I wonder how this car would have fared with a conventional rear end solution. Or an ergonomically sound interior. Or headlamps that didn’t implore, “Won’t you be my friend?”  We’ll never know.  Still, despite all its flaws, the Milano (also sold as the 75 in Europe) managed an impressive seven year run.

Proportionally speaking, the Milano is a home run. Its striking wedge shape instantly sets it apart from BMWs and the like. It’s only when you get down to the details that the quirkiness takes hold – and not in a good way. This will forever be known as the Alfa that was hit from behind. Don’t get me wrong, I think the upswept decklid gives the Milano a frisky appearance. But breaking the belt line right on the rear door shut makes it look broken.  Your eye comes to a dead stop; there’s simply no way around it.

And the quirkiness doesn’t end when you open the door.  The Milano’s instrument panel is essentially a big collection of rectangular components.  No attempt is made to tie them together with a cohesive theme, but then again, this was par for the course in 1985.  The ergonomics are where things really go off the deep end.  Would you believe the window switches were packaged on the headliner? When I first discovered this, I was dumbfounded.  I mean, wow.  What a counter-intuitive location.  I wonder if the Milano owner gets used to this or if it just gets progressively more frustrating. I’d bet on the later.

Ah, but there’s another side to this story.  For all its weirdness, the Milano is a apparently a great car to drive.  I recall reading some of the new car reviews back in mid 1980s.  Those who could look past the styling raved about the Milano’s performance.  Sure, there were other offerings that were more roomy, more luxurious and more mainstream in terms of aesthetics. But none of them could match the Milano for sheer driving excitement.  Even today, it enjoys something of a cult status among car nuts — or as our counterparts at Jalopnik would call them, “hoons” (do a YouTube search for “Alfa Romeo 75″ and you’ll see what I mean). Come to think of it, there may be a bit of homely car cult status at work here too.  The kind that enables Yugos to find a home on the rally circuit and Trabants to become works of art. Indeed, a small part of me loves the Milano’s quirks.  It refuses to be normal; that in itself is alluring.