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Why Audi RS Q3 Sportback is a Gym Fit Twink

gaycarboys - Alan Zurvas

With the good is always the bad, and at over $100,000, Audi’s chic little rocket is almost perfect. No matter what expensive engineering is glued into a car, its base roots are never far from reach.

Let’s start with the good

Audi is one of the very few design studios to have captured the intended elegance of a coupé in the style of an SUV. While some brands manage to create models that look bloated, Audi’s Q3 Sportback has a svelte silhouette defined by a roof that gently slopes to rest at a spot just above the tail lights. It looks gym fit, young, and handsome.

RS brands its models with subtle touches like butch body kits that look like they’re meant mow down an entire muster of lesser mortals. The outlandish 21” wheels should make the ride an abomination, but sophisticated adaptive suspension transforms bumpy tarmac into silky limo-esque wafts. There is an unexpected finesse that fixed rate damping simply couldn’t hope to provide, and as every hot-hatcher knows, any chance to twerk the rear end is worth the effort.

Video Review: Why Audi RS Q3 Sportback is a Gym Fit Twink

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ABOVE:

Why Audi RS Q3 Sportback 10 Year is a Sexy, Fast, Chic, Gym Fit Twink

The Cabin is like a beautifully tailored suit, with plastic buttons

While the design is superb, the tasteful look is let down buy the unwelcome plucking of tacky plakky bits from the parts bin. The doors, dash, and console have not been lavished with the attention they deserve. It ruins the utter perfection of the luxurious excess afforded by of lashings of soft touch, or does it?

The ambience is an intoxicating mix of speed and comfort, with the hard plastic carefully concealed outside of the common touch point arena.

Controls feel solid and sturdy, and even the DSG (s-tronic) selector has a quality fall-to-hand.

Seating, with its hex-stitched adornment and carbon fibre cocoon, may look like something from a teen gamer’s bedroom, but its vice-like grip in corners is comforting beyond measure. It may look a touch too much, but it is like Goldilocks’ porridge, just right.

Wireless CarPlay, and a plethora of other handy gadgets, are fettled through the touch screen in the centre. There may well be a full suite of techy goodness to warrant the hefty asking price, but it is the drive that is where a hot hatch is really at, no matter how many monies the pert punter paid.

The Drive is Bliss

Sparking up the feisty five-pot elicits the cacophony of its off-beat firing sequence. There is more than a hint of the original QUATTRO in the DNA of the RS Q3. Not only the glorious sound, but it is the wonderfully secure feel of 4-paw grasp that brings back a sense of rally-won pedigree earned by the dragon-slaying 1980 QUATTRO.

QUATTRO was created as an instant path to the top step of the rostrum, and RS Q3 is its successor.

Since then, every serious Audi has come with that very same quantification. QUATTRO is connected to the heart of the rasping 5-cylinder masterpiece by a 7-cog dual-clutch (DSG) automatic. Audi markets it as an S-Tronic, but a rose by any other name smells as sweet.

Drive-modes include an automatic option, but drivers might also manually select Dynamic or Comfort. The latter sooths savaged nerves by softening the suspension, musing the motor, and dulling the DSG. The effect is a Zen-like GT car that is gently rocketing its closeted passengers in luxury and style.

The push of a button changes to Dynamic, a mode that wakes Mr. Hyde.

Changes of direction are then cat-like, and the max acceleration of 4.5 seconds from 0-100 is urgent, yet caringly dangerous. Pushing firmly on the accelerator gets the redline approaching in no time flat, yet just as pistons are about the fly through the bonnet, the S-Tronic changes to the preselected gear. The revs plumet, only to rise again to a thrill not usually had standing up.

Our Journey

I took Nico to The Cottages, our bolt hole within the bucolic bliss of The Hunter. The compound of 5 repurposed worker’s residences is nestled in a dell cradled in the bosom of ancient vines. The grapes are in the sunset of viability, and it is almost time to denude the creepers once again. The leaves have started to brown, while others are still springing to life. While the climate is on spin cycle we get our pleasure where we can.

We perched on the edge the verandah, bathed in a balmy autumn evening. As we sipped a hedonistic Botrytis, threw back small wedges of local cheese, and soaked our tired tootsies in Foot Spas laced with lavender, the sun slipped beyond sight.

As calm descended, we reminisced.

Audi RS Q3 Sportback 10 Year is a name that is far too long, for a car that is way too good. It is a track car that is street smart. You can feel it move under you as you steer it through ever-tightening twists. RS Q3 Sportback transmits just enough through the seat of your pants to let you know its is in charge. It is light, sprinting from brake to brake without complaint, allowing it to turn as if connected directly to its driver’s brain.

Nico thought RS Q3 Sportback was “cute”. Nico thinks a twink, bursting through his gym wear, is cute. So, the Audi should feel deeply complimented.

Funnily enough, the only subject not to raise its unwelcome head was the much-maligned plastic. After a few hours in the saddle, plastic simply faded from consideration.

Gay drivers don’t need acres of space for sticky-fingered flotsam. Most of us have our beloved, and a couple of hangers-on to cart about, but we care about a badge. We say we don’t, but we do. No gay in the village would buy a Kia if they can afford an Audi, sorry Kia.

I have a feeling that once bitten by the beguiling RS Q3 Sportback, nothing less would do.

Conclusion:

There is far too much design and technology to shoe-horn into 1 story, so download the specifications HERE: Audi_RS_Q3_Specification_Guide_MY24_270923

Nico and I decided that were Audi RS Q3 Sportback 10 Year to come in human form, he would be a gym-fit twink. The muscled hunk would be assured but not arrogant. He’d not brag about being able to run a marathon while sipping a martini, but a glint in his eye would leave none in doubt as to what he really wanted to be doing.

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