Gran Turismo 7 has spent years walking a very delicate tightrope. On one side, it wanted to be a respectable simulation; on the other, it needed to remain accessible to a mass audience. And in that middle ground, a concept was born that everyone knows, even if we sometimes avoid saying it out loud: sim-cade. That is not necessarily a bad thing, but it does imply compromises. And those compromises become apparent when you start to notice that the tyres do not react as you expect, that you cannot adjust fundamental parameters like pressure with the precision that logic demands, or that grip appears and disappears with a consistency that is, to put it generously, debatable.
The most curious thing is that the problem is not whether the car is hard or easy to drive. The problem is that it stops being predictable in real terms. And when that happens, the player does not lose speed, they lose confidence. And when you lose confidence in the car, what actually breaks is the illusion of driving something alive.
The Real Obsession: Tyres (Yes, Tyres Again)
If you stop to think about it, the entire driving experience depends on four ridiculously small contact surfaces. Four patches of rubber that, together, decide whether you win a race or end up staring at the wall. In reality, those tyres are complex systems: their pressure alters their behaviour, temperature redefines their grip level, and wear does not follow a clean, linear progression. Instead, it responds chaotically to driving style, weather conditions, and track surface.
In the current model, many of these variables exist, but they are simplified, smoothed out, and domesticated. What a true evolution demands is not simply more detail, but more truth. The player should not only feel that the car is going fast; they should understand why it stops doing so. Because in that exact moment, when the car begins to degrade and you have to adapt, is where authentic simulation is born.
When Crashing Should Be Frightening (Not Funny)
There is something almost endearing, though also slightly absurd, about the way cars have historically reacted to impacts within the Gran Turismo series. Hitting a wall at high speed rarely carries consequences beyond a small cosmetic scratch and a slight loss of time. It is as if the vehicles were designed to forgive any mistake, as if they were emotionally resilient.
But reality, and simulators like BeamNG.drive have made this abundantly clear, works differently. An impact is not a visual event; it is a mechanical transformation. The bodywork deforms, aerodynamics change, airflow becomes inefficient, the radiator can be damaged and cause overheating, the steering can fall out of alignment. The car is no longer the same car. And that, far from being frustrating, is what introduces a critical dimension: risk.
Without consequences, there is no tension. And without tension, driving loses its emotional weight.
This is where the conversation becomes more interesting, because it shifts away from what can be done technically and moves toward what is wanted. Building a more advanced physics engine is not simply a matter of processing power or more complex algorithms. It is a design decision. It means accepting that the player is going to fail, that nothing will come immediately, that the learning curve will be more demanding.
But it also means accepting something far more powerful: that every achievement will carry real value. Every overtake, every clean lap, every victory will be backed by a system that was not designed to help you, but to challenge you. And that completely transforms the relationship between player and game. It is no longer about completing events. It is about mastering a system.
The Track Should Have Memory Too
Another element that often goes unnoticed, but which has an enormous impact, is the track itself. In many cases, the asphalt functions as an immutable backdrop, a stage upon which the action unfolds. But in reality, the track is a dynamic system. It rubbers in along the ideal racing line as cars pass over it, accumulates dirt off-line, changes its grip level with rain, and evolves constantly throughout a race.
When that behaviour is simulated convincingly, the player stops memorising the circuit and begins to read it. They start interpreting where there is grip and where there is not, how behaviour changes lap after lap. In that moment, driving ceases to be repetition and becomes adaptation.
It might seem contradictory, but the most demanding systems tend to be the most rewarding. Not because they punish the player, but because they force genuine involvement. When every decision has consequences, when every mistake teaches something, when every improvement is tangible, the experience becomes richer.
Suddenly, braking well matters. Warming tyres matters. Managing wear matters. Even losing makes sense, because it is part of a learning process. And it is there that something no system can simulate directly appears: the genuine satisfaction of understanding what you are doing.
And when that happens, when you stop thinking about the system and start reacting instinctively, you are no longer playing. You are driving.
See you on the track!
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