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On a bright and beautiful California afternoon a Mercedes-Benz representative stands outside the Shade Hotel, a quaint boutique inn nestled near the heart of Manhattan Beach, gushing enthusiastically about his new automotive progeny: Around the car a group of lifestyle journalists mill about, half listening, rubbing eyes fatigued from disparate time zones — flown in from the UK, Germany, Hong Kong, Russia, Venice Beach and everywhere in between.
Just then, there is a high-pitched squeal. Up the street runs a young woman in Ray-Bans, straw fedora, short shorts and Ugg boots, camera in hand. Russian journalists stand dumbfounded as this Hollywood-casted representative of SoCal breeziness some might say air-headedness proceeds to ducklip, smile and bounce, and then gleefully and gratefully bound into a Range Rover that pulls around to pick her up.
Like a thirty second Urban Outfitters tornado, here and gone. Merc reps stand speechless. All the Powerpoint presentations and beautifully edited video spots could not explain to these gathered scribes what this single girl did in one iPhone-wielding assault: Which is saying something, given it resides in what is one of the most asexual, staid body types in the automotive kingdom.
The crossover segment may be red hot in sales, but hardly in the smiting department — consider the segment includes such loin-warming stunners as the Honda CR-V, Subaru Forester, Nissan Rogue and Kia Sorento. Still, those are all cars you can send your girlfriend out in without worry; no one will be looking twice. Benz, however, does a lot with what it has.
Its sheet metal is crisp, highlighted by power domes on the hood and integrated roof racks. Bi-Xenon headlamps, daytime running lights and sculpted, jewel-like tail lights are standard.