I like the seating position. It's not slung way down low like in a true sports car, but then it's far from the upright position of my Jetta. Having the shift knob up at chest level is something interesting to get used to, but it becomes second nature quickly.

Road noise is very well isolated. Very quiet cabin, and the ergonomics of the controls are excellent (not at all unlike my Jetta, truth be told—same shapes to the knobs and buttons, to a large degree). There's cavernous space in the console, and two power outlets in the cabin (one in the console, one on the dash). Visibility out the back and sides is quite good—lots of glass, no pillar obstruction problems. Power adjustable seats seem to be standard.

The steering is outstanding. It's not twitchy, and in fact is a little on the heavy side, but the turning circle is jaw-dropping—the salesman had me drive into a cul-de-sac just so I could try doing a U-turn. I started in the middle of the street, didn't approach a single curb, and ended up in exactly the same spot where I started, pointing the other direction. It was surreal.

Nice engine note, and the clutch is easygoing (though the V8-based GT would surely have different characteristics). Pedal placement is nice, and I had no trouble getting used to the various pickup ranges, and no bad shifts throughout the whole drive. Very easy car to get used to, for being in a completely different class from everything else I've ever driven (except for that F355, I guess, with which it shares more of a conceptual template than with my Jetta—though it's still a far cry).

And, of course, the styling is super-sweet.

Well, I know this is just the V6 car we're talking about, but still—the power it provides is just not exciting at all. Further research indicates that while yes, it does have 210 horsepower, they're all going into pushing over 3400 pounds of car—whereas my Jetta, with 174 hp, only has about 2800 pounds of weight to deal with. The upshot is that the 0-60 times of the two cars are comparable, and quite frankly I think the Jetta has more low-end torque. I felt like the Jetta would kick its ass quite handily off the line. Even then, at highway speeds it seemed like the pedal was more of a volume control than an accelerator—lots of noise and vibration, but mostly signifying nothing.

The whole car has a thick, mushy feel to it—like having a mouthful of dentist's cotton. The steering, while precise, is anything but "crisp"; the steering wheel is larger than I'm used to and you have to turn it some distance before anything significant happens. The engine noise isolation, while it keeps the cabin quiet, also means you feel like someone is shouting at you from another room when you're accelerating—whereas in the Jetta, it's simply silent at idle (at least, under normal circumstances), and you hear it clearly but quietly as it revs up. The Mustang's note is faraway and muffled. Maybe that's just because the engine is so far away.

Similarly, the shift knob feels plasticky and flimsy, and the action is vague and insincere. You can't feel any notches or gates—you just mash it in what you hope is the right direction, and it tends to engage, but you feel like there's a wad of paper in the shift lever boot that someone forgot to take out. The knob itself is lightweight... too lightweight. It wobbles around. It has no heft to it. I hate to keep comparing it to the Jetta, but the shift knob was one of the things that reawakened my appreciation for the Jetta when I got back into it afterwards: its knob is firm, hefty, round, with a lacquery legend badge that always somehow makes you feel like you're sitting in a brand-new car. And its action is firm, positive, precise—the Mustang's just isn't in the same ballpark at all. (One might suggest that this is because the Mustang's is a remote linkage for the first time, whereas beforehand it had been connected directly to the gearbox; but, well, the Jetta's is a remote linkage too.)

Now let's talk about those gauges. Look nice, don't they? Well, that's because this photo was taken at night. The entire time I was test-driving the car, I had not the slightest idea what speed I was going. Why? Because the sun, glaring on the bottom lip of the instrument binnacle and the side of the steering column, shone an opaque reflection against the face of the speedometer, so that I could not for the life of me see where the hell the needle was. I was driving entirely by feel. It's hard enough that those "vintage" numbers are seemingly made as deliberately hard as possible to distinguish from each other—surely no professional font designer had a hand in designing these gauge labels, now or in the cars of yesteryear to which this is an homage—but when I can't even see where the needle is pointing, because it's unlit and dark red against black behind a bright plasticky reflection, the entire speedometer is essentially rendered useless. Besides which, those four little gauges in the middle, while they look nice and crisp in this photo, are actually recessed about six inches into the dashboard, and can't be read at all under the contrasty sunlight all around that dank black pit. Bad, bad design, guys. Take it back to the drawing board. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if people get speeding tickets or crash because of being misled by these gauges, and Ford has to issue a recall.