1980mm vs 1870mm

On the way home from work, an SUV came from the opposite direction in the narrow alley. I hugged the right side, my side mirror less than three finger-widths from the wall. The other driver did the same, leaving a gap barely wide enough for a fist between us. We both stopped. We rolled down our windows, glanced at each other, and he shifted into reverse first, backing up to the trash bins at the end of the alley.

As I inched forward, the front‑right parking sensor kept beeping continuously. The rear wheel rolled over a manhole cover, the car jolted, and I brought it to a stop with the body almost flush against the curb. I killed the engine, pulled the handbrake, and squeezed out sideways through the door gap, brushing dust off my jacket against the wall. I looked back—the rim was still two finger-widths from the curb, but the driver's door wouldn't even open to its second detent.

This is a typical evening in my complex's underground garage.

Lately I've been browsing new energy vehicles. I open the spec sheets: the width column jumps from 1850 to 1920, then to 1980. Song PLUS: 1890. Xpeng G6: 1920. Zeekr 001: 1999. The numbers keep climbing. My parking space, however, is 1870mm wide—clear width, measured with a tape. That means after I park, there's barely a fist of room on both sides combined. Doors won't open. I can't get out.

The more I look, the more frustrated I get. It's not that I can't afford them—it's that I can't park them.

Why are new energy vehicles getting wider and wider?

First, the battery. A pure‑electric platform lays the battery pack flat under the floor. The car can't be too low, or you risk scraping the pack; it can't be too long, or the turning radius becomes unmanageable. The only dimension left to expand is width. Make the car wider, and you can spread the battery horizontally while keeping a low, aerodynamic profile. This isn't an aesthetic choice—it's a math problem.

Second, safety. Side‑impact crash regulations are getting stricter. The sill beams need to be thicker, the door reinforcement bars stronger—all of which eat into width. To make a 1.7‑metre‑wide body meet today's five‑star safety standards actually costs more, because you'd need a much higher proportion of high‑strength steel.

Third, and simplest: wide equals big, big equals premium, premium equals profit. With the same platform, stretching the width by 10 centimetres gives the car a much more imposing presence, and you can bump the price up by 20,000 yuan. Automakers have no reason not to do it.

Add these three factors together, and the result is that there are almost no 1.7‑metre‑class family EVs on the market.

I went through the spec sheets.

Wuling Bingo: 1708mm. Narrow enough, but the rear seats barely fit two adults, and the boot won't take a stroller.

BYD Dolphin: 1770mm. Great rear space, decent range, but it's a hair over the 1.7‑metre class. It fits if the parking lift has a 1850mm limit, but it's iffy if the limit is 1800mm.

Volkswagen ID.3: 1778mm. Excellent ride quality, spacious rear, but same issue—almost 8cm wider than the 1.7‑metre class.

Going up from there: Ora Good Cat 1825, Baojun Cloud 1810, Qin PLUS 1837, Aion Y 1870, Song PLUS 1890.

What you want—under 1760mm, decent rear seating, 400+ km range—falls right into a gap. Either you go narrow and compromise space, or you go wide and can't fit into your parking spot.

Some might say: back when you drove a 1.7‑metre‑wide petrol car, it was because that's all you could afford. Now that you can afford a 1.9‑metre one, you're just not used to it.

That's partly true, but not entirely. It's not that I couldn't afford wider. It's that everyone was this wide.

In 2005, a Toyota Corolla was 1705mm wide. In 2010, a Volkswagen Lavida was 1743mm. In 2015, a Nissan Sylphy was 1760mm. In those days, mainstream family sedans naturally fell into the 1.7‑metre class. Not because people didn't like wider cars, but because the platforms, cost constraints, and fuel economy standards back then didn't allow cars to be much wider.

In other words, it wasn't "couldn't afford wider"—it was "everyone was this wide."

Now it's different. In the EV era, platforms can be stretched, batteries can be spread, and prices can be pushed higher. So the automakers chose to go wide. That's not consumer‑driven upgrading—it's supply‑side voting with their feet.

But what about demand?

China has over 400 million cars, and at least 100 million of them live in neighbourhoods built before 2000. The painted lines for parking spaces in those areas are standardised at 2.2 to 2.3 metres, but the lines themselves take up space, so the actual clear width is typically between 1.85 and 1.9 metres. Parking lifts are even stricter—many older ones limit width to 1.8 metres, with newer ones relaxing to 1.85 metres.

That means a 1.9‑metre‑wide car, once parked, can barely open its doors past the first detent. Anything over 1.95 metres simply won't fit in a mechanical lift.

This isn't a niche issue. This is the physical constraint of hundreds of millions of parking spaces, the reality for tens of millions of old‑neighbourhood residents. They're just quiet—they don't shout, or if they do, their voices never reach the product managers' ears.

Automakers are chasing the incremental market. New developments have 2.4‑metre spaces, new parking lifts are designed for 1.9‑metre‑wide cars, and the primary new‑car buyers live in the suburbs and new towns. Old‑neighbourhood owners have longer replacement cycles, tighter budgets, and don't fit the core user profile. So they're abandoned.

But there have been recent signs of change.

The Ministry of Industry and Information Technology is encouraging high‑quality A0‑class EVs. The micro‑car market is shrinking, which suggests a lot of people are tired of "too small and too bare‑bones," but they also don't want "too big and too hard to park." This sandwiched demand is taking shape.

Between 2025 and 2026, a few models are coming: the Volkswagen ID.2, with width targeted around 1780mm; the Geely Xingyuan, whose filings show 1745mm; and the next‑gen BYD Dolphin, also trending toward a narrower body with a longer wheelbase. Together, they might form a new segment.

But until they arrive, if you need to change cars now, you have only three options:

First, take a tape measure and measure your parking space. If the clear width is above 1900mm, the Dolphin and the ID.3 can both fit—you'll be able to open the doors one or two notches, fine for daily use. Don't be scared by "1770"—it's only 27mm wider than the old Lavida, about two finger‑widths.

Second, if the clear width is below 1850mm, you'll have to wait, or try a different approach: rent a fixed surface space instead of using the lift. Surface spaces have wider painted lines and more manoeuvring room.

Third, accept some compromises. The Wuling Bingo's space is adequate for singles or couples; if you just need a commuter, the 400‑km range version is already out. It's not the perfect family car, but it will park.

I closed the spec pages, took the tape measure, and went down to the garage again. I re‑measured the tightest point—1870mm. There was a Dolphin parked in the garage. I stood next to it and estimated: with the mirrors folded, the widest part of the body was roughly 1750mm. Add a little clearance on each side, and it would fit.

Then I jotted down three numbers in my phone's notes: 1708, 1770, 1778. And a line below: Wait for the Xingyuan launch, take a test drive.

I put the phone away and went back upstairs. In the lift, my neighbour was holding a bag of tangerines and asked if I wanted a couple. I said no, thanks. Then I remembered: this time last year, I was driving my old car, 1740mm wide, and when I parked in that same spot, I had a fist of space on each side. I didn't think much of it then. Looking back now, that fist's worth of clearance is what determines whether I change cars.

Tomorrow I'll go test‑drive the Dolphin. I'll bring the tape measure.