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The all-American EV startup is cutting costs to survive.

America’s most interesting electric-vehicle company is about to have the defining year of its life.
On Wednesday, the company reported that it lost $1.58 billion in the fourth quarter of last year, bringing its net annual losses to $5.4 billion. It announced that it is laying off about 10% of its salaried employees, but — at the same time — promised that it has a plan to achieve a small profit by the end of this year.
Rivian does not seem to be in trouble — not quite yet, at least. But the earnings made clear what electric-vehicle observers have known for a long time: Either the company will emerge from this year poised to be a winner in the EV transition, or it will find itself up against the wall.
That’s partially because Rivian has a stomach-turning number of corporate milestones coming up. Over the next 11 months, it plans to unveil an entirely new line of vehicles, shut down its factory for several weeks for cost-saving upgrades, break ground on a new $5 billion facility in Georgia, and — most importantly — turn a profit for the first time. It also expects to manufacture and deliver roughly another 60,000 vehicles to customers.
Any one of these goals would be difficult to achieve in any environment. But Rivian is going to have to execute all of them during a time defined by “economic and geopolitical uncertainties” and especially high interest rates, its CEO R.J. Scaringe told investors on Wednesday. Since 2021, Rivian’s once robust stockpile of cash has been cut in half to about $7 billion; at its current burn rate, the company will run out of money in a little more than two years.
Although Rivian’s situation is dire, it’s not experiencing anything out of the ordinary. As I’ve written before, the electric truck maker is crossing what commentators sometimes call “the EV valley of death.” This is the challenging point in a company’s life cycle where it has developed a product and scaled it up to production — thereby raising its operating expenses to eye-watering levels — but where its revenue has not yet increased too.
During this vulnerable period, a company essentially burns through its cash on hand in the hope that more customers and serious revenue will soon show up. If those customers don’t arrive, then it either needs to raise more cash … or it runs out of money and goes bankrupt.
It’s a frightening time, but once a company crosses the valley of death, it can reach an idyll. Not so long ago, Tesla found itself in something like Rivian’s position as it prepared to launch the Model 3. Seven years later, it is the most valuable automaker in the world.
Once Rivian’s revenue exceeds its costs, its problems will get easier, or at least more straightforward: Instead of fighting for its survival and watching its cash reserves dwindle, Scaringe will be able to make more strategic trade-offs. Should the company cut costs to expand its profit margin and reward investors, or should it pass the savings along to customers in the form of lower prices, thus growing its market share? Scaringe can’t make these types of decisions until his firm is safely out of the valley.
Claire McDonough, Rivian’s chief financial officer and a former J.P. Morgan director, has a plan for crossing that canyon — an aptly if strangely named “bridge to profitability” that it will attempt to build this year. Rivian’s survival, she said, will depend above all on cutting the unit costs of producing its vehicles, including by using fewer materials to make every car. Other savings will come from making more vehicles faster. That’s what makes the shutdown plan, though it might seem extreme, worth it; McDonough said those improvements alone will get the company about 80% of the way to profitability.
Another 15% will come from marketing more “software-enabled products” to Rivian drivers and by selling air-pollution credits to other carmakers, whose vehicles are not as climate-friendly. This is a tried-and-true technique; Tesla first turned a profit in 2021 by selling regulatory credits needed to comply with federal and California state-level rules to other, dirtier automakers. But that same year, Tesla also debuted an entirely new vehicle: the Model Y crossover, which quickly became its top seller in the United States. Tesla, in other words, finally started to make money by cutting costs, finding new revenue sources, and releasing new products.
New products, however, are becoming a weak point for Rivian. The company says that high interest rates will keep demand for its vehicles flat this year. It expects to make about 60,000 of them, about 20,000 fewer than what it had once anticipated. The Rivian R1S, a three-row S.U.V., has become the company’s flagship; it is selling better and is cheaper to manufacture than Rivian’s pickup, the R1T. It also costs at least $75,000, or nearly $600 a month to lease. The highest-tier models can cost $99,000. Turns out, it’s difficult to sell a lot of $70,000 trucks when even the cheapest new-car loans hover around 6%.
Rivian once had a first-to-market advantage in the electric three-row SUV market, but that may be fizzling out, too. Kia is now selling its own all-electric three-row SUV, the EV9, for $18,000 less than the R1S; in fact, the Kia EV9’s most expensive trim costs $76,000, which is only slightly more than the cheapest R1S. The Kia SUV can also charge faster than the Rivian under ideal conditions. It remains an open question how many rich suburbanites are still interested in buying Rivians, especially now that the Tesla Cybertruck and Ford F-150 Lightning are competing directly with Rivian’s pickup truck.
The company’s hopes, in other words, rest on its next product line: the R2, which it will launch on March 7. We know almost nothing about the R2 line, except that it will probably include an SUV, that it will go on sale in 2026, and that it will fall somewhere in the $45,000 to $55,000 price range. (The median new car transaction in the United States now costs $48,200.) Last year, Scaringe told me that the R2’s timing was perfect because it would fit “beautifully with what we see as this big shift” in the American EV market. In today’s market, he said, “a lot of people ask themselves, Am I gonna get an electric car? Well maybe the next one.” He better hope they’ll start buying that next one in 2026.
Even if they do, Rivian may still have to confront the problem that Tesla has changed the EV market before Rivian could get there. When the first Tesla Model 3s were delivered in 2017, the sedan was instantly one of the best EVs on the market — because it was one of the only EVs on the market. Now every automaker in the world has plans to compete at the Model 3’s price point.
Rivian’s fortunes don’t rest entirely on American consumers; it also sells vans to commercial fleet operators, as well as delivery trucks to Amazon. (Amazon owns about 17% of Rivian.) But that business can be lumpy. Rivian’s vehicle growth slowed down last quarter, for instance, almost entirely because of a near pause in sales to Amazon, which sets up fewer new vehicles in the fourth quarter. If Amazon is willing to bail out Rivian, in other words, it’s not yet clear in the data.
None of this is to say that the company’s outlook is dire. Rivian was always going to find itself at a moment like this, when its expenses exceeded its revenue by such a large amount. The automaker already has devoted fans, and many people — myself included — are interested in the R2 as a potential first EV purchase.
And the company has shown that it can make strides in a single year. Twelve months ago, I had never seen a Rivian on the road before; today, one is regularly parked on my block. The company rocketed from a standing start to become the No. 5 best-selling electric car brand in America last year. What the company has done so far is impressive. But now it must prove that it can be great.
Editor's note: This story has been updated to correctly reflect Rivian's cash burn rate.
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On the long-time climate funder’s win-loss record, China’s clean energy manufacturing, and sunscreen.
Tom Steyer, the billionaire investor and climate activist, is probably not going to be California’s next governor.
While the Associated Press still hasn’t called the race (and votes are still being counted), outside observers such as Decision Desk HQ have projected the outcome. The likely winners of California’s top-two primary will be Xavier Becerra, a Democrat and former federal health secretary, and Steve Hilton, a British-born Republican and conservative commentator. They’ll face each other in the November election.
That means the country’s most ambitious state-level climate policy will probably wind up in Becerra’s hands. And Becerra, notably, has suggested he will look upon the state’s carbon-cutting goals more skeptically than California’s past two Democratic governors. He has committed neither to California’s goal of ending gas-powered vehicle sales by 2035, nor its goal of phasing out fossil fuels by 2045. And he has suggested the state has ignored affordability in its quest to cut carbon emissions.
“Can we make the 2045 goal? Sure would like to, but I’m not going to hang up our economy and families’ cost of living if we find that we’re not able to meet that goal,” he said in an interview earlier this year. His website lists “Energy and Utilities” but not climate change, as a top priority for his future administration, and adds for clarity: “Bill affordability will be at the center of my energy policy.”
All that will matter in the years to come. Yet the most significant immediate consequence — if Steyer does fail to make the run-off — might be for campaign finance. After Becerra (or an independent committee associated with him) accepted donations from Chevron and an oil and gas trade group, Steyer pounced. “Big Oil,” Steyer said, was betting on Becerra to dismantle California’s climate policy. Becerra retorted that he had sued oil companies as California’s attorney general. Then he kept Chevron’s money.
That was just one episode in a long and complicated race, of course. But ultimately, it’s not clear that voters in one of the country’s most liberal polities cared about the donation or Becerra’s less ambitious approach to climate policy — or perhaps Steyer, a billionaire himself, was not the most persuasive critic of money’s corrosive influence in politics. Either way, Becerra’s successful primary campaign may signal a more conciliatory approach to fossil fuels from Democrats, even those from coastal, progressive states. (Heatmap, I hasten to add, doesn’t accept advertising or any other kind of sponsorship from oil and gas companies.)
What’s more cut and dried is that Steyer has donated an awe-inspiring amount of money to climate, environmental, and other progressive causes over the past 17 years, and now has little to show for it. It’s worth doing a brief tally: He spent $216 million on this run for governor, including more than $195 million on ads. He dropped another $342 million to run for president in 2020. Neither effort succeeded (assuming projections hold).
Then there’s the $90 million he spent on the Trump impeachment effort during the president’s first term, as well as the $58.5 million he gave to the NextGen Climate political action committee for the 2018 cycle. Steyer, in fact, helped found the NextGen Climate organization in 2013; he later gave it and a few other groups $74 million to turn out young voters on climate issues in the 2014 midterm, then donated at least another $25 million in 2016. His political spending from 2009 to 2017 came to $365.6 million, according to his own disclosures.
All in all, Steyer has spent roughly a billion dollars since 2009 to advance causes and issues that he cares about — as well as his own political career. Climate has been one of the biggest beneficiaries of this largesse.
And it hasn’t quite all been a wash. Steyer has seemingly had the most success doing what he knows best: for-profit investment. Galvanize, the climate-aware asset manager he co-founded in 2022 and co-chaired until last year, has closed at least $1 billion in funds, and raised $370 million as recently as March. And even as a political donor, Steyer has pulled off big wins when intervening in California’s referendum elections. He was the biggest donor to the “No on Prop 23” campaign in 2010, which successfully protected the state’s climate policy from a Koch brothers-funded effort to defang it. And he was the biggest single contributor to last year’s Prop 50 referendum, which allowed the state to join the Trump-initiated mid-decade redistricting war.
But it isn’t exactly an inspiring record. I would say Steyer is the New York Knicks of political giving, except the Knicks are good now. While Steyer’s money paid the rent for many climate activists, organizers, and wonks over the years — and played some role in creating the political moment that produced the Inflation Reduction Act — it hasn’t created the kind of durable majority for climate action that he may have once hoped. Perhaps that should invite some introspection: Has the effort to produce a pro-climate-action consensus failed despite its billionaire backers? Or because of them?
What has long perplexed me about Steyer is that even though he has spent much of his time as a candidate embracing the left — and allying himself with the Democratic Party’s various interest groups — he strikes a far more moderate tone in conversation. As he told me during a Heatmap event at last year’s San Francisco Climate Week, “No one’s going to adopt new technologies to be nice. They’re going to adopt new technologies because they’re better, because they’re a better deal, because they’re cheaper, or in some ways solve a pain point for the customer.” In that sense, at least, he believed the market could work. Whether a similar market exists for political donors is perhaps best left unanswered.
The Iran war — and the energy crisis it ignited — have been a gift to China’s clean energy manufacturing sector.
But they have also helped America’s oil and gas industry. A new round of government statistics, released today, show that America’s crude oil, petroleum product, and fuel oil exports surged by more than $8.7 billion in April. That helped push down the government’s volatile trade deficit to its lowest level in months. The Trump administration has sought to lower the trade deficit since taking office.
Incidentally, a tracker from researchers at Brown University estimates that Americans have paid an extra $56 billion for gasoline and diesel since the Iran war began.
It’s not exactly climate adaptation, but I’ll take it: The U.S. Food and Drug Administration has amended the list of ingredients allowed in American sunscreen for the first time in 20 years, permitting the use of a stable and broad-spectrum chemical long permitted in European and Asian sunscreens.
The move by University of Pennsylvania researcher Danny Cullenward intensifies a debate over integrity at the carbon accounting organization.
A well-known scientist has resigned from the independent oversight board of the Greenhouse Gas Protocol, renewing questions about the integrity of one of the world’s most important arbiters of carbon emissions standards.
Danny Cullenward, who is also an economist and lawyer, notified the organization’s leadership on Monday that he no longer has “any confidence in the Protocol’s governance structure,” according to his resignation letter, which he posted publicly. He had previously tried to sound alarms about the organization and its lack of transparency in a paper he published in April.
Cullenward’s resignation letter goes a step further, accusing the Protocol of covering up an internal complaint he and a fellow board member filed, and of handing the reins of at least one of the organization’s standards to “a secret, industry-dominated drafting process.”
The Greenhouse Gas Protocol declined to comment on Cullenward’s resignation or answer questions about his account of events leading up to it.
The Protocol launched in the late 1990s as a joint project of the World Resources Institute, an environmental group, and the World Business Council for Sustainable Development, an industry association. Today it is the world’s leading standard-setter for corporate carbon accounting. More than 22,000 businesses rely on its methodologies to calculate and report their emissions. While adhering to the Protocol’s standards is still mostly voluntary, it will soon become a requirement under European Union and California disclosure rules.
Cullenward’s accusations arrive in the middle of a major revamp at the organization that began in 2022, designed specifically to improve the integrity of its corporate accounting standards. As part of the overhaul, it also put in place a new governance structure to improve transparency and accountability. Technical working groups made up of external experts would develop proposals to revise the standards to more accurately capture companies’ full carbon footprints, and then an Independent Standards Board would review and ultimately approve them. The Protocol appointed Cullenward to the independent board as one of its inaugural members in September 2024.
Cullenward’s reasons for leaving, as described in his letter, center around the development of a forest accounting standard to be used by companies that manage forests or have wood in their supply chains. The technical working group assigned to develop the standard could not reach a consensus, and ultimately submitted two competing proposals to the Board. Members associated with landowner groups and the forest products industry authored one of them, while the group’s research scientists primarily wrote the other.
According to Cullenward’s letter, as well as memos written by the academic scientists in the working group reviewed by Heatmap, the industry proposal, known as the “managed land proxy” method, would enable companies to claim they were removing carbon from the atmosphere when they cut down trees or used virgin wood. “This is the opposite of what physically happens when a forest is cut down,” Cullenward writes.
The method produces this counterintuitive result by allowing companies to take credit for all the carbon sucked up by the forests they manage, or in some cases by all the forests in a region, even if the company had no part in boosting that sequestration. If companies were to apply this accounting method to their products, Cullenward adds, not only would making virgin paper appear to involve zero carbon emissions, it would also apparently help to restore the climate. It would also look much more advantageous to the climate than producing recycled paper.
His concern is not just with this proposal, but also with how the Protocol handled a complaint filed by a proponent for the managed land proxy approach that challenged the scientists’ expertise. In response, the organization quietly solicited opinions from additional outside scientists on the two proposals.
Cullenward’s letter asserts that this was a decision made solely by the board’s chair, Alexander Bassen, alongside Protocol staff and without the rest of the board’s input. He writes that when these external comments were later shared with him and his fellow board members, the authors were “presented as neutral arbiters of a contested scientific debate,” even though they had been specifically referenced in the complaint as supporters of the managed land proxy approach.
Cullenward says he tried to “pursue internal accountability” but faced retaliation. In February he and another board member, an Australian forest ecologist named Heather Keith, filed an official complaint. The Protocol enlisted an outside mediator to resolve their dispute, but Cullenward says the hired adjudicator failed even to read the full complaint before meeting with him. The mediator also did not review any of the recordings of key board meetings referenced in the complaint, and was barred from speaking to technical working group scientists.
Cullenward and Keith eventually received a response to their complaint from the mediator but were told they could not share it, and the matter was deemed closed. According to a spokesperson for the Greenhouse Gas Protocol, who reached out to me with an update on the matter in late May, an independent review found “some process shortcomings” but “no material breach” of the organization’s rules or of due process. They added that “recommendations to address process shortcomings and strengthen conflict resolution are being reviewed and implemented.”
I reached out to Keith, who told me in an email that she was “deeply concerned about Danny’s resignation.” She praised his “wide-ranging expertise” in carbon accounting, law, and governance, and his “extensive contributions” to the board’s discussions. “One of the most valuable assets in a Board member is his demonstrated independence in making judgements that is based on a sound knowledge of climate science,” she wrote. The board “should be encouraging more people with Danny’s expertise and motivation for climate action to benefit the global community, not losing such valuable people.”
Cullenward’s primary concern moving forward is a new partnership between the Greenhouse Gas Protocol and the International Organization for Standardization, which establishes technical specifications for a range of industries and purposes, to unify their emissions accounting rules. The two groups’ first joint undertaking is to develop a standard for assigning emissions to specific products, which will include forest carbon accounting.
While the Greenhouse Gas Protocol has publicly listed the members it assigned to the joint working group, the ISO is under no obligation to do so. Cullenward asserts in his letter that the new joint groups “operate with confidential membership that is heavily tilted in favor of industry interests.” He says a representative from the World Business Council for Sustainable Development told him that the group may draw on an existing ISO standard based on the managed land proxy approach.
Meanwhile, over a year after the corporate forest accounting technical working group submitted its proposals, the Independent Standards Board is now contemplating kicking off a seven-month public comment period on the recommendations, Cullenward writes. He concludes that this elongated comment period is just for show, and that the issues “have already been delegated” to the joint working group with the ISO.
I asked the Greenhouse Gas Protocol how it planned to ensure “transparency and accountability for its stakeholders,” as it has previously promised, when the membership and meeting minutes of the joint ISO working groups are not disclosed to the public. I also asked, for the second time, whether the organization plans to publish meeting minutes from Independent Standards Board meetings — a requirement under the board’s governing rules that it has not followed. The Protocol declined to answer.
The U.S. electric vehicle maker’s make-or-break model, the R2, is finally here — and it’s pretty fun to drive.
The attainable Rivian is here, and not a moment too soon.
It’s been nearly a decade since the U.S.-based startup revealed its prestige R1T pickup truck and R1S SUV, earning plenty of “the next Tesla” hype and becoming lots of people’s favorite electric car brand. But with those R1 vehicles starting around $70,000 — and with nicer versions hitting six digits — lots of would-be drivers have been waiting for R2, the scaled-down vehicle first announced in 2024 and meant to take Rivian to the masses.
Now the moment has arrived: On Tuesday, Rivian began shipping the first version of the R2. I had the privilege of test-driving the vehicle that will make or break the brand last week on the highways and mountain roads outside Park City, Utah. If my experience is any indication, R2 is up to the job of making Rivian mainstream.
“A word we used really heavily throughout the development of R1 was … inviting,” CEO and founder RJ Scaringe said to the journalists at last week’s event. “We use that in the sense of inviting people to use it, inviting people to get it dirty, inviting people to have new experiences and new adventures in it. But by virtue of it being a flagship product, its price wasn't as inviting as we wanted. And so R2 really in many ways is the culmination of the full brand promise.”
First, the facts: R2 looks at first glance like a smooshed version of Rivian’s big SUV, with the same signature headlights and basic shape. It’s a little shorter, a little narrower, and 2,000 pounds lighter than its big cousin, seating five people as opposed to the seven that can cram into R1S. Range from the 88-kilowatt-hour battery is in the high 200 miles and tops 330 miles for some editions.
The stat that matters most is price. The first R2s out of the gate will cost around $58,000, and gradually less expensive tiers will arrive later this year and into next, culminating in the $45,000 base version at a yet-to-be-determined date. No, an EV around 50-grand doesn’t sound like a car for the common man. But as Scaringe noted, that is now the average price for a new car in America, which certainly makes R2 attainable for millions more drivers.
It’s also a lot of car for that money. Thanks to its boxiness, R2 feels like it has loads of room on the inside. Because of an improved battery shape, there’s actually more legroom for the rear passengers compared to R1. Double gloveboxes and a pretty big frunk add to the available storage space. (Rivian even fixed a pet peeve of R1 owners who couldn’t fit their monstrous water bottles in a convenient spot.)
Yet R2 doesn’t drive big. It rides high and offers the driver a wide view, but it’s not a tank like R1, which I found difficult to park in compact spaces like the one at my home. Its 5,000-pound weight is still a lot of heft (a Tesla Model Y is more like 4,000 to 4,400 pounds), but the car still feels zippy. The mass is simply overwhelmed by electric power, especially in the higher-end versions Rivian let us drive in Utah.
As the engineers on site noted, developing the R2 was mostly an exercise in subtraction — not just shrinking the physical size from the R1, but also making R2 cheaper to build by removing miles of wiring (something the brand visualized at the event by showing off bundles of copper in the style of a rubber band ball, representing all that had been cleaved). But R2 needed its own bells and whistles so it would feel desirable on its own and not appear to be merely a discount Rivian.
Those additions include rear windows that go all the way down, unlike the halfway that’s common in most passenger cars; the rear windshield descends, too. A fun button up front marked with a “5” will lower all four passenger windows plus the back windshield at once. In response to complaints about every function running through the center touchscreen, Rivian put in some buttons — or, rather, some wheels. On each side of the steering wheel, reachable by a person’s thumbs, are haptic “halo” buttons that can be pushed side to side or spun. These are not at all the subtle, slight wheels you’d find a Tesla, but rather beefy spinners meant to feel rugged and easy to manipulate.
During testing, I struggled with how hard to push them and in what direction to enter the desired mode that could then be adjusted by spinning the wheel, be it climate, music, drive mode, or the positioning of the side mirrors. But something tells me Rivian will refine the haptic feedback as R2 owners put miles on their vehicles. And even complicated or layered menus become second nature once it’s your own car.
Many of these vehicles will never go off-road, but Rivian still had to prove the R2’s backcountry bona fides. This is the adventure EV brand, after all, and part of the pitch for R2 is how much more it can do than a Tesla Model Y or Chevy Equinox EV. Keen to prove the point, Rivian swapped us halfway through the test drive into R2s with their tire pressure halved to make them mountain-ready, then directed us onto the rutty, boulder-pitted roads of Wasatch Mountain State Park to wade through water crossings and up to the top of a plateau. Here the touchscreen becomes an adventurer’s dream, displaying the vehicle’s moment-by-moment elevation, pitch, compass direction, and much more. Tap into the camera system and it can bring up the close-up view of what’s right in front of the vehicle and shows both front wheels to help navigate around pointy rocks and cavernous ruts.
R2 never wavered or felt as if it had taken on too much. It has all the capability you’d need as a trail warrior, and more than enough for the affluent professional who yearns to become outdoorsy. After so many decades when the world’s truly rugged vehicles were also low-mile-per-gallon polluters, it feels like a breakthrough just getting this much can-do spirit out of an electric car.
More salient for the urban dweller is Rivian’s big push into autonomous driving. As we noted in December after the brand’s AI and Autonomy Day, R2 is the company’s big play in that race: It vastly ups the amount of road open to Rivian’s hand-free autonomous driving feature works, raising it to about 3.5 million miles in the U.S. The company also told us that by the end of the year it would introduce point-to-point service, where the vehicle really can drive itself for the duration of a trip, with more autonomous features potentially on the way. During the test drive, the hands-free tech felt steady and assured on twisty local roads.
Rivian has a long way to go here, given Tesla’s major head start in developing vehicle autonomy. One big asset it does have is the thousands of drivers who’ve bought R1s and who opted to share their driving data with the company, helping it build a dataset that maps and models the world. The less expensive R2 should get many more people into a Rivian vehicle and accelerate that learning curve. That, plus the eventual addition of a LIDAR sensor to some models, will allow that kind of full autonomy that R2 will use when it goes into service as an Uber robotaxi following the ride-sharing company’s $1.2 billion investment earlier this year.
It’s difficult to overstate the importance of this vehicle for Rivian, or for the electrification of the American car. For the brand, this must be its Model 3 moment, where it leaps from a niche brand selling luxe status symbols to one that builds a huge number of EVs — and in the process hopefully becomes financially stable after years in the startup “valley of death,” between promise and profitability. Billion-dollar investments from the likes of Volkswagen and Amazon buoyed Rivian during those years; now R2 has to deliver on them.
As for the U.S. EV market as a whole? It also needs the R2. New EV sales are sagging in America, even amid gasoline price shocks caused by the Iran War. A $50,000 Rivian isn’t exactly the solution to the auto industry’s affordability crisis, but Scaringe argued that U.S. buyers also lack great choices. The industry leaders — Tesla’s Model 3 and Model Y — have been on the market since 2018 and 2020, respectively, with subtle tweaks and update since then. New offerings from legacy carmakers like Chevy and Toyota are a welcome change. Still, they feel like a Chevy or Toyota that’s been electrified, not like a vehicle built from the ground up to deliver on the promise of what a great EV can be.
Yet even now, the learnings from the EV startup world that led to R2 — dramatically simplified manufacturing to bring down costs, advanced touchscreen infotainment with elegant interfaces, EVs built fully integrated from the ground up rather than adapted from existing gas cars — are already influencing the rest of the industry. Just look at what Ford’s skunkworks operation is up to as the Detroit giant tries to catch up in the EV race starting next year. A successful R2 would push the car industry further in this direction.
R2 succeeds in bringing the feeling of a lusted-after EV to the five-seat, fully capable SUV, which has become the de facto family car of this country. And for all of Rivian’s focus on catching up in the AI and autonomy race, R2 still feels like a car you’re supposed to love to drive yourself, whether that’s to work, to grandma’s, or to the top of a mountain. It is, indeed, inviting. With Tesla having publicly abdicated its role of building great EVs for humans to drive, Rivian is now primed to seize the position.