His and Hers

The new BMW 3-series coupe could put marriage counsellors out of a job. It has a "his and hers" driver's seat, writes Alastair Sloane.

Like most carmakers, BMW New Zealand polls its customers to find out if they are happy or grumpy. The responses are logged and sent to head office in Munich, where they are compared with those from other countries.

Typical questions include: Would you buy another BMW? Are you happy with the company's service?

Swiss owners are deliriously happy and would buy a BMW again and again and again.

New Zealand owners are the second-happiest, more tickled pink with their cars than the third-placed Germans, or American, Australian and British owners.

But where BMW here tops the international poll is in "service satisfaction." Simply, BMW New Zealand looks after its customers better than any other BMW outlet in the world. That's what the customers say, anyway.

This makes managing director Geoff Fletcher and marketing boss Mark Gilbert very happy indeed. So, no doubt, will the next poll, the one asking owners of the new 3-Series coupe if they are happy with the "his and hers" driver's seat.

There is nothing in the blurb about the new model - stunning, perhaps the best-looking BMW of them all - to say why the carmaker came up with the customised electronic function. It says how it works, sure enough, but not why it introduced it.

Perhaps the company asked one-car couples in Germany what most irritated them about sharing a car. The answer would be accepted internationally: the driver's seat.

She would say: "It drives me crazy. Why can't he put the seat back where he found it?" He would counter: "I break my kneecaps on the steering wheel after she's used it."

The his and hers seat is a serious social invention. Marriage counsellors and divorce lawyers might trek to BMW's door in protest.

But wait, as they say in the telemarketing ads, there's more. The his and hers function doesn't just apply to the driver's seat. No, he or she can dial in the air-conditioning temperature or the radio station. He might like the interior at 19 degrees; she might like it hotter. He might like listening to classic hits; she might like talkback.

How does it all work? He and she can each get a remote control key. He programmes the car's computer to set the driver's seat this way, the air-conditioning that way and the radio every which way. The information is downloaded electronically into the key. She sets it to suit herself.

He parks the car in the garage, locks it with the remote and goes inside to watch the footie. She tells him she's going to her mum's and to get his feet off the couch. She unlocks the coupe with her remote and, Bob's your uncle, the driver's seat assumes a new position, the air-conditioning warms up a tad, and radio callers say their piece.

All this and the coupe too will cost between $79,000 and $103,000, depending on specification and choice of six-cylinder engine, either the 2.5-litre 323Ci or 2.8-litre 328Ci, both with more oomph than the law will allow.

The coupe, like many cars for that matter, looks much nicer in the flesh than in photographs. It sits squatter than its predecessor, is longer, wider and not as high overall. It has a delightfully menacing look about it.

It comes with up-to-the-minute safety systems, too, airbags galore and brakes and devices that keep the careless driver on the straight and narrow and help to prevent him from going backwards through a hedge.

The one downside to the customised coupe is speculative: if she's driving and he's in the passenger seat, he mightn't like her choice of temperature or music. Same goes if he's at the wheel.

Perhaps the marriage counsellors won't have to give up their day jobs after all.