Audi RS7 - long-term review

If you’ve ever been to a ski resort, there’s a high chance you’d have seen Audi’s emblematic four rings plastered around the place. It’s no coincidence, of course. There are obvious associations Audi’s marketing team can hang their hats on – leaning into the lifestyle and functionality connection for one, or the fact that quattro gives you grip where BMW’s natural RWD stance won’t. But it also might just be a way for the board of execs to burn some budget on corporate ski trips.

Either way, Audi is one of the longest-standing winter sports partners, tagging on to the likes of the International Ski Federation FIS, various national associations, the legendary Hahnenkamm Races in Kitzbühel (Monaco GP of falling down a mountain on two planks) and who can forget the epic adverts Candide Thovex did where he skidded across the world and into the boot of an Audi Q7.

If you read last month’s TG mag, you would have seen that Ollie Marriage and I tagged onto Team GB’s slalom Kitzbühel effort in an Audi A6 e-tron. Well, for that shoot we needed a support car. So, I thought I’d fulfil that role, then do a bit of skiing off the back of it before heading to the wonderfully eclectic F.A.T Ice Race the following weekend in Zell am See. A 2,000-mile tour that would show what the RS7 is like as a continent crushing super cruiser. So I filled the RS7 with bags, many Head skis, a SeaSucker rack and posted it into the first Thursday morning train Le Shuttle could serve up to be in Kitz for dinner. Proper grand touring.

Ollie Marriage also had to do the same journey. However, he had the added pleasure of being reliant on Europe’s charging infrastructure. So, he opted for the shortest possible route that hugged Ionity’s network… and lived in a state of worry about range and efficiency but also knackered himself out from the Excel spreadsheet in his head to work out when, how, where, and how long he should charge for. I could simply pull into a petrol station and be gone in minutes. Simple.

But, here’s the hilarious kicker, for him to get to Austria in time for dinner, he had to leave the day before. Meanwhile, I could live my life without my car dictating my schedule, cruise at 80mph through France, then patriotically open the taps in Germany to sit on the Audi’s 174 mph limiter. It’s very rare that you want the optional 'Dynamic Plus' limiter (which increases top speed to a ludicrous 189 mph), but on this day, in this race, I did. And God bless the German Autobahn.

The RS7 is a great cruiser. The seats give no jip and you sit low within it. And where contemporary Audi interiors are getting overly complicated, screen-filled and, if the A6 e-tron is anything to go by, cheaper in their quality. The RS7’s touchpoints feel rugged, Germanic and like they're honed from stone and wrapped in leather. After six months, the cabin and seats now feel like a well-worn lederhosen: familiar, durable, and surprisingly supple. The steering wheel is thick but not cumbersome whereas Ollie’s e-tron’s feels skeletal and light in comparison. There’s also loads of scratchy plastics and menus to get lost in that thing. And, to this day, I am not sure if Ollie ever found out how to change the display to kmh, which is something I did in about 60 seconds in the RS7. I’m not sure if that’s progress.

But the RS7’s cabin is dark. So I was very jealous of his Tetris-like switchable transparency panoramic roof. That’s a £2,375 option, but is pretty cool as the nine slat-like panels switch from translucent to transparent in sequence. I wish the RS7 had it. As well as more cubby holes and bins. Due to the double-decker TFT screens, there’s no space to throw wallets, keys etc. There’s just two cupholders with a space in the middle to slot your key; so nowhere natural for a chunky phone, a drink and the essential European Domestic Market road trip sweets.

Before I left, I swapped the RS7’s Continental Sport Contact 6s out for Pirelli’s Sottozeros, which, amazingly, could fit around the monstrous, spindly and beautiful wheels that never, ever get old. The confidence and grip the new rubber offers in winter conditions is night and day and a big recommendation. Not only do they bail standing water from under the tyres thanks to the increased tread pattern depth and frequency (limiting the RS7’s terrifying aquaplane habit), but the super squishy tyre compound and tread blocks take the coarseness out of the primary ride, making it less jiggly on UK roads and quieter in the cabin.

However, the noise has got better. I am not sure if blatting it on the Autobahn cleared some crap out of the exhaust, or after 10,000 miles the engine has found a new baritone but the throatiness and aggression is wonderful and a joy each time you press the start button. It’s menacing and angry, sounding even better when the rear seats are flat to get in three sets of skis.

I arrived in Kitzbühel nine hours after setting off from Calais having averaged 21mpg (eek) but 74mph in the RS7. Behind, by literally 30 seconds, was Ollie. Proving that ICE cars are still superior specimens for jaunts. Better than that, the RS7 was covered in a five o'clock shadow of salt and road grime, accentuating the blistered arches, angular grille and with the two radar sensors on the front, gave it a pseudo undercover cop vibe. Ollie may have done the same trip averaging the equivalent of 37mpg and spent half as much on juice, but may I remind you, he left half a day earlier, so had to buy a hotel. Plus, anyone who has listened to a business podcast knows that time is money, so with my man maths, that’s a slam dunk to the RS7.

The rest of the trip the RS7 kept impressing, looking effortlessly thuggish in ski resorts, especially with a pair of posh Porsche x Head skis on the top. And having lived with the RS7 for 12,000 miles and put it through its paces in every regard, my respect for it has grown exceptionally. I thought it’d be inert and boring at times, but it’s been the opposite – growing in personality and voice as the miles have gone on. It got some minor squeaks behind the dual screen (which were sorted out) but feels like it’d last forever, like German cars of old.

In fact, the RS7 has aged better with time as the cars and industry around it have shifted. Cars like the A6 e-tron and Audi’s constantly confusing and flip-flopping naming strategy actually make the RS7 more palatable as it’s recognisable, reliable, and cool. It’s a powertrain car, that engine is what commands the premium – not its chassis or dynamics. With big V8s now being wired up to batteries like the new M5, the RS7 is starting to stand out. It has character and charm.

Performance Audis have – largely – always played second fiddle to the sharper, more attuned Mercedes and BMWs of the same class. But Mercedes has seemingly fallen off the planet, AMG is having an identity crisis and BMW is wrestling with how to make performance electrification work. Which, if you read our twin test with the M5, isn’t quite there yet, gifting the win to the RS7.

So either through calculated laziness or genius, Audi sitting back, seeing what happens and being late to the party has worked in its favour as the RS7 is prettier, more considered, and a truer performance product now. Especially in our stunning spec that commands respect and eyeballs like nothing else.

As the car and industry continue to evolve, the RS7 will remain a testament to what’s looking like a bygone era of motoring, when a car’s spirit was defined by its roar rather than its silence. And – to primordial people like us – that makes us feel good. The RS7 is a rare beast, but stands out as a defiant ode to the glory days of the V8 – a beacon of raw, unapologetic power. And in an industry that often prizes innovation over soul, Audi’s stoic adherence to what works feels less like obstinacy and more like wisdom. So, to borrow a phrase from Led Zeppelin, sometimes it is indeed better to be a rock and not to roll.