Can you design an automotive icon? Cadillac, Dodge and Calty designers on creating cars that endure

What makes a car iconic? Is it something that can be deliberately designed, or does that status only emerge over time, shaped by cultural relevance, emotional attachment and the passage of generations?

It is a question that has become particularly pertinent as carmakers navigate electrification, reinterpret historic nameplates and seek to create vehicles that resonate with changing customer expectations.

At Car Design Dialogues Detroit 2026, Ian Cartabiano, president of Calty Design Research, Greg Howell, vice-president, Dodge exterior design and Tristan Murphy, director of Cadillac Interiors joined Car Design News to discuss icons, halo vehicles and their cultural impact.

Drawing on experiences ranging from the Lexus LC and Toyota Land Cruiser to the Dodge Charger Daytona and Cadillac Celestiq, the three designers offered different perspectives on what gives a car lasting significance.

Icons are made over time

"I think we all wish that we will design icons of the future," said Cartabiano. "But I think when you start the project, nobody starts out designing an icon."

Instead, he argued, iconic status develops through a vehicle's impact on its manufacturer, the wider industry and, perhaps most importantly, the people who experience it.

"Iconic design comes with time and appreciation and the impact that vehicle had on the marque, the brand, our whole industry."

There is also a distinction between creating a spectacular one-off and designing something that resonates with a much larger audience.

"If you design something that had an emotional impact for 100,000-plus customers, and 10 years, 20 years, 30 years later, people look back on it, 'Wow, that was really special.' I actually think that's more wow than creating a one-off halo vehicle."

The observation raises an interesting question about how the industry defines design success. Some of the most enduring automotive icons were neither particularly expensive nor technically extraordinary. Their cultural significance emerged through widespread use, familiarity and affection.

The challenge becomes more complicated, however, when designers are asked not to create something entirely new, but to reinvent something that already carries considerable emotional weight.

Reinventing heritage without resorting to retro

For Dodge's Greg Howell, that challenge was central to the development of the electric Charger Daytona.

The original 1968 Charger remains one of the brand's most recognisable designs, with its distinctive Coke-bottle proportions and concealed headlights. Naturally, the design team's first instinct was to revisit the original.

"We have a heritage centre where we can go and do that," Howell recalled. "And there we are, we're all around it and looking at the '68 and everything about it, the Coke bottle, the hidden headlights. It's so cool."

The temptation was to bring the original car directly into the studio as a reference. Management, however, encouraged a more abstract approach.

"We're not gonna try to go do something retro. We're doing something reminiscent," Howell explained.

The exercise involved reducing the original Charger to its essential visual characteristics: the silhouette, stance and a handful of defining lines. Those elements could then inform a contemporary design without becoming a literal reproduction.

The powertrain presented another complication. Introducing an electric version of such a beloved muscle car was always likely to generate debate, particularly among enthusiasts for whom the V8 engine was integral to the Charger's identity.

"It definitely created controversy," Howell acknowledged.

The objective was to produce something recognisably Dodge while accommodating the technical demands of electrification. Someone who grew up around a 1968 Charger should recognise its influence, while another customer might simply see a thoroughly modern muscle car.

Cartabiano described a similar philosophy at Calty, citing the latest Toyota Land Cruiser and its relationship with the FJ60, as well as the FJ Cruiser's interpretation of the FJ40.

"It's the feeling and the gesture and more what is the emotional feeling it creates," he said. "And we task the younger designers to take that feeling and apply it in a modern way."

The same thinking informed Calty's more recent Lexus concept work, which drew selectively on the LFA rather than reproducing its design language.

Cartabiano pointed to the LFA's distinctive C-pillar intake treatment and its three exhaust outlets, the latter reinterpreted as a lighting element.

"How do you abstract and distil a concept where somebody, if they really look at it, they can feel it and maybe not exactly point out what are the similarities?"

For designers working with established nameplates, the distinction is crucial. Heritage provides a rich source of inspiration, but copying the past risks preventing a brand from developing a contemporary identity.

Cadillac Celestiq: a halo car that changed the process

While Dodge and Calty described the challenge of interpreting existing icons, Cadillac's Celestiq offered a different perspective on the purpose of a halo vehicle.

Murphy, who was involved from the beginning of the Celestiq programme, explained that the electric flagship was conceived not simply as an expensive luxury car, but as a means of fundamentally changing how Cadillac approached design and manufacturing.

"You can be very intentional about this is going to be a halo, both internally and externally," he said.

With support from GM president Mark Reuss, the team pursued a return to the bespoke craftsmanship associated with Cadillac's historic luxury models.

"It was not about volume. It was about completely setting something apart from even the rest of the Cadillac brand."

Importantly, work on Celestiq began before Cadillac's wider electric portfolio, even though the flagship reached the market later.

The project forced the organisation to reconsider established development processes. Rather than building a vehicle around the conventional economics of high-volume manufacturing, the team had to accommodate extensive personalisation and extremely limited production.

"On a car like the Celestiq and, you know, these hand-built cars, piece cost meant nothing," Murphy explained.

Instead, tooling investment became a more significant consideration, opening opportunities for manufacturing methods that would have been difficult to justify on a conventional production programme.

One example involved the rear centre console, where packaging requirements created a problem for the interior team.

Murphy recalled suggesting that the entire structure could be 3D-printed in metal, eliminating the need for conventional plastic retainers and separate leather-wrapped surfaces.

"It just completely flipped everything on its head and changed the way that you had to think about designing the cabin in general."

The significance of such programmes extends beyond the finished vehicle. By allowing designers and engineers to work outside conventional constraints, halo cars can introduce new processes, materials and ideas that eventually influence the wider product portfolio.

Howell revealed that Dodge is pursuing a similar approach with an as-yet-unseen halo project.

"We consider something right now in the studio that's a halo and it's helping us," he said. "It's not been shown anywhere yet, but I think about it all the time and I see it affecting us every day, what we're doing for our other products."

Is commercial success necessary?

The conversation also explored whether a car needs to be commercially successful to become iconic.

Automotive history is full of vehicles whose cultural significance far exceeds their original market performance. Some became celebrated only years after production ended, while others achieved recognition despite disappointing sales.

For Murphy, the achievement of bringing an ambitious design into production can be more meaningful than the number of vehicles ultimately sold.

He suggested that concept cars, while often visually spectacular, do not necessarily carry the same weight as production vehicles that have survived the demands of engineering, manufacturing, safety and cost.

"That's where it really gets impressive," he said. "How did they do this? How did they get this done through in here?"

Murphy described the development process as an exercise in persistence, particularly as programmes approach production and cost or regulatory pressures intensify.

"If you don't stay in it and really just find those creative solutions, stay tight with the team, really engage cross-functionally to find those ways to make those last little things come together, it gets really easy for it to fall apart."

It was a sentiment shared by Howell, who noted that design education ultimately prepares students for much more than sketching attractive vehicles.

"It's getting you ready for dealing with the engineers, the packaging, the aero, the thermal, all of it," he said.

A new golden age for automotive design?

Despite the challenges facing the industry, the panel struck an optimistic note about the future of automotive design.

Cartabiano, reflecting on nearly three decades in the profession, said that the excitement of creating new vehicles had not diminished. "Honestly, right now, this is probably the best time ever to be an automotive designer," he said.

The growing variety of powertrains, advances in manufacturing and increasingly sophisticated digital tools have expanded the possibilities available to designers.

Howell agreed, noting that the industry's experience with electrification has helped overcome what was initially a steep learning curve. "It's just so cool, the new stuff and the ability to move fast and iterate," he said. "Yeah, it's a great time to be a car designer."

The optimism is notable at a time when artificial intelligence, compressed development cycles and mounting commercial pressures have raised questions about the future of the creative process.

Which cars will stand the test of time?

Asked which vehicles from their own careers might eventually achieve iconic status, each designer offered a personal example.

For Cartabiano, it was the Lexus LC, a project that began with an unusually straightforward brief. "Let's just make a beautiful coupe," he recalled being told. "That was the project brief."

The team developed the vehicle's proportions from scratch, guided by a philosophy Cartabiano summarised as "profile authentic, surface groundbreaking".

The production version remained remarkably faithful to the original concept, something Cartabiano credited to the determination of Akio Toyoda. Although the LC was not a major commercial success, Cartabiano suggested its reputation has grown considerably with time.

Howell selected the Chrysler Firepower concept, recalling how strongly he responded to Brian Nielander's exterior proposal and his determination to design its interior. "To this day, I think that's the most iconic thing I had done," he said.

For Murphy, two projects stood out: the interior of the mid-engined C8 Corvette and the Cadillac Celestiq. Both represented important moments in their respective brands' histories, but Murphy's reflections moved beyond their immediate design significance. "These cars, if we're lucky, these halos and these iconic cars, in 100 years now when they show up on concours at Pebble Beach or whatever it is here, we're way past dead and gone, nobody remembers your name, there's pieces of you that live on."

The decisions designers make, from a character line to a material selection or a particular colour, become part of the vehicle's history, he added: "They won't remember who or why, but those decisions on why you put that line in the body side, why you chose those materials, why that colour was chosen, all the battles we went through to make that real, that's pretty special." It was a fitting conclusion to a discussion that began by questioning whether an automotive icon can be designed at all. 

Designers can create the conditions for an icon to emerge, but whether a vehicle ultimately achieves that status is decided through the relationship it builds with the people who drive it, remember it and pass its story on to future generations.