certain, of course. But positive reviews for the R2, a $6 billion deal with Volkswagen, and its significant Sun Belt factory nearing construction all augur well for the country’s most famous EV startup not run by Elon Musk.
“It’s got nothing to do with technology. It’s nothing to do with execution capability. It’s purely due to access to capital.”
Ever since Trump reentered the White House, Europe has been a safe haven for U.S. climate tech companies fleeing an increasingly hostile policy environment. Through strong carbon pricing and stable regulations, the bloc has created demand for still-experimental technologies such as green hydrogen, thermal energy storage, low-carbon building materials, and sustainable fuels.
And yet at the same time, Europe has struggled to finance many of its own climate tech startups as they enter the capital-intensive scale-up phase. What gives?
The problem is not a lack of startups or capital. European firms raised $61 billion for climate-focused funds last year, far outpacing those in the U.S., which brought in $37 billion, according to Sightline Climate. The problem is that almost all of that European money flows to infrastructure and private equity investors backing more mature technologies. Early-stage startups also enjoy relatively strong backing, but the market starves the growth-stage middle.
The issue is both cultural and structural: Most of the bloc’s investors are unaccustomed to making the high-risk, high-reward bets required to scale climate tech. They also often can’t access tools like loan and equity guarantees, which remain limited in Europe, nor are there the institutional limited partners and growth-stage co-investors that could help de-risk those investments.
“It’s got nothing to do with technology. It’s nothing to do with execution capability. It’s purely due to access to capital,” Craig Douglas, a founding partner at the Berlin-based multi-stage venture firm World Fund, told me. That means companies that have outgrown early-stage financing but are still considered too small or too risky for larger institutional investors often either shutter or seek capital abroad. Logically, if given the chance, most startups choose the latter.
“You’re allowing U.S. investors to cherry pick European assets,” Douglas told me. The result? “European technologies and European companies that are successful end up enriching American pension funds rather than European pension funds.”
Ioannis Ioannou, an associate professor of strategy and entrepreneurship at the London Business School, told me that the consequences extend beyond the purely financial, emphasizing that Europe runs a strategic risk by relying on foreign capital for its climate tech scale-up. “It means you lose the supply chains. You lose the skills. You lose the fine manufacturing capabilities. You lose the so-called green jobs.”
Douglas and the other specialists in European climate finance I spoke with emphasized that the ever-ominous “missing middle” funding gap is particularly pronounced in Europe. A report Douglas co-authored earlier this year, aptly titled “The Series B Funding Gap In European Climate Tech,” quantifies the problem. While 25% of U.S. climate tech companies that raised a seed round from 2010 to 2020 had moved on to secure a Series B by the first half of last year — regardless of what country the capital came from — only 15% of European companies were able to do the same. That has created a growing backlog of startups stuck in a financing limbo: The lineup of European companies looking to raise a Series B grew from 220 in 2020 to 533 in the first half of last year.
While smaller climate tech funds in Europe and the U.S. have raised similar amounts of funding for early-stage startups — $18.5 billion in Europe versus $20.2 billion in the U.S. from 2020 through the first half of 2025 — the gap at the larger end of the market is stark. The U.S closed 29 funds of at least $500 million or more, compared with just 11 in Europe. These larger funds are the ones capable of writing the $25 million to $100 million checks companies desperately need to commercialize and scale. As Douglas’ report notes, fewer than 20% of European climate funds are pursuing a growth strategy, with over 70% making early-stage investments only.
“When we raised World Fund One, we were the largest [debut] climate fund in Europe, and we’re a €300 million fund. That’s nuts,” Douglas told me. World Fund aims to help companies “reach growth-investor readiness” by supporting startups from their seed through Series B, a model Douglas would like to see replicated throughout the region. “We need another 20 World Funds out there in the market to start filling this capital shortfall,” he told me. The firm announced last February that it’s raising a second, €500 million fund, but that’s yet to close.
One of the primary reasons European growth-stage investors have less capital to deploy comes down to the structure of European financial markets, which remain heavily reliant on bank lending rather than higher-risk equity investments. As a result, institutional investors like pension funds, insurers, and endowments never built the habit of investing in venture capital, which shows up when comparing the LP bases across the two regions: In the U.S., about 72% of VC funding comes from private institutional investors, compared with just 30% in Europe. Public money, much of it from the European Investment Fund, helps bridge the gap, but it simply cannot match the scale of private institutions.
Pension funds are a telling case. They’re among the largest sources of venture capital in the U.S., allocating nearly 2% of their assets to VC. But in the EU, they allot just 0.018% — roughly 100 times less. And because the U.S. also has far more money sitting in pension funds than Europe does, this makes the gap in actual dollars reaching startups wider still. Without that deep pool of institutional funding, Europe struggles to support the $500 million- to $1 billion-plus funds that would have the wherewithal to lead growth-stage rounds.
The result is a self-reinforcing cycle. Large growth funds require large institutional backers, but precisely because European pension funds and other institutional investors haven’t stepped up, the venture market remains too small to absorb the kinds of $100 million-plus commitments pension investors managing billions of dollars typically want to make. “They don’t see [venture] as an asset class that they can invest in,” Douglas told me. “But the reason that it doesn’t exist is because they’re not investing themselves in that asset class.”
If there’s one thing I learned from my reporting, it’s that white these problems run deep, Europe is hardly standing still. Policymakers and investors are well aware of the disconnect and are now experimenting with strategies to close the scale-up gap and affirm the region’s position as a leader in climate innovation.
To attract more institutional investment, for example, a growing number of initiatives aim to create “funds of funds” and other government-backed structures that pool money from pension funds, insurers, banks, foundations, and other large investors. The fund-of-funds structure lets an institution make a single, large commitment; then, intermediary asset managers break that capital into smaller chunks and invest it across multiple venture funds. This gives large-ticket investors the scale and diversification they want without requiring them to conduct due diligence on dozens of small venture funds; venture managers, in turn, gain access to much larger pools of capital.
Germany’s Wachstumsfonds Deutschland, for example, is a €1 billion fund-of-funds backed by more than 20 investors — including insurers, pension funds, and large family offices — that invests across the German and broader European VC ecosystem, with a focus on growth-stage capital. The EU’s European Tech Champions Initiative follows a similar model. The European Investment Bank and six member-states launched the initiative in 2023 with €3.9 billion to back regional growth-stage VC funds. Now it’s raising a second tranche of money — targeting €15 billion — and is bringing in private institutional capital for the first time.
Europe’s member states have also pushed institutional investors toward coordinated capital commitments in recent years, with France’s Tibi initiative serving as the model. Launched in 2019, it tasks the French government with vetting venture and growth funds, with those that qualify becoming eligible for backing from initiative’s signatories, primarily insurers and some pension funds. The program has attracted about €31 billion in commitments to date. Germany adopted a similar approach with its WIN initiative, which has now secured €12 billion in pledges from more than 30 major corporations — including Deutsche Bank, BlackRock, and Henkel — to invest in the country’s venture ecosystem by 2030.
The Irish Venture Capital Association has proposed a similar model, while Tibi’s founder — the economist Philippe Tibi himself — has been on a tour essentially pitching the idea across the bloc. But Ioannou isn’t convinced that creating country-specific Tibi-style commitments is the most efficient way for the region to scale climate tech.
“I’m not sure that fragmentation will actually solve the problem,” he told me. “Maybe it will be better if all that capital came into one larger fund, whereby the scale-ups wouldn’t have to deal with country level fragmentation, regulations, jurisdictions, legal, and all that kind of stuff.”
That’s the idea behind the new €5 billion pan-EU Scaleup Europe Fund, which is designed to invest directly in European deep-tech startups — climate tech very much included — rather than through venture funds. Announced last year, the fund has already secured roughly €2.5 billion in capital commitments from both the European Commission and private institutional investors, with a second fundraising round planned for the second half of this year. EQT, Europe’s largest private-markets investor, will manage the funds, ultimately deciding which growth-stage companies to back.
“Everything happened so quickly, from agreeing to it to executing on it to allocating it,” Douglas told me. “In effect, it happened in less than a year, which in the European context is crazy.”
The idea is to replicate what the combination of U.S. federal support and deep private capital markets has accomplished, Dimitri Colin, a policy officer at the cleantech policy and advocacy group Cleantech for Europe, told me. “The whole idea is to bring what worked in the U.S. into European public financing policies,” he said. Colin extolled the virtues of the Biden-era Loan Programs Office, as well as the efficacy of other Inflation Reduction Act-fueled efforts such as generous production tax credits when it comes to derisking investment in first-of-a-kind tech.
In our interview as well as in a recent report, Colin argued that EU funding should move from prioritizing grants to loan and equity guarantees in its forthcoming budget for the years 2028 through 2034. That’s because guarantees have proven far more effective than government grants at bringing private investors into climate tech, Colin told me. According to his report, every euro of grants or equity capital channeled through the VC arm of the European Innovation Council yields about €3 in additional investment. That’s nothing to scoff at, but it pales in comparison with InvestEU, the bloc’s €26.2 billion investment guarantee program. Every euro of guarantees from the latter attracts nearly €14.80 in private follow-on capital.
“The main idea behind the whole budget should be to focus on the leverage effect,” Colin told me, referring to how much additional private funding government backing generates. “How can the little public money that we have in Europe — because the fiscal environment is, of course, very constrained — more easily mobilize private money? That’s what the LPO did well.”
Colin also wants to change the EU’s public funding rules to make it easier to subsidize ongoing operational expenses for early-stage cleantech facilities, similar in effect to U.S. production tax credits. Currently, European policymakers often structure public support for these projects as capex grants paid out after construction is complete. This type of support is more difficult for private investors to underwrite since it doesn’t directly improve the plant’s ongoing operating economics, one of the risks investors care about most.
Getting these financing structures right is a matter of life or death for many of Europe’s most promising climate tech industries. Douglas points to batteries, critical minerals, semiconductors, and green molecules as sectors with the technological readiness to scale domestically — but not yet the capital. “One of the major risks in every sector we know is who’s going to be there, who’s going to be able to go with us on that journey to make sure the company has the capital to be successful,” he told me. Still, he sees reason for optimism. Because if there’s one thing that can be said about the E.U. at this moment, it’s that “they’re definitely taking it seriously.”
“The perfect solution doesn’t exist,” Colin told me. “We need to align the funding models, we need public de-risking tools, but we need also a true industrial strategy, China has done that, the US has done that with the IRA,” he explained. Now it’s Europe’s turn.
Not going to lie, I didn’t see this coming.
Tesla just finished its strongest showing in years. In the second quarter of 2026, the company sold about 480,000 vehicles around the world — well over stock market projections of about 400,000 EVs. Tesla’s sales mark a full 25% year-over-year increase from the second quarter of last year.
If you’re surprised by this news, you’re not alone. Sales of Elon Musk’s EVs had been trending downward over the past few years following a series of self-inflicted wounds. The Cybertruck was a bomb. Tesla appeared to be interested only in building the self-driving cars and autonomous robots of the future, not the electric vehicles of today. Musk’s associations with President Trump and off-putting online politics alienated potential customers everywhere.
Yet here we are. So what happened?
European gas prices, for one thing. Tesla sales actually continued to fall in the U.S., where the electric car market as a whole still hasn’t recovered from tariffs confusion, the loss of federal subsidies, and other chaotic conditions over the past year. Tesla’s rally came instead from China and, interestingly, Europe: Registrations rose 39% in Denmark, 56% in Sweden, and 43% in Portugal and Italy.
It wasn’t so long ago that Musk’s politics had reportedly cratered interest in his cars in those countries. But European gas prices, which are typically much higher than those in the U.S., have also soared because of oil shocks related to the Iran War. EV interest, then, is up — so high that lots of buyers are willing to look past the personality of Tesla’s chief. (It doesn’t hurt that Tesla introduced less-expensive versions of both Model 3 and Model Y, with remarkably cheap leases and loans, to Europe this year to help overcome its struggles there.)
In China, meanwhile, Tesla has had something else up its sleeve to buoy sales. We’ve repeatedly noted the contraction of the company’s EV lineup: With the failure of the Cybertruck as well as the outright cancellation of the older and slow-selling Model S and Model X — the electric cars that pushed Tesla into the mainstream in the 2010s — the brand gets nearly all of its sales (more than 97% in Q2) from just two cars, the Model 3 sedan and Model Y crossover. And there are no signs it has an all-new mass-market car coming soon.
Instead, Tesla cobbled one together by making a new version of an existing car. In China, Musk has been selling the Model Y L, a version of his crossover with its platform stretched out by 6 inches to cram in an extra row of seats. (Tesla has offered a seven-seat version of its ordinary Model Y, but the two little seats in the back had just 25 inches of legroom compared to the 31 inches in this new version.) As a three-row SUV, the longer Model Y lets Tesla compete in a space that it vacated when it killed off the giant, expensive, gullwing-doored Model X. And as of last week, Model Y L is available in the U.S. Tesla hopes the vehicle can lead to a reversal of its sinking fortunes here, where its EV sales shrank by 20% in the second quarter.
Truthfully, the car is a bit of a kluge. Rear seats often require a compromise on comfort and space. In the case of the Model Y L, Jalopnik notes that even with the 6 inches added to the wheelbase, Tesla’s signature sloping roof doesn’t leave much headroom for the occupants of the way-back. Boxier EVs that were built to be three rows to begin with, like the Hyundai Ioniq 9, Kia EV9, and Rivian R1S, are more pleasant for the fifth and sixth passengers. Nevertheless, those who wanted a bigger Tesla at a starting price of around $60,000 can now get one, and that counts.
Model Y L is also a testament to the power of the platform. Yes, building a new vehicle from the ground up would have provided Tesla with a better all-around vehicle than what it got by hacking the Model Y. But the modified Model Y was much faster and cheaper to deliver, providing an entry into a popular segment of the car market just at the moment Tesla needed to right the ship.
Doing more with less, like creating a three-row EV on the platform of your two-row car, looks primed to become a big part of the future of electric vehicles. That’s particularly true when it comes to growing adoption in America, where legacy automakers and startups alike are trying to simplify manufacturing to bring down costs. The solution to get to market for a company like Honda was simply to borrow General Motors’ EV platform and build its first EV on top of it. Rivian has said it has no plans to sell a pickup truck on its new R2 platform the way it has with its original vehicle, but it absolutely could — and arguably should — if market conditions suddenly made such an EV pickup a hot item.