But as soon as I sat in it, my impressions started changing a little. On the outside, the Spyder is a proper exercise in sporty styling, from every angle except head-on. From the side, you have your upward-sweeping beltline that gives the impression of movement while standing still, and those very sharp-looking 18 inchers. From the back you’ve got your dual exhaust tips, chrome-lipped trunk spoiler and clear headlamps, with “Eclipse” written 1970s Porsche 911-style in big chrome letters across the length of the rump. And from the front, you have a guppy fish.

Seriously, I’m not sure what the designers were thinking when they designed the front-end, which seems like the reverse of what a front end should look like. Instead of coming to a nice taper that looks like it will slice through the air like a knife does hot-butter, the headlights are so spread apart and the grille so wide that it looks like the lines are diverging instead of converging. Meanwhile, the hood from the top of the grille to the windshield just looks too flat. It really is too bad because I really, really like the look of the car, and find it to be a quantum leap over the last generation Eclipse , what with its mess of side-strakes and oddly-shaped headlights.

Even with the top up, the car looks purposeful, and doesn’t suffer from the enlarged rear-end (when compared to its coupe sibling) that so many other coupe-to-convertible conversion exercises do. But drive around with the top up for long enough, and you’ll begin to understand why the back-up cam that appears on the left-hand side of the rear-view mirror is a necessity; the view out back and over the shoulder with the top up is…”lacking”, to put it nicely. I’m honest when I say that I was a little nervous changing lanes at times, what with the potential for an unlucky motorcycle rider or 18-wheeler driver potentially being in the huge blind spots created by the top. Not to mention the low headroom and slightly claustrophobic feelings caused by such a low roof.