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Dear Tesla, I Thought We Agreed To Be Exclusive

A few weeks ago, my husband and I made a big decision. Not entirely against my will (but almost), we bought a Tesla Model Y. No, I’m not the biggest Tesla fan. Yes, there are plenty of other EVs I’d prefer. But my husband has recently become a Tesla fanboy (no, we’re not getting divorced), and I wanted an EV. So we did what they tell you to do in the healthy relationship handbook–we compromised.

Now, a month or so later, Ford, GM, and most recently, Rivian all announced partnerships to use Tesla supercharging stations, and I’m not going to lie, I’m pissed. Here are a few damn good reasons why:


My Model Y isn’t pretty. My Model Y isn’t that fun to drive. Sure, it’s fast off the line, and the interface is fantastic, but as someone who test drives many EVs, I agreed to the Tesla brand mainly because of the charging network.

One of the things I like: The uber-accurate sensors.

We do a lot of driving up to the Bay Area, Mammoth, and Tahoe. From first-hand experience, I know that the Tesla charging stations are the only reliable ones between LA and SF at this time. Sure, it’s packed with the Teslarati and is one big Musk circle jerk, but if it keeps me fueled up, I don’t mind cozying up with the fanboys. But now, will I have to wait in line behind twelve F-150 Lightnings AND listen to guys talk about their stock portfolio? I can’t take that because…


When I agreed to this relationship, I thought I knew what I was getting into. I knew I’d get the looks and the snarls (I’m an avid Tesla snarler myself). I knew I was selling a piece of my soul. I knew that it would remove up to 80% of what I love about driving. But I’ve got two kids to get through college and a mortgage, so I thought I was making a wise financial decision.

Tesla supercharger
Princess is more excited about our new car than I am.

But now? Now I find out that half of the reasons I justified this joy-evaporating exercise are gone. Over. Done with. Now, I’ve got to share with you all kinds of other electric vehicles. Gross. God knows what I’ll catch in the process.


As a new Tesla owner, I can tell you that I’ve spent more time waiting for a public charger than actually charging. Of course, this sure beats the terrible act of driving around looking for an operable charger, which is what happens with the other charging network. But I’ve had to tap the windshield of some Millenial playing video games, I’ve flashed my lights at the lady doing her makeup, and done an emphatic “Yo!” at the guy with the noise canceling headphones watching YouTube–because all of these people were simply hanging out after their vehicle was finished at the supercharger. Tesla superchargers are crowded, and there’s no etiquette police as they are now, so what’s that gonna look like once all the Hummers roll in? Lord!


As I said, driving the Model Y isn’t extraordinary. It doesn’t handle as beautifully as my Volvo C40 Recharge.


It doesn’t float above the Earth like the Lucid Air. And it doesn’t have the personality of the Hyundai IONIQ5. Don’t get me started on the Polestar. So why are we still in a relationship, Tesla? Well, plenty of this had to do with the supercharging network. But because I mainly charge up at home, I won’t get too fussed about it. But when I’m stuck in Barstow waiting in line at the Tesla supercharger station and see a Taycan blow by, I know I’ll feel the buyer’s remorse even stronger than I do today. So here’s what I need from you:


I put aside all of my biases. I shelved my scorn for the Self Driving nonsense. I blocked out how Elon is running Twitter. I did this and coughed up my hard-earned cash to support you. To be clear, I think it’s great that Tesla will share its charging network because although it’s crowded, it’s still the best we’ve got as a nation. Hands down. So I’m cool if we’re no longer exclusive. But since you didn’t ask for my consent or opinion or even warn me that this was possible when I purchased it, I’m expecting something fabulous. Like a VIP Tesla supercharger pass, early-adopter access, or at least some compensation. Sending me a T-shirt isn’t going to butter my biscuit.

But I’m willing to man up and accept this because, well, I don’t have much of a choice. All I’m asking of you is what I asked of my husband, a compromise. It’s the human thing to do.

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