A Look at The Jaguar XJ | Sinlung
by sinlung
Jaguar's new British-built XJ flagship saloon is a rejuvenated, estimable contender to Germany's Audi, BMW and Mercedes.
By Erin Baker
Keen looks, control and security guaranteed

Upraise styling is as weird as the reside of the car
Magnificent uplands sets the all-new XJ not counting from its German rivals
Elle Macpherson at the XJ initiation at the Saatchi Veranda last summer
On a posh, rose-tinted evening last summer, a tail of shivering models in sequinned cocktail dresses and coolness dudes in marked suits snaked around the side of the über-hip Saatchi Veranda on Chelsea's Royal's Means.
Chauffeured saloons with concealment spyglass pulled up every five minutes to decant yet more leggy twentysomethings into the card waiting on the coned-off red rug, and paparazzi flashes bounced off Tom Ford sunglasses and Californian teeth.
Once names were checked on fluttering company lists, the file poured into the veranda's ginormous cadaverous spaces, which were crammed by 8pm.
Faces in the perfumed jam included Elle Macpherson, Matthew Williamson, Rosamund Pike, Jefferson Hackneyed, Sophie Ellis Bextor, Alex James, Poppy Delevigne, Portia Freeman, Rory Bremner and, er, David ''The Hoff'' Hasslehoff (it's all lawful, he's kidney of retro-chilled these era).
And somewhere in the push lurked a new car. Yes, readers, this enthralling conclusion was nothing more than a motor labour unveiling. Except motoring newspapers seemed to have been abducted and replaced by Hollywood tinsel.
So which marque now thinks schoolgirl, reputation and model are the way unashamed? Lamborghini, perhaps? Brazen Fiat? Urban MINI?
Nope. The retort is Jaguar, the Coventry cat, last trick of the cravat-wearing, moustache-sporting, cigar-puffing Pty Mr Big and serial golfer, who is only over 50 and has never heard of Elle Macwhatserface. That Jaguar.
Except that Jaguar no longer exists, for the car at the core of last summer's fete, the new XJ, marks the finishing-off of a acid turnaround by the discredit in the recent few years.
The move started with intriguer Ian Callum's immigrant from Aston Martin, followed by the simultaneous, punchy XK sports car, which made you admiration why banker boys shelled out unexpectedly for Aston's V8 Vantage.
Then we had the overpowering XF saloon, with its pulsating red starter knob, futuristic mellifluous cylindrical machinery selector that rose out of the nave assuage, funky iPod connectivity, ice obscene land-locked lighting and more combativeness on the route than any equal mustered by Audi or Mercedes.
And now we have the new XJ, being built at Palace Bromwich, purring on the start script like Jaguars of old, but with more svelte sedateness and position than anything that has carried the fasten before it. The German Big Three might as well giving ground across the Medium because there's never been a better senses to buy British.
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