Seat-Massager Showdown: Rubbers from Audi, Jaguar, and Mercedes Compared

Seat-Massager Showdown: Rubbers from Audi, Jaguar, and Mercedes Compared Seat-Massager Showdown: Rubbers from Audi, Jaguar, and Mercedes Compared
Comparison Tests

Some might call us nitpickers, but we prefer to think of ourselves as students of minutiae. Things like the feel of radio-tuning knobs—and they’d better be knobs; rocker switches awaken our inner Hulk—and window switches—a detent for the auto up/down, Alfred—matter.

Considered from the point of  view of  like-minded nitpi—er, minutiatti, our seat-testing record bore a great, gaping hole. We’ve expounded on the size, shape, and firmness of  bolsters, the quality of  materials, and the length of bottom cushions and their corresponding thigh support, but we have never determined which luxury automaker’s seats give the best massage—and whether or not any come close to that given by a human. To rectify this oversight, we picked up a few topiaries and a CD of  humpback-whale songs to get us in the spa mind-set (track seven, “Orcas Ate My Baby, but This Krill Is Uncommonly Flavorful,” was simply mesmerizing) and drew up a roster.

Mercedes buyers have enjoyed personalized spinal care since the first Benz was built in 1886 but have been getting rudimentary massages in their cars—without some risky gymnastics, anyway—since the company first installed stimulating seats in the 2000 S-class. (Cadillac put similar seats in the DeVille that year as well.) Twelve years later, the rest of the segment is onboard. The S-class now offers massagers front and rear. In the CL550 tested here, massage for the front chairs is rolled into a $3490 Premium 2 package (a related system is available in the E-class). We also lined up an Audi A8L ($2000 for the optional seats) and a Jaguar XJL Supersport (standard; $4000 on the base XJ, bundled in a leather-trim pack).

We limited ourselves to three cars because we feared too much massage would loosen our vertebrae to the extent that we might be left jellylike, prone to unpredictable and unmanageable slouching. But the group gathered here is merely a representative sampling. Lexus and BMW will rub rear-seat occupants’ backs in the long-wheelbase LS and 7-series (the BMW only does butts up front), and we left out the Hyundai Equus because we don’t trust ourselves to write sentences that include the phrase “Seoul massage”  without embarrassing our mothers. Other more affordable cars offer less sophisticated setups that are just lumbar bolsters that repeatedly inflate and deflate without the moving sensation of upmarket systems.

For an expert opinion, we enlisted massage therapist Nicolena Inniss-Stubbs of Deyo Studio in Birmingham, Michigan. She is the reigning champion in the massage ­category of Hour Detroit magazine’s annual “Best of Detroit” feature, having won the award the past two years.  Inniss-Stubbs offers a variety of treatments, including Swedish, deep tissue, and volcanic stone. Although she lacks the 510 hp of the Jaguar XJL Supersport, our therapist was confident she could provide a more soothing rubdown.

All the massaging seats in this group of cars use similar systems, in which a series of small air bladders arranged in the backrest alternately inflate and deflate to provide a kneading sensation. Audi’s and Jaguar’s seats have 10 bladders; Mercedes uses seven. It turns out that doesn’t really matter. As with most aspects of vehicular excellence, good massaging seats aren’t about the numbers but are about the nuance of how those numbers are applied to the task of interacting with people.

Everyman’s Massaging Seat

Fear not, ye washed but cheaply perfumed masses unwilling to spend 80 large on a vehicle. There are aftermarket solutions for in-car massage.

On walmart.com, for example, we found the Comfort Products Relaxzen six-motor massage cushion with heat for $29.99 (plus shipping). Simply place the pad on your car seat, plug it into a 12-volt power source, and you’re driving a poor man’s A8L. Use the 120-volt adapter to get the Audi treatment in your home or office.

Or not. The Relaxzen cushion is the portable analog to the Magic Fingers bed, albeit with fewer stranger stains. It doesn’t massage; it vibrates. Loudly. You know that weird itchiness you get on your palms after pushing a lawn mower for a few hours? Imagine that on your back. Yeah, not good.