Fiat didn’t actually invent the Topolino. They didn’t. Carlos Tavares, former CEO of Stellantis, basically told them to slap the Fiat badge on the Citroën Ami and call it a day. Standard corporate lazy day. François, however, said no. Not really. He insisted on bespoke styling. So the Topolino arrived. It looks nothing like a generic badge-engineered clone.
It wears a retro mask. Round headlights out front. Vertical lamps in the back. It belongs to the 500 family now. Spiritually, if not mechanically. Under the skin, it’s the same quadricycle as the Ami. Same dimensions. 2535mm long. 1400 wide. It weighs 487kg. You could lift it with effort. And probably regret it.
Cost cutting measures are visible if you look closely. The plastic side panels are symmetrical. Which means one door opens normally. The driver’s side door swings backwards like a coffin lid. Suicide doors. Cool in theory. Dangerous if you’re not paying attention.
It is not a car. It is an L6 quadricycle. Two seats only. An 8bhp motor. A tiny 5.5kWh battery. It hits a top speed of 28mph in about 10 seconds. The WLTP range claims 46 miles. Don’t believe it. The real number is lower. Much lower.
In the UK you get left-hand drive. Only left-hand. You get a two-pin plug that works in Europe but confuses locals. There’s a CCS adaptor for fast chargers, but it barely registers at 2.3kW. Four hours for a full charge. Sit down. Have a coffee. Read a book. Wait.
Interior? Think ‘Storage Container’
The outside got love. The inside got neglected. It sits there like a bare minimum compliance exercise. Seats? Functional. Uncomfortable. Just padding and hope. They are offset too. The driver sits further forward for elbow room. The passenger is glued to the back panel. Legroom is vast. Until you try to store groceries. The footwell doubles as cargo space. And nothing fits.
Controls are sparse. A key starts it. No screen. There’s a phone mount though. You’ll need it. The heater works? Maybe. It sounds like a jet engine taking off at full blast. The heat comes later, if at all. No rear-view mirror. Side mirrors are manual adjusters that break if you touch them wrong. Windows don’t roll down. The bottom halves fold up instead. Drafty? Yes.
There are two nice things though. A handheld battery fan that mounts on the dash. Essential in Rome summer. And a “Dolce Vita box.” It’s a fabric pocket across the dashboard. A glovebox for people who have no patience for plastic.
The motor whines. The ride jostles. But the steering? Positive. Tight. You want to corner immediately.
Driving a Toy Grown Too Big
Short trips? It shines. The instant electric torque helps mask the 8bhp deficit. It zips. It feels faster than 20mph. In traffic? It is invisible. You weave between cars like a ghost. Narrow streets eat it up. It disappears.
But step out onto the main road? Terror. You are trapped at 28mph. SUVs rumble past like freight trains. The wind noise is deafening. You feel naked. Vulnerable. It’s not refinement. It’s survival mode.
The ride is harsh. The short wheelbase turns every pothole into an event. You will know the texture of every road surface. Your teeth will rattle.
Price in the UK is £8,995. That is £1,300 more than the Ami. Why? Color.
Verde Vita light blue or Corallo orange. Those are limited edition colors. Technically body panels not paint. Doesn’t matter. You are paying for the look.
Italy gets more. Sport versions. Fabric roofs. Black interiors aimed at kids. We don’t. Just two trims that look the same inside.
Should You Buy One?
In Rome it makes sense. Traffic is chaos. Parking is nonexistent. The Topolino solves that.
In the UK? The logic collapses. You need a full driving license to operate it. No teens allowed. So who is this for? Adults who can afford a Dacia Spring for similar money. A Spring is a real car. Safer. Faster. Better insulated.
The Ami costs less. Looks nearly identical.
Is it a mobility solution? Debatable. Range is limited. Comfort is nil. Speed is pathetic.
But is it fun? Absolutely. It captures a feeling. Sun-drenched towns. Lazy afternoons. The illusion of Italian life. It is not rational. It is emotional.
You don’t buy a Topolino because you have to. You buy it because you want to feel something. Even if that feeling is just the wind hitting your face at a crawl.
